Her Place

 Georgia never had her own bed or her own place.

Cecelia never had her own bed or her own place.

We had four different "big" dog beds strewn around the house.  We had a few blankets thrown over a couple of the beds.  Our home has hard wood floors, so we have rugs of different make, model, material and size.  

Our big dogs slept wherever, whenever.

But Dolce was different.  

I don't remember exactly when we bought her dog bed and blanket.  I don't remember where she slept before we bought her dog bed and blanket, but Dolce did have her own bed. Her own blanket.  Her own place.

Mark and I love street fairs, farmer's markets, etc., and Las Cruces has a great one.  Each weekend, I believe.  We often went because THE BEST kettle corn, by far, was found at the Las Cruces farmer's market.  We would stroll the market eating our kettle corn.  Oftentimes we would take Dolce with us.

On one of those days, we saw it.  

Her bed.  

We knew it was perfect, and we snatched it up 

Followed by a trip to Wal-Mart where I bought a baby blanket to go in her bed.

That was probably fifteen years ago, and it has been her bed since.

No telling how many times I washed both, but the bed always held its shape, and the blanket faded very little.

They were hers from then on, and she loved them.

I later bought her another bed, so she, too, could have multiple beds in multiple locations, and, while she did try it out and use it a time or two, she remained faithful to "her" bed.  

When we moved into this house about eight years ago, I placed her bed down in the living room, and that is where it stayed each day.

I would move her bed each night and place her right next to my bed.  Mark tucks me in every night, and every single night, I would say, "Don't step on her.  She's little."  And pretty much every night, Mark would roll his eyes and say, "I know she's there.  I won't step on her."  And I would laugh and pat her goodnight and snuggle into my own blankets.

Then each morning, I would move her bed back to its rightful place in the living room.  

Where it remained.

Until this past Thursday.

When I took Dolce to the vet that terrible, horrible, no-good day, I took her in her bed.  Blanket and all.  

I told the vet the bed and blanket went with her.  That's how it had to be.

And now her bed is gone.

And her place is empty.

Her Scent

 I sit in my recliner, and I can still smell her there with me. 

If we were at home, unless I was outside or in bed, we were in my recliner.

Together 

Always

And now I sit there, alone, and I smell her scent.

She's in the blanket.

She's in the leather.

Over time her scent will fade.

Eventually I will forget her smell.

But for now, for today, I smell her.

And it makes me so happy.

And it tears me apart.

Letting Her Go

 I wanted, with everything in me, to keep her here.

God said, "Let her go."

"I can't", I told Him, "I can't lose this one.  Not this one."

"Yes", He said.  "You can."

"Let her go.", He repeated.

And, in the end, the only way I could let her go, is because I know God has me.

Dolce .... Run Wild, Run Free

 We thought it was an ordinary Wednesday.

It was not.

Morning routine.  Very much the same.  Very mundane.

Wake little Dolce up, take her outside to potty.  Let her walk around the house as she waits for her breakfast.

Make her breakfast.  She eats.

After breakfast oftentimes she would go lie down again.  Take her morning nap.  Not always, but more times than not.

All good at home, so ran into work to do the books.

Come back a bit later.  I don't work Wednesdays, because Wednesday afternoons I help Jenni shuffle kids to various activities.

As I am sitting around that morning, I noticed something "off" with Dolce.  Can't really put my finger on it, but she is not herself.

Hmmm.

I take her outside to potty.

She doesn't go.

Hmmm.

That is unusual, because almost every single time I take her out, she "goes" even if it is simply a trickle.  Not this time.

I bring her back in. Throughout the morning I watch her.  She is lying in her bed, but she is not sleeping.  Her eyes are open.  She is still.  She is in bed.  Not sleeping.

About time for me to leave.  I take her for a potty break before I go.  As before, she walks around, but she never goes potty.

I'm concerned, but it's time to go.

Mark promises to keep an eye on her.

I leave.

Thankfully, I get home early evening that day.  

Again, Dolce is in her bed.  Still.  Quiet.  But not sleeping.  I pick her up and just hold her close to me.  

Mark informs me she did eat lunch, but not supper.  (As she was getting older, she was eating less at a time. We gave her smaller meals, but more often, because she was just so skinny.) He said she walked to her food, but just stared at it; like she didn't know what to do.  He also informed me she had still not gone potty.

I held her.

And held her.

And held her.

She was my entire evening. 

Mark had been working up in the attic all day, he is replacing all the insulation, and he wanted to go relax in the hot tub.  He asked me if I wanted to join him.  "I'm not putting her down", was my reply.  

When it was time for bed, I did put her in her own bed, and then I placed her bed next to mine. As I did each night. (**sidenote:  I did buy her a second bed.  One for the living room;  one for the bedroom.  She never liked the second bed as much, so I moved "her" bed to the bedroom each night and back to the living room each morning.**) I spent the night on my stomach watching her, petting her, speaking to her.  She finally did sleep.  I suppose I dozed at some point, but I know I didn't "sleep".  I was too concerned with her.

Another thing she did Wednesday.  Mark told me about it, but I forgot until I was writing about her night. As Dolce aged, she would get "lost" or "stuck".  She was never physically lost or stuck, but in her head, to her, she was absolutely stuck or completely lost .. and she would cry out.  Well she did that Wednesday afternoon once or twice, but she was in her own bed when she did so. That caught Mark's attention.  She did it only once in the night, but she did cry out.  I'm not sure what that means.  Was she just lost in her head?  Did she not know where she was?  Was she in pain?  As soon as I spoke, she quit crying.  That leads me to think she was more "lost" than in pain, but what do I know?

I spent the night watching her and watching the clock.  I knew the vet opened at 8:00am, and I knew we would be there.

I did not want to go.

I did not want to make this trip.

I knew I would not be bringing my baby home.

It took EVERYTHING in me to load her into my car and make that trip.

I told God I could not lose this one.

I told God, He was gonna have to give me strength, because I could not do it.

We made the trip.

I walked into that clinic at 8:00am looking disheveled with red, swollen eyes as I carried my dog in, bed and all.  

Every eye in that clinic looked at me.  

Every face grew concerned.

I blurted out, "I don't have an appointment!"

They told me they would get me a room. 

For some reason I just kept saying it between sobs, "But I don't have an appointment!"

They put me in a room.

They took such good care of not only Dolce, but me too.

The vet thinks Dolce had a stroke.  She informed me that Dolce still had a strong heartbeat, but that she was numb on one side of her body.  The entire side.  The vet would pinch and poke, and Dolce gave no reaction. 

When did she have the stroke?  She was already not herself Wednesday morning, but she was up walking and eating until the afternoon.  She didn't eat supper, but she was still walking.  I don't know.  And I never will know.

The vet said we could pump her full of steroid shots.  "This is Thursday.  We can pump her full today and see how she is tomorrow."

And for a moment, I was considering it.

I was seriously considering it.

**sidenote:  When Georgia was dying, we took all the heroic efforts.  We tried anything and everything.  She was our girl, and we would try anything to save her.  In the end, it only prolonged her "suffering".  I promised myself I would never do that again.**

And here I was .... considering it.

Again, it took God and everything inside of me to look at that vet and tell her to put my baby down.  

She took Dolce away to put a catheter in her little leg.  She brought her back to me and said we would do it whenever I was ready.

I called Mark, told him what we were about to do.  Asked him to come quickly.  

While waiting on Mark, I pet my baby and told her that soon she would feel better.  Soon she would be running wild.  Running free. We were just waiting on daddy.

Mark came in...

The vet came in...

And my precious little Dolce left this world 

Oh, how I hope she found Georgia.

Oh, how I hope they are running together.

Life Lately ... the Dolce chapter continues

 This is the last photo I took of Dolce.

Like many "lasts", I didn't know it would be my last.  

I laughed, because she often would try and sleep on the "big dog" beds, which we (obviously) still have around the house, even though we no longer have any big dogs.

All too often, she would climb up, walk around on the dog bed, snuggle in, make herself comfortable... only to slide right off.  

I would laugh at her and move her to her own smaller dog bed.

Tuesday brought a nice, cold morning.  All the animals had been fed and were sleeping in different areas of the house all safe and warm.

I took a picture of each of them in their respective snuggling spots.

This one made me happy, and I believe I even laughed.  Said something to the effect of "good for you!", because she had managed to sleep on the big dog bed without sliding off.  

I wonder if she was proud of herself. (?)

That was Tuesday morning.

Today it took everything in me to allow that doctor to euthanize her, when inside my head I was screaming, "No.  No.  No!!!"

The vet thinks she may have had a stroke.

I don't know.

I'll write more about it and her in days to come, but, I was up almost all night with her, so for now, I'm gonna be sad and cry myself to sleep.