It is the hardest day of pet ownership -- the day your little friend and family member dies. We had to live that day twice this year. There are parts of me that are still grieving those two losses.
In July, we lost Mister, our very orange 16 1/2 year old Shiba Inu.
He died peacefully on July 20th, his head on Chris's knee. The worst day was made even harder by the fact that we chose to let him go; he had been suffering the lingering effects of old-dog vestibular disease for eight months, and was having a hard time standing up and walking anymore. We kept hoping that he would go "naturally" in the night at home, but as our vet pointed out, our pets don't live "natural" lives at all -- we keep them alive through events that would kill them in nature. Still, that's small comfort when you're carrying your best animal friend into the vet's office and making the choice to not be able to take them home alive.
But as time passed, we saw how lucky we were to have him in our lives for all this time. He was 16 1/2 years old and had lived in Ohio, Indiana, Colorado, Texas, New York, and Massachusetts. He'd traveled with us across the country and modeled for
a published book. At age 11, he survived a four-pound tumor and an emergency splendectomy, and at age 16, he survived vestibular disease. We could not have asked for anything more from our time with him.
Except for more time.
A month later, we lost Merrell, our yellow canary, who was at least 6 years old.
We never knew exactly how old he was, because he came to us as a surprise gift from the universe on a Brooklyn street corner on my birthday in 2004. We took in the beautiful little stray and named him after the shoebox we put him in to take him to the pet store for a real cage. He is still the most beautiful canary I have ever seen. He had a talent for knowing when our cell phones were about to ring -- he would start to "meep" and sing up a glorious storm, and seconds later, one of our phones would light up, receiving a call. In exchange for his beauty and song, he asked for nothing more than bird seed, broccoli and greens, and a good bird bath.
In his last few months, he needed more medical care, including tiny injections of antibiotics, which he allowed us to administer, incredibly enough. With his care came more contact time with him, which he had been skittish about until this year. I'm grateful for those times spent with his tremulous little body perched on my finger, feeling his trust in me and mine in him.
He died unexpectedly on the way home after a routine vet visit on August 24th, very quickly and (hopefully) easily.
They both died in my first trimester of pregnancy. I tried very hard not to take this the wrong way (ie. our future baby is an animal killer!). Instead, I take their departures as an acknowledgment of all the time we shared, and of the new human life that is coming in, ready to benefit from all the lessons that Mister and Merrell taught me -- lessons about loving with your heart wide open, taking daily care of another being, and letting go in love when it's time.
I know that they were two animal angels in my life. I will love them forever.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010 at 12:47AM 
