A few months ago, we lost our 10 year old Chocolate Lab to liver disease. She was an awesome dog, but I'm not sure we were ever awesome dog parents. We certainly took well enough care of her. When any problems arose, we made sure she received medical care. However, she wasn't always up to date on shots. This is mostly because like most veterinary clinics, ours felt the need to make a simple vaccine visit cost so much more than it probably needed to be. Also, our lab was overweight, but in all honesty, we didn't overfeed her and the only time she received table food is when our boys would drop something on the floor. We tried walking her, but as she got older her arthritis and the fatty lumps under her arms prevented her from tolerating walks. So yeah, we were never the kind of people to take our dog on car rides or to the dog park, but we loved our lab just as much and losing her was extremely difficult.
We knew our lab was sick, she had been for awhile. During her last nine months, she was treated with special food (which she hated), and medication (which was not cheap). Her last week however, her medication increased from three medications a day to seven. The increase in meds though was better than the alternative. We were certain when we took her to the vet that last time that we would be going home without her. Surprisingly though, the vet did not seem to think she was in any major pain and that she could possibly last a few more weeks or months. Unfortunately, for me, I was a mess. I spent those last days with her, crying over the inevitable. I would lay down on the floor and hug her while crying all over her. I swear, she would look at me sometimes like, "What is your problem, are your seriously crying again?". A few days later, she seemed better. She was eating better, she wasn't throwing up, and she seemed incredibly happy to greet anyone at the door. That night though, everything changed. As I sat with my husband watching TV, I watched her lying there on the floor. Every so often, she'd look at me and I knew. I knew she was trying to tell me something and I knew it was time. We stayed with her all night even as she moved from room to room in our house. I swear sometimes she'd try to get away from us, but I didn't want her to die alone. Finally around 3:00 a.m., she took her last breath.
Needless to say, I cried, I bawled, I sobbed. What really seemed to grab a hold of me though was the question of where she went. I felt like I needed to know that I would see her again. I needed to know that the "rainbow bridge' was real. I read a few stories on the internet. Some of those stories were heartbreaking and some of those stories gave me hope that I will see her again. Despite all the stories, I think what helped me the most is time. I needed time to deal with her death and time to accept my own faith. Sure, there are questions that can't be answered, but none of that should matter. What should matter is what you as a person believe in. You need to have faith that everything happens for a reason and that there are far bigger things out there than what we are aware of.
There are a couple of books I read to help comfort me about where dogs go when they die. One book is a children's book. My oldest son seemed to find comfort in this book, as did I. This is a short story with creative pictures discussing a dogs day in heaven with grassy fields and children to play with. I highly recommend this book for children and adults.
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