It has been a rough couple of weeks.
Since mid-December, we’ve noticed Wednesday’s back legs becoming more drunken sailor-y then ever and the Prednisone and Glyco-Flex combo wasn’t seemingly helping anymore. While she’s been prone to the occasional peeing in her sleep and hate pooping in the house, we realised that much of the hate pooping had nothing to do with her supposed anger and everything to do with her having zero feeling in her lower half of her body. As her Prednisone was almost out and required a refill, I made an appointment with her vet to get a check up and warned some hard decisions were going to be made.
The vet unfortunately agreed. Wednesday’s neuropathy has gotten markedly worse since her last appointment in November, which was detrimental to her quality of life. TheHusband and I had agreed that if she could not at least do her business on her own, then it would be time. I could not keep her to assuage my broken heart; I would not want her to be so broken that my last memories of her are one of her in pain.
TheHusband and I had been down this road before numerous times in the last few years, where we think it’s time to put her down only to have her a miraculous recovery.
But this time, there is no recovery. There is no drug, surgery, or physical therapy that can save her.
Because the last few years had been so touch and go, I thought I had cried all I could cry for this dog. I had long come to terms with her near death, but it was not until this appointment it had really hit home.
I cried all through the vet appointment, cried on the phone with TheHusband on arranging the date, cried while pumping gas, and then cried so hard the rest of the day that my eyes were raw and my cheeks were stained.
While getting ready to leave for therapy appointment Thursday morning, I cried in the shower. While getting dressed, I got my jeans up to my knees before I fell on the bed and started crying so hard I started hiccuping.
I called into work sick.
After coming home from therapy, where I cried some more, I walked into TheHusband’s office where my heart broke in half again for when ThePug saw me, she stopped cleaning her paws, her tail starts wagging, and she attempts to push herself out of her bed happily to come greet me, only she could barely climb over the small hump of her pillow.
Two days later, I’m still crying.
After the vet appointment on Wednesday and when I came home from therapy on Thursday, Wednesday and I spent the whole day in bed. She was ever joined at my left hip, while I aimlessly tried to do some work and watch Britishisms.
I can’t find Wednesday’s origin story, but I know I’ve written about it somewhere in the thousands of files that document my life. She was born to the first litter of a sire and dame, Linus and Lucy, were owned by ExFiance #2’s aunt and uncle. They had been trying to breed Linus and Lucy for ages and when it finally happened, they opted to give the pups away to see how they would do.
I remember driving to their house when it was time to pick out a puppy and I wasn’t terribly keen on the idea of a dog. I didn’t fancy myself a dog or a cat person, pets seemed to be too much responsibility and commitment. I could barely keep human relationships going, getting a pet seemed to be too much trouble then it could be worth.
I sat on the kitchen floor, puppies scampering and sniffing me until all but one wandered off. Wednesday took one look at me, climbed into my lap, nuzzled my hand and fell promptly asleep.
That was it. I had been chosen.
Several weeks later, we picked her up and brought her home. Soon later, we would adopt her sister and brother, whom I would re-home in 2008 when I could not find a living space to take all four of us.
For nearly 14 years, 1/3rd of my life, this dog has been my best friend, my constant companion, my confidant, and nothing less but a four legged fur extension of myself.
I had calculated during her entire life time, we have not been apart for more than two months. Total.
Wednesday taught me about responsibility, laughter, and patience. She gave me unconditional love, never asked for anything other than to be my side now matter where I am. If I’m sitting in my office, vacuuming carpet, or in the kitchen making coffee, she’s always where I am. The click of her nails against the floor as she follows me from room to room, the pitter patter of pug feet TheHusband says, will always been an echo of her presence.
She taught me how to love. Without her, and her brother and sister but especially her, I would never have taken chances on relationships, learned to open my heart, and learned how be vulnerable. Without her, I never would have taken a second chance on TheHusband.
She is everything to me.
P.S. Her euthanasia appointment is scheduled on February 1 as I knew if I had pulled the trigger the day we were at the vet, I would not have been able to drive home. In retorspect, knowing there is a definite time and hour she’s going to be killed has made it a lot worse than ripping the band aid. For two days I’ve been near inconsolable about her upcoming death and I expect as time marches on and on the day it happens, I will be besides myself.
We are going to be with her when they put her down. We’re opting to have her cremated and she’ll have a urn so that she’s with us always. I had joked about giving her a viking funeral, but TheHusband is pretty sure we might go to jail if we tried.
TheHusband is working on her obit, which I’ll be posting at the time of her death.
While I may not have responded to everyone who gave their condolences, I do want to thank you all for your sympathy and love. Knowing that she was beloved by so many has been comforting.