Last Sunday,

August 5th
was my Dad's birthday.
And the day we lost our family dog.
I'm so sorry that it had to happen that way.
She had a stroke in the morning and was completely unable to see or hear, her eyes kept darting back and forth, she was extremely dizzy and off balance. She couldn't walk or shift herself. Her sense of smell and touch was all that was left. And her spirit.
She had such a beautiful heart. She was part chow and very, very independent. Talk about a dog with an agenda! She would spend all day following my dad around and all night laying around with my mother (who is a Night Owl.)
Her presence filled that home. She had so much love for all of us. Our companion and protector through the years.
We had have so much love for her and always will.
I went with my Dad after we all cuddled for a bit and said good-bye. That was by far the hardest thing I ever had to do. He carried her in and I tried not to completely bawl knowing this would be the last place we ever got to take her.
The nurse said that it was treatable, as in she could live, but the damage was done to her body. What is a life for an independent dog who is completely unable to do anything alone? It's not a life.
I signed the document with the nurse, giving permission, and my Dad stayed with her and had a special moment alone to say good-bye and give his love.
They took her back to shave her leg and ten minutes later I saw the face I simply cannot get out of my mind. You could tell the instant she smelled us and her blank eyes lit up. It broke my heart. They're devotion and love until the very end breaks my heart. The doctor came in and we clutched and soothed her until after momentary struggle she was gone.
I bawled.
She was limp.
And then we had to leave her there. The hardest part.
Not bringing her home. I cry now, thinking about it, but getting my thoughts out does feel better. A release.
I've never seen my family so sad and I have never felt so sad. I wish I could take it all away. I wish she could be here with us another fifteen years.
I don't know how long it will take the vision of her recognition of us coming into the room she will never leave to abate. But, God, Abby I am so sorry I couldn't give you a miracle.
I miss you so much.

We did the right thing.
And I know that. And I'm glad we did.
She never had a sick day in her whole life, since she found us at my grandparent's lakehouse in the Spring of 1999. Emaciated, dirty and scared. She found us and wanted to be mine and Colin's friend. And was she the best friend we ever got.

Her last healthy night on Earth was spent eating cheetos on the couch with my mom. I know she couldn't have asked for a better last night. And I am so very grateful for that.

She was at least 15 years old. She lived a long, healthy, happy life. What more could we have asked for??

We loved her and she loved us. Every. Single. Day.

I do not believe in Heaven, though I wish I did, and in my way of coping, I promise to make other lives better because of her. People and animals alike her contribution to my life has inspired me to make a contribution to others.

Abby, I miss you. I love you. I hope you weren't afraid and I hope you know how much we love you and that we will never forget you. Rest in peace, baby.