Farewell I Must Be Going

I sure do miss you. Now, every day after Hubbs leaves for work, I start my day in silence. It didn’t used to be silent in the morning. You followed my every step, getting up to walk from room to room as I shuffled about, working, cleaning or just being. You were always there, watching and listening, your nails clicking away across the floor.

The day that I dropped you off at the kennel, you jumped right up into the back seat and sat there patiently. Then, we we arrived and I pulled you out of the car first, you happily followed me in, greeting every dog in the place with a sniff. You wagged your tail when I bent down to kiss your head, whispering, “you’re such a good boy.” When the tech came to get you, you looked back at me nervously. I felt a tinge in my heart but, as always, kept a smile on my face so you would feel okay about being led off by a stranger.

Two days later, I got the call. I walked into the run where you laid splayed out flat, your head next to your water bowl. The concrete floor was wet where they had sprayed it out. In the run next to you were your brothers, jumping up, confused, and wet. I demanded the tech take you outside so I could see what was going on. You could barely stand and I really don’t even think you knew who I was at that point. I thought maybe you’d had a stroke. Something was definitely wrong. There was no way you were staying there another moment. Hubbs picked you up and carried you to the car. S, J, M and J stroked you and talked to you. Already you looked more like yourself. Your breathing was off but you were alert and looking around. Hubbs carried you inside and laid you in your bed. You seemed so much better, yet something wasn’t quite right. Was it your hips? Had they gone out? Had you had a stroke? I couldn’t place my finger on it. We gave you half of one of Fred’s pain pills just in case. After that, you laid down but your breathing was labored … something I had never heard.

Instincts told me to get you to the emergency vet immediately. My heart was ripped apart as they carried you away. I wanted to be with you. I didn’t want you to be alone. We sat in the waiting room forever. And forever. When we finally got to come back and see you, you were sitting quietly in a cage on a lambswool blanket. I kissed you right on the cheek, where you are the softest, and told you I loved you. I didn’t realize it was the last kiss you would know from me.

The doctor at the emergency clinic was nice enough, and confident. But she was young – a new grad. She didn’t even know how to read an EKG. I had no one else to turn to for help. We were new to the area, after all. I had dried up all my resources. We left you in her hands, hoping you’d feel better in the morning. I had plans to call Whitney and talk to her about what we might do to help you. That opportunity never presented itself.

At 4:30 in the morning, Hubbs woke up and asked me to call and check on you. You had fallen when they took you out to use the bathroom. We gave them permission to give you lidocaine – but the vet said you may go into cardiac arrest. When I hung up the phone and looked at Hubbs, we both knew. It was time.

We drove to the clinic and were routed to a room. You were brought in and laid on a blanket. One look at you told us we had made the right decision. You no longer knew us. I can only hope that our voices penetrated the pain you must have been in as you laid in that clinic during your last few moments. I hope you heard Hubbs telling you what a good boy you are and how much we love you. I think you know.

Now you’re just not here and it’s so quiet without you. Gone is the sargeant bark and the talking – oh the talking you used to do. At me when you wanted to go outside or just when you wanted a kiss or a hug. At the two little guys as a referee to their squabbles. At just about anything. We used to *shush* you because we were in a townhouse. Now I would give anything just to hear one little *brrph* out of your big beautiful stinky mouth. We had just commented that you were in such great shape for 11. You were running and jumping like you hadn’t done in years. Hubbs took you for walks every morning, except when you just didn’t feel like getting up.

You were my Big Bubbs, my Welly, my protector. There is such a big hole in my heart where you used to live. Now I have my memories but what I wouldn’t give to kiss your stinky head again or bury my head into your giant neck just one more time. I miss you Wellington. You are loved.