It is Never OK to Lose a Friend

                          “It is never ok to lose a friend.”  

                                                             Nancy Pecsok

No, it isn’t. Nancy could not have summed it up better.  It doesn’t matter if that friend is furry and barks or is hairless and walks upright. 

Gracie Allen, as we dubbed her, was our first fur-baby as a married couple.  Ernie inherited my pups Max, Shadow and Gus, but Max died shortly after our honeymoon.  Gracie came into our lives a few years later. 

A furry pup with boundless energy and a direct stare that early on reflected her intelligence and fearlessness. Of course we fell in love with her and that love affair never ended. She was Ernie’s running companion, sofa-mate and canine love. She was protector of our household, guardian against strangers, FedEX trucks and men with hats. Gracie demanded attention, noticed everything, spoke incessantly, slept fitfully, pranced, ran, danced and commanded respect. Her ears would rotate like radar, listening to everything, always on alert.  Gracie knew tricks, but couldn’t be bothered, was an agility champion, but became bored with the repetition, herded us all until we insisted it was rude.  She believed her job was to protect us and I believe it is what kept her here for so long. She didn’t want to retire and even at the end, she was not pleased that her body was giving up with a vengeance. 

I had to make that call, to end her life with assistance.  It will torture me, although in my head I know with all certainty it was humane. Every weekend when she saw her human daddy, she would rally the energy to pretend nothing was getting to her.  But during the week she would physically decline.  Getting around was more difficult and I could see her heart pumping through her ribs. The tumor had made it difficult for Gracie to breathe and eat and whatever nutrition she was receiving must have been gobbled up by that foreign creature in her throat.  Half of her body weight was gone.  

Even as we sat in the vet’s office, waiting for that last injection, she’d look at me, panting heavily, as if to say, “I don’t have to leave now...I can stay. I am willing to stay.”  

Well I was, too, willing for her to stay, but her body was done. I have no doubt she could have continued and now thankfully I will never know what kind of pain or torture she’d be willing to suffer to remain with us. Gracie never once indicated that she was suffering.  I can’t help but believe she was, and enduring it all with the silent grace that was her legacy. 

Gracie Allen, Pooterhead, Baby Girl, our pooh-bear.  Oh my goodness we miss her so.  I know she’s hovering around, still guarding us all, but at least she’s shed that dilapidated body that no longer served her sweet soul.