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Thank you to everyone who sent me condolences. It really did help to know there were so many people thinking of me and sending comfort.
This has been a hard week. It's slowly getting better, fortunately (I've gotten my breakdowns limited to about one a day now). Of course it isn't really helping that Erik's family had to pick this weekend to descend on us. :-( But travel plans really couldn't be changed, and they've been pretty good about leaving me alone. I don't mind if Erik goes off to spend time with them, but I'm not feeling very social at the moment.
It's the things that sneak up on you that are the worst -- coming home from the movies and thinking there's going to be a little dog waiting for us and wagging her tail. Or stopping after we've finished watching TV for the night to let the dog out to go potty -- and realizing there's no Taffy anymore. Well, that's not strictly true -- she's still here in our hearts, but there's a huge hole in our home that's going to take a long time to be filled.
She wasn't sick at all. She had a wonderful weekend with us, then woke up very sluggish on Monday morning. Erik and I felt her tummy to see if something had disagreed with her, then felt her legs and the rest of her little body. She didn't whimper or whine, so she wasn't in any pain, and her nose was still cold and wet. But she stood in the spot between the dining room and living room and kept looking off to the west through the French doors, almost as if she waiting for something. I think she knew it was her time. By one of those weird coincidences that wasn't a coincidence at all, Erik had forgotten his lunch that morning, and I slipped home on my way to a meeting so I could put it in the fridge for him. Taffy actually seemed a little better when I came home; she was moving around a bit and didn't seem too bad off. I petted her and told her I loved her and that she was a good dog. I think she passed away very soon after I left. So at least her last minutes were peaceful, and she left this world knowing how much we loved her. I wish all of us could leave in such a way.
We buried her under the apricot tree in the backyard, in a leafy, quiet corner where she can be in the sunlight and hear the birds sing. She loved the backyard, so we thought that was the best place for her. She taught us so much about joy and love, and I know she's out there somewhere, waiting for the day we can be a family again.
Rest in peace, my darling little girl.
This has been a hard week. It's slowly getting better, fortunately (I've gotten my breakdowns limited to about one a day now). Of course it isn't really helping that Erik's family had to pick this weekend to descend on us. :-( But travel plans really couldn't be changed, and they've been pretty good about leaving me alone. I don't mind if Erik goes off to spend time with them, but I'm not feeling very social at the moment.
It's the things that sneak up on you that are the worst -- coming home from the movies and thinking there's going to be a little dog waiting for us and wagging her tail. Or stopping after we've finished watching TV for the night to let the dog out to go potty -- and realizing there's no Taffy anymore. Well, that's not strictly true -- she's still here in our hearts, but there's a huge hole in our home that's going to take a long time to be filled.
She wasn't sick at all. She had a wonderful weekend with us, then woke up very sluggish on Monday morning. Erik and I felt her tummy to see if something had disagreed with her, then felt her legs and the rest of her little body. She didn't whimper or whine, so she wasn't in any pain, and her nose was still cold and wet. But she stood in the spot between the dining room and living room and kept looking off to the west through the French doors, almost as if she waiting for something. I think she knew it was her time. By one of those weird coincidences that wasn't a coincidence at all, Erik had forgotten his lunch that morning, and I slipped home on my way to a meeting so I could put it in the fridge for him. Taffy actually seemed a little better when I came home; she was moving around a bit and didn't seem too bad off. I petted her and told her I loved her and that she was a good dog. I think she passed away very soon after I left. So at least her last minutes were peaceful, and she left this world knowing how much we loved her. I wish all of us could leave in such a way.
We buried her under the apricot tree in the backyard, in a leafy, quiet corner where she can be in the sunlight and hear the birds sing. She loved the backyard, so we thought that was the best place for her. She taught us so much about joy and love, and I know she's out there somewhere, waiting for the day we can be a family again.
Rest in peace, my darling little girl.
