R.I.P.

The dog died last Saturday morning, age 16. She was euthanized as humanely as possible: at home, by a caring vet, surrounded by people who love her. I was at work, but knew it was happening, so all day I had to will myself not to cry.

I had said goodbye the night before, caressing her as much as possible and crying my cry. She was with my boyfriend's ex. We shared custody, but the last two weeks she had been cared for by the ex and her daughters. They were more capable of looking after an ailing, elderly dog than we. Among her afflictions were a failing heart, fluid buildup in the lungs because of the weak heart, and slow but steady renal failure thanks to the drugs she was prescribed to drain the lungs of the fluid. She also suffered the odd seizure and was losing control of her excretory functions (no longer able to pee, poo or throw up when she wanted).

Despite all these health problems, despite having lost an eye in a car accident (my joke was, "I never should have let her drive..."), despite detaching a ligament in her hind right leg, losing sight in the other eye to a thick cataract, losing her hearing, having all but four teeth pulled due to gingivitis, and losing another when she sneezed too hard, (I'm not making this stuff up -- my hairdresser called her 'The Incredible Shrinking Dog'), despite fierce separation anxiety when she would almost bark and howl herself raw, she was still the most stoic dog I have met. She didn't whine when she was hurt. She seemed to accept the fact that she would occasionally bump into furniture after her eye was removed. She still wanted to play fetch even though she'd have to stop every few minutes to catch her breath. She was still determined to jump up on the couch and sit next to me so the cat wouldn't have the best seat.

Was she just the most colossally stupid dog on the planet, able to soldier on because that's just how life was? I don't think so. She was smart enough to learn a few new things I taught her in her twilight years. I think she was at least smart enough to realize that life was just a whole lot more tolerable if you worked around the hardship as best you could. And no Jack Russel Terrier worth her salt would act like a sissy -- unless the rest of the pack had temporarily abandoned her. Then to hell with canine pride: bark long and loud enough and they'd always come back.

We shared the same name, so there was an additional connection, of which I think she was aware (partly owing to the fact that, when she could still hear, she'd sometimes be confused if she heard someone calling me by her name). And she was fiercely attached to the alpha females in her respective homes: myself and the ex. We were the only ones who did not get a snarl if we picked her up in the middle of a nap. Although I only knew her for the last four-and-a-half years of her life, of all the dogs I've known well, I think it was she who captured the biggest chunk of my heart.

I know her life was prolonged by the drugs, and that we were continuing to play god when we decided it was time for her suffering to end. I know that we (especially the ex) are breathing a sigh of relief at not having to look after her every waking minute. I know that she was a pain in the ass when she barked her head off and tried to claw her way past the basement door or into the dog food cupboard. I know all that. But I'm still gonna miss the crap out of her.