Having to say goodbye…
I’m grieving tonight for the loss of Theia, a standard Goldendoodle who stole my heart twelve years and five months ago when she arrived high and dry on a Delta flight from South Carolina into Los Angeles. I drove around to the cargo pick-up, spotted her crate, and carried it to a grassy patch where I was parked. Upon opening the door, she tumbled out, took a pee, then drank from cool water I’d poured into my hand. The sensation of her small tongue licking my palm melted my heart and I was a goner. She was born on November 9, 2010. The day she arrived was February 10, 2011, when she was three months old.
From that day on, she was my constant companion whose love was unconditional and whose loyalty was unmatched. She was my shadow, always a step in front or in back of me. When I’ve been sad, I’ve cried against her furry body. When I’ve been hurt or sick, she never left my side. A wagging tail greeting me at the front door with a toy in her mouth, made me smile even on the worst of days. She was my inspiration when I struggled putting two good sentences together, gazing up at me with soulful brown eyes that just filled me with joy that somehow transcended into self-confidence.
I can’t explain how heavy my heart is. How I feel I’m sinking into a bottomless pit and there’s nothing to save me. She’d been healthy most of her life. Then about a year ago, her back legs began to weaken and stiffen and she was diagnosed with arthritis. She was still able to run after squirrels, just not as fast. That was until in the last six months when she began taking medication to lessen the inflammation and ease her pain. In the last three months, her liver began to malfunction. More medications. Three weeks ago, without knowing the cause, she began viciously biting her tail. Because her tail was like a beautiful white fan, I didn't notice the infected underside until two weeks ago. She chewed and blood and puss seeped through the fur. More medication. More biting and chewing. Many sleepless nights trying to keep her from making it worse because even with the Elizabethan cone on, she managed to get at her tail. She chewed it down to the muscle. Her liver enzymes continued to spike. A few mornings ago, her legs didn’t work and I had to help her to stand. Problem was I live alone and she weighed seventy-two pounds. She was in and out of the vet’s office and it was getting more difficult for her to travel, which made me bawl because she was always an excellent passenger and loved road trips. We’d taken several cross-country trips.
Two days ago, I emailed the latest photo of her tail to the vet and he said it looked like it would need amputation. Given the liver problem and her worsening hips, would I consider euthanasia? Yes, the more I saw that her quality of life was lessening I’d been thinking about it for weeks. He suggested I go in that day at 5:30. I got cold feet and canceled. She was eating and drinking and pooping. Sure, she hadn’t played with her toys or had any interest staying outside once her business was done but did that matter? She didn’t seem to be in pain. Then yesterday, February 20, twelve years and ten days after she’d come into my life, I took her to the vet because she'd slept most of the day and when she’d look at me, it was as if to say that she wasn’t enjoying life anymore. But how do you really know? She couldn’t articulate. And by the looks of her, she seemed well. The photo with this blog was taken the day before she died. Everything was a guessing game and I’m a person who needs data to make decisions. Nonetheless, after talking it over with the vet I had to make the hardest decision of my life. I’m still not at peace with euthanizing her. In fact, I’m feeling overwhelmed with guilt that I didn’t let her go through with the surgery and if her liver had worsened, I’d make another decision then. But I did what my gut told me in the moment. When I’d taken the cone off her head days prior, she’d been so depressed—I swear I think that contributed to her looking sad—I vowed to her that she’d never wear one again and I wouldn’t let her suffer.
I’ve never had to end a life and I’m still reeling from having to make the decision. I miss her so much. Even now as I type this at my desk, I look to my left and she’s not laying on the carpet next to me and her absence is causing my heart to ache. I don’t know how long it will take for me to dispose of all the things that were hers, especially her bed which is next to mine. And her toys… oh my goodness, she played like a puppy until the final weeks. Eventually, I’ll donate them to the shelter with one exception—the alligator in the photo was her favorite.
To my Theia, having to say goodbye is hard…❤️
