susanne
dB
This evening at sunset, as we sat under the apple tree, our tiny friend Sophie passed away. We had already said goodbye, so every day of this past week was a stolen treasure.
Sophie came to live with us six years ago, already middle-aged. She was supposed to be a foster dog, but she had something more permanent in mind. We had our hands full with three dogs, though, including a recent adoptee, so we let her be adopted by a woman who had just lost her Maltese. When I took Sophie for a home visit, she gave me a dirty look as only she could and wouldn't have anything to do with her new owner-to-be. I knew this woman was kind and would give her a wonderful home for her, though, and gave my blessing.
As soon as she was gone, I regretted terribly having given her up.
I stayed in touch and heard what a pill Sophie had become. She would wet on the carpet and leave little offerings in the most unwelcome places. She began wandering off. One day the woman called to say that she had to move in with her son, who lived by a busy highway in Sandy. She was terrified Sophie would run off and get hit by a car, and asked if I would consider taking her back, as she knew that was what Sophie really wanted. I knew it was shat I really wanted.
So Sophie came home, determined never to be separated from me again. If any other woman dared to try to pick her up, Sophie would bark and growl ferociously (well, as ferociously as you can when you weight 9 pounds!). If I went outside and didn't take her, she would pace in from of the door, moaning the whole time.
Sophie was a Maltese/Toy Poodle mix, a mere bit of white fluff with huge eyes and a button nose -- but what she lacked in size she made up for in attitude. She was determined to knock Hillary, our Westie mix, out of her number one dog status. One night Hillary was on the bed while Sophie waited to be lifted up. She was enraged that Hillary was already up there, and leaped at her, snarling and biting. Hillary snarled back, and finally reached down, grabbed Sophie by the ear and held her in mid-air. Sophie was unphased and snarled the whole time.
While I was Sophie's person, with time she discovered, as all animals do, that Keith was the protector, especially when I did something disloyal like trimming her claws or giving her a bath. She would glare at me, then snuggle into Keith's arms with her back turned toward me.
This past winter we discovered that Sophie was diabetic and had a heart murmur. Ironically, she had type I diabetes just as I have, so we shared a ritual of twice daily injections of insulin. She hated this, but put up with it as long as I kissed and held her afterward.
For awhile, all was well. When I came home from the hospital in June and spent my days and many nights ensconced upon our lawn swing, Sophie was my constant companion. One day Keith came home from work and caught her by surprise (she was pretty much blind by then), and she leaped from the swing, ready to tear him apart, limb by limb, until she realized who he was.
By late summer, however, Sophie's health began once again to fail despite the insulin. When you weight 9 pounds, there's not much room for error. Eventually she spent all of her time lying in her bed, once or twice pulling herself out to come find me. Our vet felt that as long as she was not in pain, she would tell us when it was time. I had a talk with Sophie and told her that it was okay -- I knew she had to leave and that she didn't need to hang on for me. Almost immediately she perked, as if to say "That's what you think!"
Sadly, this improvement didn't last, and the hot weather was very hard on her. We had an appointment with Dr. Horton scheduled for Thursday, and I knew what we had to do. Sophie was not enjoying life, and I could no longer make her happy. Today as I worked, I held her on my lap, shifting her fragile body frequently to keep her as comfortable as possible. Late in the day, after it had cooled down a bit, we visited briefly with the other dogs, then went outside to sit under the apple tree beside the corrals. All four horses came to their respective gates and gently sniffed her.
The autumn sun was sinking behind the ridge, turning the leaves of the tree overhead golden. Keith had come home from work and we sat in silence. Sophie's breathing was labored; I so hated to see and feel her discomfort and I attempted to find a better position for her. She stretched once, and then she was gone.
One last time, Keith acted as her protector, checking her with his stethoscope, finding an appropriate box for a casket, and showing her to Teddy and Shadow so they would know where she had gone. He located the perfect location on our hill where she can watch over us, and dug her grave. I tucked her in an old sweater of mine -- a sweater she used to climb under when she was cold -- and we laid her gently in the box.
I'm a bit lost right now...no feedings every other hour, no holding the water dish so she could quench her thirst. We have more room in our bed, but really, a 9 pound dog doesn't take up much room. It was the size of her heart that held such a huge place in our lives.
Sophie came to live with us six years ago, already middle-aged. She was supposed to be a foster dog, but she had something more permanent in mind. We had our hands full with three dogs, though, including a recent adoptee, so we let her be adopted by a woman who had just lost her Maltese. When I took Sophie for a home visit, she gave me a dirty look as only she could and wouldn't have anything to do with her new owner-to-be. I knew this woman was kind and would give her a wonderful home for her, though, and gave my blessing.
As soon as she was gone, I regretted terribly having given her up.
I stayed in touch and heard what a pill Sophie had become. She would wet on the carpet and leave little offerings in the most unwelcome places. She began wandering off. One day the woman called to say that she had to move in with her son, who lived by a busy highway in Sandy. She was terrified Sophie would run off and get hit by a car, and asked if I would consider taking her back, as she knew that was what Sophie really wanted. I knew it was shat I really wanted.
So Sophie came home, determined never to be separated from me again. If any other woman dared to try to pick her up, Sophie would bark and growl ferociously (well, as ferociously as you can when you weight 9 pounds!). If I went outside and didn't take her, she would pace in from of the door, moaning the whole time.
Sophie was a Maltese/Toy Poodle mix, a mere bit of white fluff with huge eyes and a button nose -- but what she lacked in size she made up for in attitude. She was determined to knock Hillary, our Westie mix, out of her number one dog status. One night Hillary was on the bed while Sophie waited to be lifted up. She was enraged that Hillary was already up there, and leaped at her, snarling and biting. Hillary snarled back, and finally reached down, grabbed Sophie by the ear and held her in mid-air. Sophie was unphased and snarled the whole time.
While I was Sophie's person, with time she discovered, as all animals do, that Keith was the protector, especially when I did something disloyal like trimming her claws or giving her a bath. She would glare at me, then snuggle into Keith's arms with her back turned toward me.
This past winter we discovered that Sophie was diabetic and had a heart murmur. Ironically, she had type I diabetes just as I have, so we shared a ritual of twice daily injections of insulin. She hated this, but put up with it as long as I kissed and held her afterward.
For awhile, all was well. When I came home from the hospital in June and spent my days and many nights ensconced upon our lawn swing, Sophie was my constant companion. One day Keith came home from work and caught her by surprise (she was pretty much blind by then), and she leaped from the swing, ready to tear him apart, limb by limb, until she realized who he was.
By late summer, however, Sophie's health began once again to fail despite the insulin. When you weight 9 pounds, there's not much room for error. Eventually she spent all of her time lying in her bed, once or twice pulling herself out to come find me. Our vet felt that as long as she was not in pain, she would tell us when it was time. I had a talk with Sophie and told her that it was okay -- I knew she had to leave and that she didn't need to hang on for me. Almost immediately she perked, as if to say "That's what you think!"
Sadly, this improvement didn't last, and the hot weather was very hard on her. We had an appointment with Dr. Horton scheduled for Thursday, and I knew what we had to do. Sophie was not enjoying life, and I could no longer make her happy. Today as I worked, I held her on my lap, shifting her fragile body frequently to keep her as comfortable as possible. Late in the day, after it had cooled down a bit, we visited briefly with the other dogs, then went outside to sit under the apple tree beside the corrals. All four horses came to their respective gates and gently sniffed her.
The autumn sun was sinking behind the ridge, turning the leaves of the tree overhead golden. Keith had come home from work and we sat in silence. Sophie's breathing was labored; I so hated to see and feel her discomfort and I attempted to find a better position for her. She stretched once, and then she was gone.
One last time, Keith acted as her protector, checking her with his stethoscope, finding an appropriate box for a casket, and showing her to Teddy and Shadow so they would know where she had gone. He located the perfect location on our hill where she can watch over us, and dug her grave. I tucked her in an old sweater of mine -- a sweater she used to climb under when she was cold -- and we laid her gently in the box.
I'm a bit lost right now...no feedings every other hour, no holding the water dish so she could quench her thirst. We have more room in our bed, but really, a 9 pound dog doesn't take up much room. It was the size of her heart that held such a huge place in our lives.
Last edited by a moderator:
