all the moments

Saturday, December 29, 2007

my best friend Jake

I've run the gamut of emotions these last few days. First shock and sadness, grief and worry, thinking my soul mate dog was suddenly dying and being told just that by the vet we went to see Thursday night. Then onto relief, happiness and joy (pure absolute joy) in the early hours of Saturday when I realized that he was feeling better, that he seemed back to his normal self. As yesterday progressed and we went about our daily routine, our long walks (we walked but I felt like skipping and swinging my arms and singing loudly my dog's OK, my dog's OK) at the beach and down the cottage lane, our trip in the car to do errands and then all of us just hanging around in the living room close to the fire, relaxing, I eventually became sure that it was true... I could stop holding my breath. He isn't gravely ill, he isn't dying. Last April after three trips in a row (Sat. Sun. & Mon) to our regular vet and a battery of tests & xrays, because of very similar weird & sudden symptoms, I was told, the vet's best guess, that he likely had a week to live - Hemangiosarcoma - a deadly form of blood based cancer that by the time the symptoms show up - the dog is usually near death. Like a very hard kick in the stomach.

All this to say we've been down this road before. And this morning I still feel joy & happiness, I still feel thrilled. Thrilled that he's out in the kitchen, as I type this, barking at me to let him clean off the cat food dishes, that he's jumped up on the kitchen counter, grabbed an empty cat food can and licked it clean. That he's still my devilish, goofy, kind and gentle, always hungry Noodle dog -Jake. This morning mixed in with all that joy, relief and happiness is a tiny bit of resignation. A tiny bit of crystal clear realism. He's 13, that day's a coming, and there's absolutely no way that you can ever really prepare yourself for it ... except I guess, to make sure to treasure every single moment that you can still put your face in their neck and smell them, that you can still stare into their eyes and thank them for the years and years of pure love and companionship, and to treasure every moment that they're still here with us.

I honestly didn't mean to write a sad post this morning. I'm not sad this morning, but the thoughts of saying goodbye to this dog, to Jake, makes me feel like I'll surely die of sadness.

and not to be forgotten Miss Winnie Dixon, she'll turn 9 next month


  1. oh, darn it. I am sniffling and tears are running down my cheeks as I read this today Susan.

    I wish I lived next door so I could at least just run over and give you a big hug.

    They are soooo much a part of our family after having them for that long aren't they? I love that you have had such great friends and companions for all those many years. Both of you have had some great times.

    stupid vets, stupid doctors and stupid lawyers.... if they all were at the bottom of the ocean... it would be a great start to cleaning out the vermin of the world.

  2. Glad to hear that your boy is feeling better. It is sad to think about the inevitable, but I think you're completely right in that the only positive way to deal with it is to treasure the time we have.


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