Before the Rainbow

Her eyes are liquid brown and fixed on me. Even though it hurts, the tail wags as soon as we make eye contact. God, she is down to about a third of her body weight. I stare at her, hands locked in my hair, leaning on my elbows, and praying for another answer.

Yesterday when I came home she was laying at the middle landing of the stair case. I am still not sure from her pose whether she fell from the top or just couldn't get up the next set. I picked her up and carried her to my bedroom. All I could feel was soft fur and pokey bones. It’s like someone has pulled all the stuffing out of her. But not the heart. Never the heart. She may be confused sometimes but she always knows us. She pulled herself up yesterday and shuffled over to put her head on my sons dirty sock foot. I guess to an old dog, boy feet smell like love.

When I go to feed her, the dish is still full. It’s been more than a week since she ate more than a few pieces of food a day. We have tried eggs, broth and probiotics. She just can’t seem to get it down. The Vet has been so patient with all my questions. He never rushes me, even if I have approached this same problem from 8 different sides. “She just can’t break it down anymore.” He explains,” and she has the worst case of pancreatitis that I have ever seen. There really isn’t too much we can do now except….” He lets it drag out and I sigh. I know what except is. Except is where you end up with a 14 year old dog. Except is where you lose your best friend from  your life.

The kids shuffle to bed, a gang, lightly leaning on each other. I hear the snuffles from my youngest, an attempt to hide the heart break rolling down her face. Such a departure from our usual arguing and bed time fuss. Tomorrow. The end of an era.

In the morning, I let her out onto the grass. The enthusiastic sniffing and snuffling give me hope, just for a second, that we could have one more day. But as she tries to squat, I see her hips give out. I see her suffering as she moves. And the bright sunlight on her coat show ribs way too clearly for me to fool myself. Today is the day, whether I like it or not.

We cook up 2 chicken breasts and a cup of rice. The kids sit in a circle around her, petting her as she picks at the rare “people food” treat. I know it won’t stay down. I know it doesn't fix anything. But for this moment, the dog is eating and the family celebrates our last little moment of togetherness.

The drive from the Vets office is silent. Not a sound penetrates the car as we all process this change in our lives. I lift her out. She is wrapped in her puppy blanket.

My oldest son has the grass peeled back under the tree. We all take turns digging. The city says we have to go at least 3 feet deep. I can’t believe how deep that feels, how long it takes, and how this drags out. Our last family chore that will include our fuzzy foot. A thousand memories roll across my mind as we sweat through this final stage. Puppy breath, laughter, barking, dog snores. Finally, it’s deep enough. We lay her in gently. Genna puts a tennis ball in, tears rolling freely. No worry about her brothers teasing her today. My boys are both uncomfortable, not sure what to say. They have entered the official teen zone where all emotion is suspect. I ache for them.

 “Alice was a good dog” I say, “She kept our family safe. She sat with us when we were sick. She played with us when we were bored. She snuggled with us after bad dreams, during colds and through divorce. We will miss you Alice. And we will see you on the other side.” I pick up the shovel and start to fill in the hole. This step goes much quicker. My son rolls the grass gently back over the little mound we have made. Looking down he says “She always slept under this tree.” Then he picks up the shovel, and heads into the house.

Morning dawns, clean and clear. I open the sliding door out of habit. Staring at the yard, the hole I feel today is deeper than the one we dug. 14 years of sleep walking to keep the carpet clean isn't broken in a day. I grab my coffee and a granola bar and go sit beneath the tree. I set my wrapper on the mound. When Alice was a puppy I would drop them on purpose and watch her chase it around the grass. “Hey old girl”, I say with a sad smile. Drinking my coffee, I let myself cry. I want to be done before the kids get up.

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