Shell-Shocked

Many of my readers know that I recently lost my little girl, Trixie.

(Trixie was a dog, BTW. Not an actual human being. I know there’s a difference.)

Anyway, what I’ve been thinking about today is what a shockingly intimate experience to witness the death of a living being.

I’ve “put down” three dogs in my life, and the experience with each of them was both unique and similar.

Daisy was a decrepit, 17 yo Westie who had, by all measures, lived a fantastic life. By the time she was ready to go, she was Ready. To. Go. It was no less somber for me, as her mama, but I was able to do The Deed with no regrets. Nevertheless, I was shell-shocked in the hours that followed. I got into my car and drove for almost an hour. I found myself in a Kroger about 20 minutes north of where I lived, wandering the aisles. I don’t remember what I did after that.

Alfie’s demise was filled with regret. I questioned whether I had let him go too soon, as he still had good days intermingled with the bad. I knew the end was coming, but it took several months to get to the “bad enough” point. After he died and the vet exited with his lifeless remains, I went into my kitchen and started stuffing cheese into my mouth.

Trixie’s death was unique from Daisy and Alfie’s in that she went quickly. Thursday, she seemed fine and by Friday morning, she was in full-on congestive heart failure. She limped through Saturday, but I took her to the emergency animal hospital, and after discussion with the vet, made the decison. It is SO HARD to say the words: “Yes” in these cases, because it starts a ball rolling that ends in the death of the little animal ensconced in a fuzzy blanket in your arms. The vet came in, she waited, I unrolled Trixie’s blanket to reveal the port they had already installed. The first shot went in, Trixie passed out immediately, and then the Pink Stuff went in, and her heart stopped beating in less than 15 seconds. She was always a good little girl.

Fifteen seconds to end a life. “Drive safely,” the vet told me as she held the door open and I exited the building, sobbing less because I missed Trixie at that point, and more because I’d just witnessed something profound.

Like I said, it is shockingly intimate to witness death, crunching bugs and killing mice aside. I have no doubt that some of you have been witness to even more weighty deaths than a dog, such as a parent or relative or friend.

It’s a big deal. It doesn’t leave you.

I believe that we humans have a gateway to eternal life through Jesus Christ. I am not so sure with dogs. We comfort ourselves with stories of the “Rainbow Bridge,” but the truth for me is, I don’t know that I’m ever going to see Daisy, Alfie and Trixie again. Ever. And that saddens me, because something alive that brought me so much joy should not just…go away. I hope…I hope I see them again. If not, I have been blessed to be a part of their “aliveness,” and watch over their little souls while I could.