SAYING GOOD-BYE TO OUR DOG, ABBEY

Nervous and jittery I sat down in the vet’s sterile exam room. We knew things weren’t good. A wave of emotion came over me. Not a Tsunami-like feeling– it was more like a slow and steady thunderstorm rolling in to break the tension in the air. What if our thirteen-year-old companion’s life was about to end?

How could I say good-bye?

Blood work confirmed she was in extreme kidney failure and needed to be put down ASAP. As I burst into tears I asked the doctor to please allow me to take her home for a little while to say good-bye. Once we got home we laid together on the coach for most of the afternoon. Abbey always loved being cuddled and so I held her like a baby.

Interestingly my emotions moved through like that thunderstorm. First, a down pour of tears, a real gully-washer. I felt so sad—absolutely “punched in the stomach” miserable. Then finally just as rain stops and the sun comes out, the tears finished and gratitude managed to rolled in. How LUCKY we were to have such a loving creature as part of our family. I stroked her fur and thought about our life together. She was a fiercely loyal, almost human-like companion. INTUITION RAN THROUGH HER LIKE A RIVER. She held the ability to naturally sense when someone in our family needed a hug, protection or space alone.

Who’s teaching who?
Abbey has deep knowledge to impart. She lived simply. A dog’s life– enjoying her food,  her walks and slow deep breaths while napping. She took each day as it came. She made friends effortlessly, and she never held a grudge if someone wasn’t interested in her. She ate when hungry and slept when tired.  Maybe best of all, she lived with unconditional love.

Natural instincts

I feel our pets intuitively communicate messages with us. They can teach us how to tap into our natural instincts, our own deep resource of intuition. After the family had a chance to say good-bye we took her back to the vet. It was if Abbey asked me to stay with her until she was gone. Sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, with her warm soft body wrapped up in my lap, my hand rested on her heart. I waited for the doctor to inject the serum. Her heart stopped. At that moment, I knew she was physically and spiritually gone.

A light went out

The house feels empty. With two out of our three children no longer living at home, Abbey’s energy was a welcomed comfort to our house. I miss her physical presence. I know that when you lose someone, your heart feels broken. And I suppose you never really feel completely over that.

But the good news is that time passes and we adapt to the new way of things. Just like a cut that takes time to scab over and then finally new skin appears, you somehow heal.  It’s been a couple of months since Abbey died. And now I feel ready to flip the switch and light up the house again. We are going to get a puppy.