Grace, ready to roll
Jett and I put our beloved Grace down yesterday. As always, it was a very difficult, heartbreaking decision. She wasn’t in pain, she wasn’t dying. But she wasn’t living, either. Life had became a constant trial for her. She never fully recovered from her first bout of vertigo in December 2015 and became even more unstable after a second attack this past December. Two nights ago she awoke me at 2am with a panicked look in her eyes. I thought she needed to relieve herself, so I took her out, in my pajamas. She did, in fact, pee immediately, but she continued to be panicked. She fell over, twice, as I walked her. When I got her back to the RV I had to spend some time comforting her. A bad dream? A sense of impending doom? I don’t know. But it was obvious that she was living the final days or weeks of her life.
She became incontinent about a month ago. We tried a variety of diapers. None worked and she hated them all. Jett and I had, after her second vertigo attack, checked out veterinary options as we knew that her end may be near. After the 2am panic attack we talked about taking her north in April, knowing that she would have to be put down shortly after we arrived. Jett pointed out – correctly – that with her instability, having her travel 1,500 miles would be cruel.
So yesterday morning we decided that Feb 15, 2017, would be The Day. Jett called the vet and we made a final trip to the ocean, which Grace has always loved, before heading to the vet. One of my fondest memories of Grace was of her first encounter with ocean surf, in Rockport MA. She raced into the surf, barking and biting the waves, trying to herd them. She had a grand time.
She didn’t have a grand time on her final trip. She stepped in, but there was no joy. She panted, she stumbled and almost seemed to say “Yeah, nice ocean. Now let’s get this over with.”
She was, as always, a lady in her final minutes. The assistant – a total stranger – scooped her up to take her to another room to insert the catheter. She didn’t struggle, didn’t complain. When she came back Jett and I spent a few moments hugging her and telling her how much we appreciated her years of friendship and companionship. I told her to give Cha-Cha our love, should she happen to see him on the other side. She kissed me.
Then she went to sleep. Gently, quietly. Sadly.
What was it that endeared Grace to us? Well, she made an indelible impression the moment we met her. She was a 3-month-old ball of fur that we met in a shelter. She was one of a litter of seven or eight. Her siblings were all sleeping, but she was running circles around them, nipping at their paws, trying to get them to play. I was a bit dumbfounded when Jett said “I want THAT one!” I said, “Are you sure? You don’t think she is a little too… crazy?”
But Jett was in love and, of course, I had to agree. I picked Cha-Cha who was 2 months older, much larger and much quieter. At the suggestion of the shelter staff, we put Grace in with Cha-Cha, to make sure he wouldn’t be aggressive toward the smaller dog. We needn’t have worried – Grace immediately started nipping at his paws and he backed into a corner, totally cowed. From that moment on, Grace was Alpha Dog in our pack.
Jett picked the name “Grace” in honor of a beautiful Irish song. But it was totally the wrong name for her. Dynamo, Cyclone, Chaos… all would have been more appropriate. But we stuck with Grace. She and Cha-Cha became best friends and they had 12 years together. When we lost Cha-Cha we got Rusty. But Grace merely tolerated Rusty; she was never close to him. I think she missed Cha-Cha.
Back-seat driver
Grace loved to travel, so she picked the right parents. She accompanied us on all of our RV journeys to date – over 17,000 miles. She dipped her paws into the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Gult, as well as the Mississippi River. In her younger years she would claw at the window whenever we passed an 18-wheeler. Or, if there was no traffic to watch, she would look over my shoulder at the road ahead. She knew when it was a “travel day” – her eyes got brighter and she had more bounce in the step.
She loved the water, too. Salt water, fresh water, clean water, dirty water – didn’t matter. If there was water, she was in it. When we had the house in Massachusetts we would put a kiddie pool in the back yard and she would be in and out of it all day. There was joy on her face whenever she was in the water.
In the last year of her life she developed a couple of quirks. The shower in the RV became her refuge – her preferred place to nap. She liked the shower more that she liked the sofa or the bed. And tables… she developed this affinity for tables. She found ways to entwine herself in our TV tables. Odd. But endearing.
The final days were very, very sad. We will miss her. But I take comfort in that, in her final moments, she did, in fact, prove that we gave her the right name. She died with grace.
Swimming
Dog beach in Charleston
In the shower
Under the table
Her farewell photo
