Today's the Day
5:45 a.m. Today’s the Day, I think. We’ll have to summon the mercy and courage to say good-bye to Bou.
It was just Sunday, two days ago, I was remarking to a friend that he was still so vigorous and happy that you’d never know he had a time bomb in him (the aggressive blood-born cancer we found in March) – he still climbed stairs, jumped into my car for a ride, played with his squeak toys, jumped straight up in the air with enthusiasm when he saw us preparing his food. The vet I saw last said that if a dog had to have a terminal illness, this is the one to have, because it is painless and when they go, they go quickly. Painless until the end, I guess. That’s one of the ways you know that “it is time,” when he’s too weak to rise, to eat, to move much.
He was great yesterday morning. Normal. But by yesterday afternoon he was languishing and couldn’t eat dinner. We stayed near and gently stroked his soft hair. At three o’clock this morning I got him to take some water. I told him Thank You, for coming to be with us, for taking such good care of us, guarding us with his impressive throaty barking whenever someone even neared our property line. Of course, once inside the house, there were no “strangers” – he was a big soft bear of a lovable dog. I told him we would miss him and softly stroked his back. Now it is just a matter of sitting near him so he has the comfort of our presence.
I’ll have to call the vet this morning and figure out how to move him so we can take him in.
10:35 a.m. When I called the busy vet’s office, the third person who picked up the phone was just trying to serve as many people as possible… “Hi, I want to confirm that I am bringing in Bou at 1:00.”
“OK. And… you’re bringing him in for what?”
“Ahh…euthanizing.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, me too.” Pause. Pause.
“Wait a minute! Bou?? Bou the Bouvier? Bou-boy? OH NO. Oh no. This is so sad. I love that dog! Oh, I’m going to cry now.” And she did. And I did.
This something for which I’m grateful – that Bou touched so many lives and was loved so well by those who had the pleasure to know him. You, all of you, you’ll never know how much that means to us, especially to Bou. Thank you for loving him.
I sit by him in the kitchen. I moved my laptop in here and pivoted his body around so he can see me. A half hour ago I sat on the floor next to him, stroking him gently, in what I hoped was a comforting touch. I tried to see his eyes, which were mostly closed. I told him he didn’t have to wait till 1:00. If he wanted to go now, he could. He didn’t respond; he didn’t move; he didn’t stir or blink or shift. He continued to breathe. After some time I finally got up and there it was – eyes flashed wide open, head came up and he looked at me as if to say, “Hey. Where you goin’?” At least I know my presence is a comfort to him. As his has been for me.
Any given day, he would follow me to where I settled, and then lay down nearby – on a pretty pillow in my office, on the fireplace hearth in the TV room, on the rug by our bed. And now, we move to be with him where he is settled here, his last spot until we somehow move him into my car and take him to the vet’s.
2:00 p.m. He’s gone.
What a sweetheart. He was so docile and calm. The caretakers at the vet fed him a Mrs. Fields brownie, which he ate up. But, as he lay there in the doctor’s office, with the various attendants petting him, prepping him, and whispering sweet blessings to him, we could tell: He was ready. That in itself is a comfort.
We will miss you, Bou! Bou was great. His previous mama told us that he was like the big silent guy who sits in the corner of the bar, not bothering anyone or looking for a fight. But, step out of line to threaten one of his own and you’ll feel just how strong he is. A cattle-herding breed, “Bou the Bouvier” was built square and broad with strong legs and hips. He was appropriately territorial – the herds of deer who wander through our yard found that out. We all enjoyed letting him chase them down to the woods – never did catch them, but boy, he liked trying!
Bou was a big, soft, curly-haired lovable 95 pound bear of a dog. He was so gentle, we never had to worry about him around the grandchildren. He was spunky and joyful and, well, healthful – right up until he wasn’t! Like my Mom
. We had him longer than we were “supposed to” when he got a 3-6 month prognosis at the beginning of April.
Before I let him go, I told him that when he gets to the other side, if he sees a big German shepherd named Noah, he should say hello from us. Maybe my Mom could find Noah and bring him to meet Bou. So, I told him to look for my Mom over there too. He’ll be in good company.
Thanks Barbara and all the rest of the gang, for sharing him with us. We enjoyed each other a lot, and he was a very happy boy during his year with us!
Good-bye, sweet Bou. We'll miss your enthusiastic greetings when we arrive home, we'll miss our long walks with you in the beauty of the Virginia countryside. But you will never be far from our thoughts.
(Many people knew and loved Bou for longer than we did. If you have stories about him, or comments to add, please do!)
Copyright (c) 2010
It was just Sunday, two days ago, I was remarking to a friend that he was still so vigorous and happy that you’d never know he had a time bomb in him (the aggressive blood-born cancer we found in March) – he still climbed stairs, jumped into my car for a ride, played with his squeak toys, jumped straight up in the air with enthusiasm when he saw us preparing his food. The vet I saw last said that if a dog had to have a terminal illness, this is the one to have, because it is painless and when they go, they go quickly. Painless until the end, I guess. That’s one of the ways you know that “it is time,” when he’s too weak to rise, to eat, to move much.He was great yesterday morning. Normal. But by yesterday afternoon he was languishing and couldn’t eat dinner. We stayed near and gently stroked his soft hair. At three o’clock this morning I got him to take some water. I told him Thank You, for coming to be with us, for taking such good care of us, guarding us with his impressive throaty barking whenever someone even neared our property line. Of course, once inside the house, there were no “strangers” – he was a big soft bear of a lovable dog. I told him we would miss him and softly stroked his back. Now it is just a matter of sitting near him so he has the comfort of our presence.
I’ll have to call the vet this morning and figure out how to move him so we can take him in.
10:35 a.m. When I called the busy vet’s office, the third person who picked up the phone was just trying to serve as many people as possible… “Hi, I want to confirm that I am bringing in Bou at 1:00.”
“OK. And… you’re bringing him in for what?”
“Ahh…euthanizing.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, me too.” Pause. Pause.
“Wait a minute! Bou?? Bou the Bouvier? Bou-boy? OH NO. Oh no. This is so sad. I love that dog! Oh, I’m going to cry now.” And she did. And I did.
This something for which I’m grateful – that Bou touched so many lives and was loved so well by those who had the pleasure to know him. You, all of you, you’ll never know how much that means to us, especially to Bou. Thank you for loving him.
I sit by him in the kitchen. I moved my laptop in here and pivoted his body around so he can see me. A half hour ago I sat on the floor next to him, stroking him gently, in what I hoped was a comforting touch. I tried to see his eyes, which were mostly closed. I told him he didn’t have to wait till 1:00. If he wanted to go now, he could. He didn’t respond; he didn’t move; he didn’t stir or blink or shift. He continued to breathe. After some time I finally got up and there it was – eyes flashed wide open, head came up and he looked at me as if to say, “Hey. Where you goin’?” At least I know my presence is a comfort to him. As his has been for me.
Any given day, he would follow me to where I settled, and then lay down nearby – on a pretty pillow in my office, on the fireplace hearth in the TV room, on the rug by our bed. And now, we move to be with him where he is settled here, his last spot until we somehow move him into my car and take him to the vet’s.
2:00 p.m. He’s gone.
What a sweetheart. He was so docile and calm. The caretakers at the vet fed him a Mrs. Fields brownie, which he ate up. But, as he lay there in the doctor’s office, with the various attendants petting him, prepping him, and whispering sweet blessings to him, we could tell: He was ready. That in itself is a comfort.
We will miss you, Bou! Bou was great. His previous mama told us that he was like the big silent guy who sits in the corner of the bar, not bothering anyone or looking for a fight. But, step out of line to threaten one of his own and you’ll feel just how strong he is. A cattle-herding breed, “Bou the Bouvier” was built square and broad with strong legs and hips. He was appropriately territorial – the herds of deer who wander through our yard found that out. We all enjoyed letting him chase them down to the woods – never did catch them, but boy, he liked trying!
Bou was a big, soft, curly-haired lovable 95 pound bear of a dog. He was so gentle, we never had to worry about him around the grandchildren. He was spunky and joyful and, well, healthful – right up until he wasn’t! Like my Mom
. We had him longer than we were “supposed to” when he got a 3-6 month prognosis at the beginning of April.Before I let him go, I told him that when he gets to the other side, if he sees a big German shepherd named Noah, he should say hello from us. Maybe my Mom could find Noah and bring him to meet Bou. So, I told him to look for my Mom over there too. He’ll be in good company.
Thanks Barbara and all the rest of the gang, for sharing him with us. We enjoyed each other a lot, and he was a very happy boy during his year with us!
Good-bye, sweet Bou. We'll miss your enthusiastic greetings when we arrive home, we'll miss our long walks with you in the beauty of the Virginia countryside. But you will never be far from our thoughts.
(Many people knew and loved Bou for longer than we did. If you have stories about him, or comments to add, please do!)
Copyright (c) 2010
I'm so sorry, but I am glad I got to meet him in October. What a lovable bear he was. My condolences to you and Gil and my cousins.
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Sweet Bou, I've missed him more than I can say but have been so, so thankful that you, Carrie, Gil, Seattle and Mary have been loving and cring for him this past year and all throughout his illness. Carrie, your descriiptions of his day to day activities and habits have been so vivid and familiar, that I could picture him following you around the house and settling at your feed or on the cool hearth, and jumping straight up in the air in his excitement to be fed. He was a wonderful gentle goof, a sweet and willful boy who used to try to con me into feeding him by going to door, as if he wanted to go out knowing that I would get up to let him out, only to back away toward the kitchen in the hope that I would feed him instead. If I had ever let the ploy work he would have done it incessantly. But he still tried it from time to time. I remember his joyous wrestling matches with his best buddy Stella, a wonderful Border Collie mix. He would get down on the floor to be at her level adn they would grow playfully and nip each other until they were exhausted. Then they would sack out until they started up again. When Bou was younger he would chase her with remarkable speed, but was no match for her nimble changes of direction. Even so, his agility sometimes amazed me, like the time when he lept effortlessly from the grooming table on the front porch, to the narrow railing and then onto the lawn, making a big ark of perhaps 8 feet from railing to lawn. He landed like a gazelle and bounded off to welcome the car that had driven into the driveway, containing Andrea and Stella. His one incurable habit was welcoming cars to the property, often facing them off or circling them, to the concern of the driver. He was full of personality, and humor, and affection. I am so glad that his last year was with you where he could still enjoy his walks in the country adn the love of your family. Thank you Carrie and Gill and Seattle and Mary. You were the perfect family for Bou this last year. I will remember him and all of you with the fondest of memories. We are all lucky to have had him in our lives. He was a special boy.
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Oh, Barbara he tried that get-up-get-up-get-up-I-gotta-go-out trick on us too! Then we’d open the door and he’d just stand there. He even found a variation he played on Gil. Sometimes when we did let him out, especially at night, he would go out gallivanting instead of coming back in. So, Gil started getting him back in by giving him a treat as a reward for coming back in. Well. He had Gil’s number. He started begging to go out several times a night – not cause he had to pee, but so that he could come back in and get a treat! Wily guy.
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Oh, Praise Be!! this is going to be a great Irish Wake. Let us all grab a glass of good whiskey and gather 'round to tell the great stories of Bou the Bouvier! What a grand time we shall have. So, I raise my glass to you all, Barbara, Carrie, Gil! Bless you for being the ones to give Bou a loving shelter and being the recipients of his funny and goofy and delightful ways. And I raise my glass to Bou for providing the delight and the laughter as he moves across to the other side to bring our greetings there!
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Carrie,
I'm so sorry for all of you for the loss of Bou. Seems like not so long ago you went through this with Noah. Amazing how dogs can fill up some a huge part of your heart, isn't it?
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Whew. I have to say, today is the hardest day since Tuesday. We can distract ourselves with the commute and work, but today, Friday, I work from home. Bou was always right behind my chair as I worked at my desk. Being home on Fridays was always a special treat because we got to spend the day with each other. Today, it is silent. He's not barking at the neighborhood cat or the trucks or the deer. When I took a break and glanced out the front door to the thermometer I saw 50 degrees (as opposed to the 20's we've been enduring!). I opened the do to feel the air and wanted to say, "Oh, Bou, it's beautiful! Let's go out!" Normally, he'd be out there lickey-split, whizzing in my garden and bounding around the property. But he wasn't there.
I waited for my lunch break and I took a walk outside anyway, without him. I took the same paths past the horses who all stopped to look my way and may have been wondering where my sidekick was; down the dirt road where once a woman I didn't know stopped her car, left it running and jumped out, crossing the road to come over and meet Bou. The horses in the nearby paddock (three of them) came over too. We had ourselves a little party going on there in just moments, with Bou the center of it all. Such was his "star quality." I really miss him.
This must have been what it was like for you, Barbara, in the quiet moments of solitude after you left him with us. Hard day.
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Carrie-I finally got a chance to check out some of the writings you referenced in your email, and I found this post. I am so sorry for your loss. My heart breaks for you. We just lost our beloved Belgian Shepherd before Christmas to liver failure. Sandy was 12 years old. I still expect to see her. Time and God's Grace will help, but a good cry is sometimes the best thing. I look forward to our meeting.
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Thank you for the kind thoughts and comfort. It's a beautiful phenomenon we get to experience when a family dog takes up residence in our hearts and home. How lucky are we. And man, there is a hole to fill when we have to let them go.
We lost our German Shepherd Noah at 12 1/2 years. I was reading my summary of that ["Goodbye Dear Friend" in this blog]just the other day and predictably still dissolved into a puddle of tears!
Praise God for the gift of Sandy, Noah and Bou!
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