Chewie’s final weekend convinced me that we were doing the right thing. It was a weekend where he slept when he wasn’t painfully coughing, and his only bright moments were when he got to eat snacks or chow down on some rotisserie chicken. I tried taking him for a walk, and we could only go around the house on our corner and back. It really drove home that he was suffering at this point, and his lurching attempts to roll himself out of bed and onto his feet made me regret that we had waited this long.
I took Monday the 26th off from work so that I could spend the last day with Chewie, and I was so glad I did. He had a great last day! It started out with a car ride to drop off Melinda at work (she couldn’t get out of it, being the current team nurse). Chewie loved it, as he has loved all car rides, and Melinda rode in the back seat with him so that she could soak up all of these last moments. I did, however, have to lift him into the car.
When we got home, I took him for a walk in the cool morning air, and Chewie had so much energy that we went half a block! I was certain that that would have wiped him out and he would need to doze, but Chewie kept hanging around me, wondering what we would do next! I gave him a day filled with cuddles and treats on the sofa, a last nap on our sunny deck, and I even tossed his orange pumpkin squeak toy and watched him run for it!
After picking up Melinda from work, we spent our last hour with him and we pressed his paws into some homemade play-dough that she had made so that we would have impressions of his paw prints. Then we headed off to Quarry Hill Vet to say good-bye.
Dr. Karen Lee and Gina were so kind. They said that they had been sad all day, knowing that this was on the schedule. Melinda and I took turns holding him one last time, while the doctor administered the drug.
I’ve had to do this before, for Melinda’s cat, Alley, and my cat, Natasha, when they had lived long happy lives and had fallen ill in their old age. Those cats were so old, they predated our marriage.
Chewie had just turned four.
We bundled him in a beautiful old blanket, placed him in a plastic washtub that I had brought with, and we took him home. I ran around packing the car as quick as I could, while Melinda brought a few of Chewie’s favorite things to be buried with him. She lay down on the floor to stroke his head one last time. Melinda couldn’t get off work, which meant I had a long lonely car ride north and Melinda wouldn’t have anyone with her that night.
Doris, our older cat, approached and investigated. I believe she could tell that Chewie was dead. We felt this was better than his sudden disappearance from her life.
I arrived at my parents’ farm three hours later, where I found that my dad had prepared a beautiful coffin and my mom had written on the lid. I gave my doggie one last pet on his woolly head, and then I placed the items in his coffin: the orange pumpkin, a stuffing-free fox squeak toy, a ball, a chip twist, a chicken chew…and one of our business cards with the picture of the three of us.
(I am hiding these next pictures in a spoiler, for those of you who don’t want to see him in his casket.)
We buried him that night, and we finished seeding the grave the next morning. Chewie is buried under the limbs of a tree, and my parents are planting flowers nearby.
I don’t know what kind of afterlife awaits dogs, but it’s my hope that his spirit is chasing the rabbits around that farm at full speed, free of the pain that slowed him down. Go, run. Good boy!