For the Life of Gracie

May 3rd, I thought was going to be her last day with me. 

Gracie was ill.  She’s already about 20 pounds underweight and although I’ve managed to keep enough calories in her to prevent further loss, she will never gain any back.  Her bones feel skeletal, although with her gorgeous hair you don’t see it right away.  I don’t know how she manages to walk, with what little muscle still graces her body.  So when Gracie is ill, it’s a huge deal.  She was not keeping down her force-fed breakfast, did not want to eat, slept all day.  By evening, she was completely restless, alternating with completely passed out. She insisted on being outside,  (not normal) laying in the grass, (not normal) and when she laid her head down, ears back and wouldn’t lift her body or head for me, there was only one choice.  

As I hovered over her asking her, the Universe, myself, “is it time?” the panic began to rise in me.  I told her I would happily let her go, in our peaceful yard, if indeed that’s what was happening, BUT I would not say goodbye until I knew her body was shutting down.  I lifted her up and carried her to my van, crying over the potential outcome and the stress of having to tell her human daddy what was taking place.  We headed to emergency vet care.

This story isn’t about death.  It’s about listening. It isn’t about power and decision making, it’s about honor.  Honoring the life of a creature in my care and doing what is right for her, not what is easiest for me.  I feel the same about humans.  No one has the right to decide for another when it’s time to die. We all pray that nature decides for us, but that is quite actually rare when it comes to our pets. I hate that word.  Pet.  It indicates my fur-family is property, which in legal terms they are.  But turning them into property gives me permission to do all sorts of things to them, if I were so inclined, that no living being should be able to do to another.  Right now, it certainly would make my life easier if I simply took her to my vet and had her euthanized. 

Gracie came home with me that night, walking into the back yard as if I had made a big deal out of nothing.  Over the next week, antibiotics helped kick a nasty stomach virus. Blood work and her behavior 2 weeks later returned to normal.  I am ecstatic that I listened, that I did not leap to conclude that she was dying because of her age, condition and listlessness that early May night.  If there is anything I’ve learned collectively from my furkids, current and former, it’s about honoring life even in it’s final, not-so-easy stages.  My Gracie stubbornly kicks ass!  and I believe she will always. I chuckle in fascination at her stubborn ability to do anything, everything, her way, so when she does leave it will still be terrifyingly difficult, but it will be on her terms, not mine, if I can at all help it.