Saying goodbye to Lacey

Yesterday, we had to say goodbye to Lacey, and it was one of, if not the saddest days of my life.

First, some back-story:

This is Lacey.

She’s been part of our family since I was 10 or so. She was ancient, almost 18 years old. That’s impressive for any dog, but moreso if you consider that she was mostly beagle, and they usually only live to be 12 on average.

She’s a sweet dog. She’s got a lot of personality, and she was always very warm and caring toward people. Whenever anyone was sick, she was always nearby.

Recently, her health has been waning. The ravages of time and old age were clearly getting the best of her. She went deaf, she developed arthritis in her hip, and she could barely use her back legs. Still, she was pretty energetic and her mind was still clear.

Until last week.

I woke up last Friday to a text from Crystal saying Lacey had had a seizure the night before. I laid in bed crying for 10 or 20 minutes. I can’t really remember clearly a time when Lacey wasn’t a part of our family. She’s like a sister.

For the few weeks preceding the seizure, she’d been throwing up and refusing to eat. She’d even refused cheese from me a few times. It was easy to ignore it, though. Everyone gets an upset stomach now and then, and it was way too upsetting to think she might be seriously ill. She still seemed mostly ok, for an almost 18 year old dog, anyway.

But the seizure makes it real. The seizure can’t be ignored or played down. I went over to see her during lunch that day. Mom and Crystal were both home. Lacey was laying on her bed, covered in a blanket. She wouldn’t move at all. She didn’t even lift her head when I came over, she just moved her eyes. She’d occasionally twitch. Mom said she’d vomited some blood and lost control of her bladder during the seizure, but that she’d eaten a little food this morning without throwing it up, which is good. I sat there and petted her for 20 minutes or so, and tried to appear strong. She kept looking at me with very sad eyes. When I thought I was about to start crying, I went to wash my hands and said I had to get back to work.

In the bathroom, I almost lost control. Then I heard Lacey yelping. I came out to see her limping around mom’s bed, occasionally crying. I tried to pet her but she cried when I touched her. She tried to climb off of the bed, but couldn’t. Mom helped her down. She was having a lot of trouble walking. She wandered around the room, then down the hall to the front door, like she always does when she needs to pee. I tried to pet her sides like I usually do when I come in the door and she’s standing there, wondering who’s knocking, wagging her tail. She just fell down. I felt awful. Mom let her out, and she went down the porch steps, almost losing her footing. She really did have to pee, and that made me laugh for some reason.

I recorded a short video of her walking around the yard, noticed Buddy had come home, said bye to mom and Lacey, got in the car, and immediately started crying. I cried the whole way back to work (which isn’t long, maybe 2 minutes) and then sat in the car in my parking spot and cried more, trying to hide it in case any coworkers were out.

That afternoon, mom took her to the vet, where she got some pain medication and they did some blood tests. The next day, they called and confirmed that her kidneys were failing, badly, and that they could put her in the hospital and give her fluids, which might buy her a few days, but the stress from being in there for that long, away from mom, would do her more harm than good.

I went over early Sunday morning to see her. I spent about 30 minutes with her, petting her. She seemed so sick, so tired. It hurt to see her that way. She’d occasionally move around, but not very much.

I took some heartbreaking pictures of mom kissing her nose.

Yesterday, I woke up to a txt from mom saying that Lacey had had a very bad night, and that she saw she had no choice but to put her to sleep. I offered to take her instead of waiting for Buddy to get off of work. I wanted to be there when she died, but at the same time, I wished I could ignore it, because I knew it would break mine and mom’s hearts. I felt like it was my responsibility, though, since I was the oldest.

I went over to mom’s at 11:15. Lacey was laying on the floor near her bed, barely able to lift her head up. I pet her for a while, trying not to cry. Then, way too soon, mom said we should go. I said “already?” and the tears were harder to fight back. She picked her up, we walked out to the van, and we were both starting to cry. She sat with her in the back. Crystal drove, and I looked out the window and tried to be as discreet as possible while wiping my tears. She used to love riding in cars. She’d always get really excited when she heard keys jingling. This was the last ride she’d ever take.

We kept hitting red lights, and I was beyond thankful for every one that bought us more time with her, even though I couldn’t look at her without feeling like the dam was going to burst. Mom realized she’d forgotten her purse. I offered to pay.

We got there, and Mary-Anne was waiting for us. Mom got Lacey out of the van, we hesitated a bit. Her face was a little more animated now, almost like she wasn’t sick at all, but I know it was just fear and adrenaline. She hated going to the vet. We walked in, weighed her, and filled out some paperwork. The woman at the desk was very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, and I was trying very hard not to fall apart. It cost $196, and after I handed her my card, I immediately felt regret and guilt, like it was my fault, I was making it happen. I paid $200 to kill Lacey and burn her body.

We sat and pet her for a while. She was sitting on mom’s lap. Everyone was crying to various degrees. Then they called us back to a room (the same room they had examined Harley in when she had that abscess, by the way) and we laid her on a towel. We sat there for maybe 20 minutes, petting her, telling stories, kissing her forehead. She twitched now and then, and seemed to drift in and out of sleep.

At one point she dry-heaved a little, and I noticed that her slobber was kind of brown. I was barely able to keep myself together. Every few minutes I’d feel a swell of anguish rise up in me, and my body would shake, and my tears would force their way through, and my whole face would bunch up and quiver. I cried the entire time, never taking my eyes off of her, always petting her. Every time I heard a noise near the door, I willed them to wait longer. Everyone else seemed to want them to hurry, saying it was torture. I can understand this, since they all believe in heaven, and believed it would be a blessing for her to die and move on to a happier place. I don’t share that belief. For me, this was it, and I didn’t want it to be, so every second was a gift. I kissed her on the forehead, and I regretted all the times I hadn’t taken the time to do that, saying she smelled or was dirty.

When the doctor and assistant finally came in, she was going through the normal schpiel, and I heard her filling the syringe with the anesthetic. I lost it. I tried my best to control my crying, but it came freely. Death was imminent and real. The assistant pet her roughly, formally, since I guess they’re used to animals fighting it. Lacey just laid there until the needle actually penetrated her skin. When that happened, she lifted her head and turned away from it, and we all tried to reassure her, but she was clearly afraid. I rubbed the side of her cheek, just under her ear. She always loved that. The injection went in so slowly. I stared at it, wishing it wouldn’t work, until it was empty and Lacey seemed to be sleeping. The doctor listened to her heart, everyone was crying but trying not to. She said “She’s gone”, we all cried, then her legs and tail started to spasm, and I had to turn away. I couldn’t bear to watch. I cried very hard, and I think Mary-Anne hugged me.

She just lay there, like she was sleeping. I’d seen her sprawled out on the floor in exactly that pose so many times. They couldn’t get her eyes to close… They were half open, lazy and clear, still seemingly full of life. She was still warm. We all cried. I hugged mom. The doctor left. The assistant said she had some clay and could make a mold of her paw, and went off to get it. We stood there crying, petting her, not able to believe she was really gone. The assistant came back, clipped her nails, and made the impression. They all laughed about how long her nails had been, how much she’d hated having them clipped, and how the only way she’d have let it be done was to die. We stayed with her for a while, petting and kissing her, then left.

I cried the entire way home. It felt so wrong to leave her there. She wouldn’t have wanted to be away from mom, even in death. It felt wrong that she died in a place that she hated so much. Everything about it felt wrong.

I stayed at mom’s for about an hour. I couldn’t stop crying. I kept seeing her out of the corner of my eye, laying on the couch, or at mom’s feet, or sitting at the fridge begging for cheese. I kept thinking about how I’d never see her greeting me at the door when I came over, or rolling around in the dirt in the front yard, or getting so excited whenever I got up and walked toward the kitchen, thinking she was going to get some cheese. I’d never see a dining room chair mysteriously move back and forth while she used it to scratch her back. I’d never see her ears perk up and her head cock when she heard a weird noise, never be grossed out when she licked some wound on my arm, never ever be able to give her another piece of cheese. I felt sick over all the times that she’d wanted one and I said no.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I saw that Buddy was home, so I left. I’d barely said a word the entire time, for fear of losing control. Once I got in the car, though, I cried my fucking eyes out. I almost wrecked a couple of times. I continued crying most of the way home.

Before all of this happened, I thought frequently about how awful this would be.  I thought that somehow, by thinking about it now, it would lessen the impact when it actually happened. I was very, very wrong. Lacey was more than just a pet. She was a member of the family. I have very few memories that predate her. She’s always been there, and now she’s not, and we’re all heartbroken.