Tough Love

Winnie died today. It wasn’t in her sleep, the way I wanted it to be. I told Harry this morning that I needed to talk to him, and that we needed to go on a walk.

“Harry, I need to talk to you about Winnie,” I said, as we descended the front steps.

“I kind of figured that’s what you wanted to talk to me about,” he replied.

“I think it’s her time. She got up this morning at 3:00, and I heard her flailing about in the bathroom, and when I got there, she was pooing all over. She couldn’t help herself.”

We walked in silence for a minute.

“So,” I continued, “I wanted to ask you some things. Doc will come and do it here, at the house. That way Winnie wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t want to look at the couch every day and think ‘That’s where Winnie died.’ I’d rather it be done at the vet’s office. Plus, would he take the body afterwards? And what if she - leaks?”

I nodded. “Okay. You feel strongly about this. It’s okay. I don’t think Winnie will mind. I’m thinking it should be soon. What do you think?”

He replied, “Today. I think you should call the vet today.”

My stomach turned. I wasn’t ready today. I was thinking Monday or Tuesday, after work. Walking always helps me think, though. Why wait, when it was obvious all that was going to happen is that Winnie was going to get worse? My eye was caught by something in the alley. It was a button, the kind I remember seeing back in the 1970's. It was rusted, worn, but the message was still clear. “I Am Loved.” My eyes filled with tears. It was like a message from Winnie, reassuring me that she knew what was happening and she approved.



When we got back to the house, I took the phone outside and called Doc. My voice broke as I told him I thought it was time, and he said we should come at noon, when the clinic closed.

In the interim, I took the furkids for a nice long car ride. First we went to Pioneer’s Park, where I let Tim and Star out and gently put Winnie on the grass. She couldn’t really walk, so she staggered, listing to the left, but always following me. We didn’t go far. With Tim and Star safely back in the Dogmobile, I gently lifted Winnie back in, where she collapsed into a panting heap. Then we visited Kathy and Steve (Mac the Thundering Slobber Dog’s folks) and Andre and Stacey (Little Man’s folks), so they could tell Winnie goodbye. When we drove up to the house, Winnie didn’t even try to get out of the car. Tim and Star jumped out, Harry got in, and we drove to the clinic. Everything went so smoothly, it was almost as if it had been rehearsed.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Harry asked, in a choked voice, “Can - can I carry her in?”

“Of course you can, sweetie,” I replied. I held the doors for him, and he carried Winnie into the clinic, into the room where we’ve spent so much time. Many a toenail clipping has taken place on this table, and many a vaccination. Doc came in and explained the procedure to us, had me sign a form, and Harry and I both petted Winnie, tears falling like rain, as the drug took effect. It was a very gentle passing. She was ready.

Winnie was a gentle soul, a creature of light and air. I will sorely miss her.

I never really realized what an impact she had on my life until later in the afternoon, when Harry stood in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. He surveyed the room and said, “Well we can get rid of that couch, now. And a lot of these rugs can go, too.”

He’s right. We kept the old ratty couch for Winnie, because she spent her days lounging on it. And the various non-skid rugs were so she could keep her footing on the wood floors. The dog door was for Winnie, too - I bought and installed it because she always liked to get up at 3:00 a.m. to go outside, and I got really tired of having to let her out (Harry never seemed to hear her ear-piercing whine). The nightlights can go, too. The canned food was also for Winnie, and the spoon-feeding ritual was initiated to entice her to eat.

That’s the thing about a good ruling monarch - and Winnie was a ruling monarch, for sure. The good ruling monarch never lets you realize you’re being ruled.

I’d love to share some of the pictures I have of Winnie with you. Pictures of the good days, my favorite days. Pictures of the Winnie who was fleet of foot, bright of eye and quick with a tiny lick to tell me she loved me. She used to hug me when I came home at night, burying her head in my legs and wrapping one front leg around mine and holding me close to her.

I celebrate the life of Winnie. I called her Miss Guinevere, Princess Winnie, Winnie-Fred, Sweet Little Girlie-Girl and a host of other names, but one thing’s for sure. She ruled my heart.