Our elderly dachshund Guinevere, the matriarch of the clan, has had health problems for the last few years due to the pancreatitis she gave herself by raiding too many garbage cans. In the last few months, her health took a nose dive, and her quality of life deteriorated. She slept most of the day, skipped many of her meals, couldn’t control her hind legs well, had trouble navigating even small stairs, and often seemed confused and dazed. We considered taking her to the vet for that last trip then, but she seemed to bounce back a little. The vet examined her, concluded that she had had some sort of neural event—stroke, maybe—and told us that we were basically down to palliative care for her.
Today was the day we had been dreading for a while. She got up, refused her food, went back to her bed and spent the morning alternating between crying in obvious pain and walking around the house on failing hind legs. It was a heartbreaking sight, and we decided that she had no quality of life left. So I let her take one last nap with me on the bed upstairs while I said good-bye. Then Robin came home from work to put her into the car and take her for that last drive to the vet, to render her dog of almost fifteen years that last service. Guinevere is no longer in pain.
This dog was the most magnificent example of her breed I have ever met. Super-smart, stubborn, combative, yet loving and loyal. She gave birth to seventeen puppies and lived to her last day with three of them, plus one granddog, as the boss of a happy little pack. She raided many trashcans, fought many battles—against other dogs, poultry, small furry critters, and once even a fully-grown raccoon—and never backed down from a fight.
I always said she was too tough and mean to die, but of course I was wrong. The fight against her ailing older body was the one battle she couldn’t win in the end. We will miss her dearly, none more than Robin, who took her home as a little puppy in 1997, and who has been her companion for almost fifteen years. Guinevere vetted me for the position of mate for her human when I met Robin, and she has been a part of my life for ten years, but she was my wife’s dog first and always.
Farewell, Miss Guin, Battle-Bitch, destroyer of trash receptacles, eater of lobster shells, implacable foe of furry wildlife. You’ve had a good and full life, and the house won’t quite be the same without you to guard it.
Deepest condolences. I sometimes complain about this fuzzy little blanket stealer currently resting under the covers beside me, but I know I’ll miss him when he’s gone.
I’m sorry, guys. She was a great dog. It was a pleasure and honor to have the chance to meet her.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. She was a gorgeous doxie! I know it’s hard, and it’s hard with each one we lose. It’s especially hard with the ‘favorite children’. I lost my favorite dog eight years ago this month, and I still get teary thinking about it. But time heals, and her babies and grand-dog are there to comfort you, along with the precious memories you have. It is little condolence, I know. But know that every dog lover on the Typosphere mourns with you tonight.
May peace and comfort be with your family.
-Anna.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I had 2 beautiful hounds that were 12 when they died, it’s taken me 4 years to be able to have another dog. They take a piece of your heart with them when they go, but it’s still worth the pain to have them in your life.
I’m so sorry Marko. My dog Ozzy’s up there too, I’ll bet he and Guinivere are chasing around having a good time.
Gerry N.
I’m sorry, Marko. 🙁
Kipling said it quite well:
The Power of the Dog
by
Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie–
Perfect passsion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart to a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find–it’s your own affair–
But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone–wherever it goes–for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long–
So why in–Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
My condolences to you and yours – if you have a heart, losing a dear pet is going to hurt.
I need to talk to someone about the onions they keep cutting up in here.
Always sad and awful.
There is always hope….
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….
Author unknown…
I’m so sorry.
Oh, no!
I’m so sorry, y’all. 🙁
My condolences to you and your family. Been through this twice, and it was heart-wrenching both times. Shortly after the second (a Bichon we had named Max) had been helped to pass, our then six-year-old daughter was in the back yard with my wife on a cloudy, dreary day. A sunbeam peeked through, shining onto the lawn near to the two of them, and my daughter told my wife, “That’s Max, telling us he’s okay.” Still can’t tell that story (16 years later) without tearing up.
We’ll raise a toast to long, full lives and happy memories tonight.
Geez, that hurts. Sorry for your loss.
I’m so sorry to you and your family. 🙁
Marko and Robin, my condolences. It’s a hard thing, They are our kin.
Sorry, Marko & Robin; our condolences.
Sorry to hear the news = ( Always hard to say goodbye to the furry members of the family even though you know you will have to some day. . .