Requiem

This is not an easy post to write. Sandy, our beloved 16 year-old Golden Retriever, will probably be put down today. You've read me referring to her as 'DamnDog' but that's just my habit of using aliases for family members and not a reflection on her place in the family or my heart.

Sandy was a birthday present for Tri-Daughter #3's 6th birthday. She was housebroken from the day we brought her home, and a true exemplar of the breed: well-behaved, smart, loving, friendly all the time yet protective when she needed to be. Hopelessly outmatched by the rabbits in our yard she was still a good sport about making sure the bunnies got their exercise.

The Puppy Sandy started out sleeping in the kitchen but that lasted about a week. One night, when I came downstairs to see why she was making such a racket, she dashed right past me and up the stairs, curled up at the foot of the bed, sighed contentedly and closed her eyes. And that's where she slept for the next 15 years.

So many memories. Vacations in the Upper Peninsula and Sandy right behind us as we jumped off the dock into Crooked Lake's cold waters, doing her best lifeguard imitation, paddling out to each of us in turn, making sure we were OK. She was my high-spirited companion on late-night snow-shoveling excursions, chasing each shovel-full as I threw it and sharing the beers I stashed in snowbanks to keep 'em cold.

I remember the time she chewed up my Dad's supply of oil paints; she pooped rainbows for a week. And the time she wolfed down a dozen chocolate muffins. Chocolate can kill a dog by causing its heart to race, so the vet suggested making her throw up via a dose of Ipecac. Hmmm. Puking is something dogs seem to do rather naturally, but have you ever tried to MAKE a dog throw up? Well, don't unless it's a crisis.

T-D #3 called me this morning from the Great Suburban Outback. Increasingly arthritic and weak, Sandy can no longer stand or move and is in obvious pain when someone tries to assist. The vet says we're out of options. I'm sorry T-D #3 has to shoulder this burden alone. We were hoping Sandy would make it to Thanksgiving and one last family gathering, but she's suffering and, well, it may be time. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Goodbye Sandy, my faithful friend and companion. Thanks for gracing our lives with your gentle spirit.

Update: It's done. Tri-Daughter #3 text-messaged that she gave Sandy a farewell hug for me.

No iPod shufle today. Not in the mood.