This week Bailey had her last treats, her last cuddles, and then finally her last car ride.
On Tuesday morning, something went wrong. She couldn't control one of her legs. I sent Zeb a video and he said to take her to the vet.
The vet said what I had already been thinking, and Zeb said the same thing when I called him.
She's not suffering.
Something is wrong.
We can't really fix it.
With all of that combined, we had to make the really painful decision to say goodbye. There was no way to keep her safe, and no one wanted to wait until she was injured or in pain.
Zeb and I have been talking about this for a few months now as we watched her decline. The past few weeks have been increasingly difficult, as we constantly adjusted her diet when she would stop eating every few days. She was getting so skinny, and there was nothing we could do.
On Sunday I had called my friend Claire, who's a vet, and asked for her thoughts, and processed through how to even approach my concerns and questions.
On Monday I had called the local vet we've been going to for the past few years, and asked what end-of-life care would mean. And then I called my dad and asked if, someday, we could bury Bailey on the farm. I called my mom and Tristan to just let them know that things would be changing someday.
I texted Zeb, "I hope that's all okay with you?
I might be jumping the gun a bit"
Apparently I was not.
We thought we would have a few weeks. We got one more day.
After the trip to the vet on Tuesday morning, Bailey was feeling better. She had been slowly improving over the morning, but we didn't know if/when she might have another episode. I told the vet that I had family that wanted to say their goodbyes, and we scheduled for Wednesday morning.
I called friends and family to let them know, and some of Bailey's favorite people came to share support, treats, cuddles, and tears. It was a bit of an open house. For parts of the day she was more alert than she had been in weeks. At other points she was too tired to even accept treats.
After everyone left I sat on her little couch and just sobbed. I slept on her couch, holding her all night.
In the morning she got time to bask in the sunshine, sitting in the hammock with Zeb. And then we had to go. We left a bit early so we could take her for a drive, one last time.
The vet clinic took really good care of us, but it was so fast. We were holding her, she was just sleepy, nestled in her blanket... and then she was gone. They wrapped her in the blanket we brought-- the first one I had ever bought for her, and we headed to the farm. My parents met us, down by the creek, near where we buried Hannah's dog Chiron, under the trees. My mom brought scissors so I could cut a scrap from the blanket, and chairs and water so we could take our time. My dad dug a hole, and laid Bailey to rest, and laid a stone that perfectly fit the rose they had brought.
They quietly left, and Zeb and I sat there and cried.
In many ways I am so grateful.
I'm grateful for the friends that love both Bailey and us so well. For the vet staff that have taken good care of her over the years. For my parents being so considerate, especially while they're in the busy season of harvest.
I'm mostly grateful that we had a clear opportunity to make this decision, without Bailey needing to suffer.
But when I see the blanket, crumpled on her couch, or the gate that we don't need to close anymore... When it's been hours and hours and I still haven't let her outside... When I don't know what to do with myself and I get ready to sit and hold her for a little while....
I'm not grateful at all.
I got Bailey when I was 17, as I was moving out and starting to create a life for myself. We've been through some really hard times together, and had a lot of sweet moments. She taught me so much about caring for and protecting and cherishing the little things.
I've never been an adult without her. I don't really know how, honestly. I'm not sure what to do with myself now.
I don't need to check on her, so there's no reason to get out of bed on heavy mornings. And mornings are very heavy right now.
Our schedule isn't punctuated by potty breaks and food prep and a structured bedtime. I can look at pictures of her little face, but I'll never kiss it again.
But as I lay in bed last night, curled up against Zeb, crying, I whispered "She was so worth it."
The struggle of seeing her decline, and the hurt of this loss is so worth it, for the 9 precious years I got to have.
I hope dogs make it to Heaven, but even if not, I'm grateful for the privilege of loving Bailey for the time that we did have together.
-Dolly