The End

Just last week, I woke up from a nightmare at 3am, my heart in my throat. It was another one of my typical nightmares, the house (not my current house, the old house I grew up in, but it was somehow mine in the dream) had a basement that was mysteriously destroyed. Everything torn up, stained, filthy. Also, Vally was nowhere to be found, which is another of my recurring nightmare themes. When I woke up I instinctively looked for Vally. There she was of course, against my thigh, paws outstretched and belly up. She woke enough to see me looking for her, reached out both her back feet and one front paw, and placed them in my hand. We held paws like this regularly for comfort. By 3:45, just as I was starting to fall back to sleep, a smoke detector started chirping its low battery chirp. I felt Vally's paws tense up, then leave my hand. Another chirp sounded somewhere in the house. Then a third. I mentally prepared myself to try and block out the noise until morning. It was not to be. I peeked up to find Vally, alert, ears straight up, hovering over my face, eyes fixed in the direction of the chirp. I'm not sure what she would have done had the chirp entered the room and tried to hurt me, but I'd have put all my marbles on Vally in that fight. Knowing my fate was sealed, I kissed her chest, thanked her for watching over me, and got up to go change the batteries.

She spit out her meds, and I broke down again. I knew. We had been prescribed these pills specifically to help ease her a bit. Two of them had bought me a few hours of sleep tonight, but now even the homemade cheese pill pocket wasn't getting her to take them. She fought hard to keep her jaw closed when I tried to pill her, harder than I've ever felt, even now as everything else she tried to do was so feeble. After all the effort and finally getting the pill to the back of her throat, closing my hand around her mouth and rubbing her neck to encourage swallowing, she still spit that pill right back out on the floor. The heavy-cry muscle spasms hit me before I realized what was happening. I collapsed next to the pill, exhausted and helpless and shaking. I knew.

Squirrels were legit prey, while ducks were a cool party trick. A squirrel trying to escape required a head down, tail flat (because aerodynamics), all out effort. We are GOING to get that squirrel. Ducks were a flighty, honking amusement, and one only needed to perform the “Big Run” to get them going. The Big Run, a technique that involved bounding forward in a bucking bronco fashion, was not a fast maneuver by any valuation but it made her look bigger than her 26lbs. Ducks saw this display and honked their disapproval and flew off into the water and Vally trotted back most pleased with herself. Another group of ducks bamboozled by the Big Run. Until the one day the duck was preening and didn't see the Big Run. She wasn't going fast, but I could detect the moment of realization in her - she was gonna get the duck and she had no idea what to do. The Big Run crashed into the duck face first. It was a forceful collision. The duck went honking into the water at an exceptional duck volume and surprising duck pace. Vally stood stiff and watched it for a moment, processing, before turning to check in with me, a single duck feather stuck between her teeth. She seemingly couldn't tell if she should be proud of her accomplishment or worried that she had done a bad thing. It was 45 seconds before I could stop laughing long enough to pick the feather out of her teeth.

We checked her into the ER within an hour of her behavior change. I had been sitting at my desk, shortly after lunch, when she walked in. I don't think it was much, but I knew immediately something was wrong. She was hovering around me, head slightly down, ears slightly back, her tail carried way too low. Something didn't feel right. I excused myself from work and checked her in as a stat case. After examination, her heart rate was high but everything else checked out ok. They offered to do an extended workup with cardio consult. For a high heart rate? And to what end? I asked what to keep an eye out for in case it came to that and took her home again. I'd watch her closely. If something came up, I'd feel it. I know my little wolf.

I walked up the stairs and could hear the TV on. As soon as I pulled out my keys I could hear paws on the door. There was no sneaking up on this one. I opened the door and the fluff ball jumped and spun and panted and pawed and licked and danced to celebrate my arrival. I kneeled down to be closer to her height and greeted her, cooing and petting and smiling right back. It’s such an instinctual joy to have another creature be that excited when you walk into the room, and to be just as excited to see them in return. From the couch in front of the TV came Ice Queen’s voice, annoyed, “I’m here too, once you’re done making out with your dog." She hadn’t moved or looked away from the TV. Vally was still twirling with excitement. I soaked up as much of Vally’s warmth as I could and got ready for our post-work walk.

I hadn’t slept 30 minutes before I woke up to find Vally missing again. I had been carrying her up and down stairs all day, including bringing her back up from her last escapade, and I knew that she wouldn’t be able to get back to me once she had finished whatever she was doing. I got downstairs and called to her. I walked the loop of the first floor. I checked out back. I called to her again. No movement. With a sudden dread, I crept down the hall and checked in the first floor half bath. The half bath, in the middle of the house floorplan with no doors or windows to the outside, has been Vally’s hiding space since we moved in. If there’s a thunderstorm or fireworks and I’m not home to hold her paw, my doggie cams find her sulking into the half bath. Peeking around the corner at 2am I found her there. Breathing hard. Staring at the wall. Ears back, tail down, just as she had been earlier in the day but somehow more so. I tried to coax her out, to help her back upstairs or to somewhere more comfortable. She had no interest in leaving. I tearfully kissed her head, went to fetch a blanket and a pillow from upstairs, and brought them down to the tile floor to lay with her. I pet her and I started to tell her all the things I had imagined saying one day when I knew it would be one of our last conversations. I told her how much it had meant to me to have her by my side all these years. I thanked her for pulling me out of the dark place I was in and making me feel like I was worthy of love again. For finally showing me what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. I recalled to her memories of the time she charged into certain doom to try and save me from the scary ocean. Of the time she protectively jumped into my lap and nearly took off my uncle’s hand for offering a sudden handshake too aggressively. Of the time she went sniffing around the shrubs by the high school and appeared to birth a startled mourning dove that had somehow ended up between her legs undetected. Laying on the cold tile floor, I made sure she heard that I would carry her with me every day for the rest of my life, even if she couldn’t be there with me physically. Most importantly, I told her that it was okay. That I would be okay. That she had hung on long enough to put me back on my feet, finally able to stand on my own again. That she had done her job, and done it well. She didn’t need to hang on through the hurt anymore. She could rest.

I was able to hold her through it. Her belly felt wrong, bloated and squishy, like a water balloon. The IV in her leg was helping, but her breathing was still difficult and pained. I couldn’t form words, so I just kissed her head over and over through my tear-soaked mask. When her breathing suddenly became even faster and I felt her body tense up I knew we couldn’t wait any longer. I called for the doctor. I honestly can’t remember what I said to Vally as the doctor approached, but I don’t think it mattered anyway. The whole thing happened quickly. Her heavy breathing and her muscles, tense from pain, suddenly eased. In that unimaginable sadness there was a hint of relief. I had been running nonstop for 48 hours on almost no food or sleep, trying to make her discomfort go away, and here it had happened in an instant. She didn’t hurt anymore. The soft weight in my lap somehow felt heavier. I asked them for another minute or two to hold the limp form of my greatest friend. I did my best to commit her to memory - the way her fur felt, the way she smelled - before the tech came back to gather her and carry her away. I slowly and blankly got to my feet, turned to the door, and walked into a new story.

-M