Too soon...

Their time with us is so short. Too short it seems. Even when the imminent is expected, it’s never really easy when we lose our fuzzy friends.

The close knit group of people who form Big Barks came together Valentine’s Day after two earlier losses hit their ranks; Monty, a pit-bull mix owned by Audrey, Tango, a “pound puppy” Great Pyrenees owned by Marsi and not too long ago, a Chi named Chili owned by Elizabeth and her hubby, Jack. Valentine’s Day, Elizabeth had to say goodbye to a second puppy from her household, a 3-year old Newfie named Syrus. That brought us up to three in about a week’s time.

A lot of us don’t even know the folks who post on the board in person, but we all have a common link, our love for our dogs. Big/small/hairy/black/brown/spotted/brindle/healthy/not so healthy…whatever shape or size available and many many different breeds. That is the common bond we share. Some of us have been fortunate enough to have actually met and become fast friends with people on the board. We talk as often as we can to inquire about the others “kids”.

When one of us experiences a loss or is going through a tough time or trying to make a tough decision, we’re all there, wearing those shoes and agonizing over what to do or not do. We’re all there wringing our hands and offering experiences and suggestions, tips and tidbits on what has worked for them or what their vet has said to them. Sometimes in the backs of our minds, we know what the outcome will be as do the owners of that precious soul buried deep in a failing body. Sometimes we say it, sometimes we don’t. There’s never any repercussion for voicing ourselves, just acknowledgement. Sometimes we fear the worst and enjoy the happiness when the result is the complete opposite of what we’d feared.

Ultimately, the bond of being a dog owner brought everyone together Valentine’s Day when one of us, the third of us in so short a time announced that she may be losing her boy, Syrus. The reasons behind their losses aren’t what is important, what matters is that we’re all connected virtually because of our dogs. And again, in such a short time, we all came together to offer condolences. Some privately had their own way of showing they cared by lighting candles in memory or in thought of that person and their loved bub. Others just wept.

We are a family of people who just care. People who get it; what it means to love and be loved back unconditionally. I’m proud to be a part of a group of people who “get it”. Being one who’s lost like all the others in the group I completely sympathize with the last three who just days ago said goodbye, until we meet again.

As Julie Church said, ‘I am joy in a wooly coat, come to dance into your life, to make you laugh.’ All our dogs have done this and now they’re patiently waiting on us in that place beyond the rainbow to do it once more.

Rest easy pups, all of you. Your jobs here have been completed.

Losing Grady

Many things come to mind when those words are read. I guess the biggest one at this moment is the feeling of loss. Well, that one being the most obvious, there's others of course, but that one is right up there. This is just a perspective of how I've felt.

First off, my other blog, bavasbones http://bavasbones.blogspot.com/2009/12/grady-becomes-alabama-dog-part-i.html tells how we came about to becoming Mum/Dad to Grady the Newfoundland, formerly known as Maverick. His short time with us is lightly discussed in subsequent posts, but there's more on how he came to be an Alabama dog.Without going into too much detail as that is not the point on how he CAME to die, I'd like to cover more of what it meant to us in part.

We didn't have Grady for a long time, but long enough to know he was OURS and we were HIS. He seemed to just "belong". At times, we both wished he could speak and tell us his tale; where did you come from, what was it like, do you miss it, etc. Other times, we're glad he couldn't. Obviously something had gone wrong otherwise he'd not have wound up in a kill shelter in the condition he was in. Or in the shape he was in that we weren't aware of when he first came to us. That's neither here or now. Honestly, I don't know if we could have done anything differently to prevent his decline in health; we definitely could have started him on Ichon earlier but I think that would have just been a bandaid on a much bigger wound.

Anyway...

Grady was almost 7 and had a very degenerative disease called Lumbosacral Stenosis. We don't know if he acquired it or was born with it. He came to us with it. Otherwise, his hips, legs, etc were "excellent". He never complained or gave us any trouble when he suddenly started displaying some radical symptoms. Yes, it was tough at times on us in dealing with us, but he was an excellent patient throughout.

The "saga" if you will is chronicled on BigBarks.com where we received the most awesome support from everyone there.

When it came down to it, we gave him the best send off we could. I hate to say it because I always believed it, but, the old saying, your pet will let you know when it's "time" doesn't always hold true. Grady was NOT ready to go and he let us know it. His body was ready but HE was not. I wrote a semi-short something on our feelings.

We know their time with us is short lived, yet we accept this and nurture and love them just the same. The joys they give us far surpass what we lose when they go away. It will take a lot of time to forget what it felt like when you said 'goodbye’. In time though, it may come to be that it will only feel like a scratch instead of the hole you’re left with in your heart.

We had to say goodbye not too long ago to a very dear boy who spent a very short time with us. Too short it seems. We became his guardians and keepers when he suddenly became a homeless pup. He just fit right in with our pack. He was home.

If you’ve ever felt a place inside yourself that was filled with the satisfaction of knowing that those doubts you once held of a decision you’d made, even the whimsical ones were now gone, that’s how we felt. Six and a half months, almost seven erased the “OMG what have we done?” question we had after we said we’d go pick him up three and a half hours away, sight unseen. Well, okay, those doubts were erased pretty much the first week we had him.

He was a joy; full of life, spunk, happiness and energy that was palpable. He held his head high as he’d grin wide mouthed and thrust his feet forward when we’d go on walks around the neighborhood just as happy as could be that he was outside and with people who he trusted. He never asked for much; a touch, a kind word, a hidden snack in the hands that would rub over his sides and head. Those were
always accepted even if all he did was to hold the snacks in his mouth politely until your back was turned.

He was our Grady, a big boy with a big kind heart. He came to us as a seemingly lost fellow at what should have been his golden years and to grow old gracefully. Unfortunately another plan was in place for him and for us.

There’s a time to be brave and strong in situations and a time to doubt and wonder in others. Sometimes these emotions, these actions come to you all at once and you know what needs to be done even if you’re scared and don’t want to. For us, it was Memorial Day.

Rescues, unwanted’s, homeless, throw‐aways, the ones folks don’t have time for or the ones people don’t know what in the world to do with once they get over that honeymoon phase, whatever you call them need people to take a second look. They need us to peer into their eyes and see beyond that scruffy exterior and see their potential. They mostly all have something to fulfill in each one of us.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat, even if it’s for a short time. The gift of a home and people who love them is something that can never be taken away. A hand to soothe and comfort can create miracles in even the most unwanted animal.

Melissa Milam
June 15, 2010