Over the years she became my husbands traveling buddy and they became really close. The night she died he had left to take our son home. She came back to where I was sitting at the computer and sat very quietly and looked at me. She put her paw up on my leg and looked longingly into my eyes. I asked her if she needed to go outside. I remember the night was warm and breezy. She went out the door and off the deck, then turned around and stared at me, then slowly lay down. I knew what was wrong, she needed to die but she didn't want to go without Dwight being there.
Two weeks before she had been diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure. I went out and tried to coax her back up on the deck but she didn't have the steam to do it. I cursed my bad back because I couldn't pick her up myself and bring her in, she only weighed 33 pounds! I sat down beside her, she tried to crawl under the deck to die but I wouldn't let her go. I told her to just hang on I'd go get the phone to call Dwight. I ran inside and brought the phone back out and called him. 'You've got to get home NOW, Emily is dying and I think she's waiting on you."
I kept stroking her fur and telling her to hold on that her dad was coming home, just a few more minutes. I told her how much I loved her and I knew she couldn't stay any longer. In dog years she was over 90. Soon we heard the loud pipes of his truck and she looked up at me and I swear she had a look of relief in her eyes. In seconds he was at the back door, "Hey beautiful, you can't lay out here in the dirt, let's take you inside." He picked her up and brought her inside and put her down on the fireplace hearth where she liked to lay. As soon as he laid her down he heard something in her stomach that sounded like it popped, which is what makes us think she had an obstructed bowel or something similar. She took a deep breath and that was the end. As the air left her lungs, the light left her eyes. By now we're both on our stomachs with our faces in her fur crying. He asked, 'Is she gone?' I just nodded my head, "She's gone George, she's gone," in between sobs.
We laid there with our faces in her fur and cried for a solid hour and talked to her about her life and how much she had meant to us. I fell apart over my Afghan Hound when I lost him but I have never seen Dwight come so unglued over a particular dog. But they were tight, those two. Our Shih-Tzu's were there with us but it's funny how other animals will handle a death in the house. They become very quiet and respectful. The birds become still and the Foo's after coming over to Em and sniffing her and then us to let us know they were there, went right over and laid quietly off to the side but still available should we need them for support. Usually my Tzu's will be all over me when I'm crying, licking my tears, giving me kisses and doing this little ritual where they rub there bodies against mine and wiggle all over. Like they're trying to rub happiness back into my pores or absorb the unhappiness into theirs. Not this time. They hung back and mourned themselves. They simply adored The Divine Miss Em following her around and trying to emulate her. Sometimes much to her dismay.
We had to make the difficult decision to have her cremated rather than burying her. For two reasons; the first and foremost was we didn't want her rotting in the ground, the second was it's more difficult as we are older to dig those deep graves for our pets. I hate the thought of cremation but that's what we did. She remained on the hearth all night and the next day he put carpet in the bed of the truck, placed her on the tailgate and combed and preened her hair until she was perfect. It was as much for him as it was for her. I was gone, I didn't want to see her leave home for the last time. He then clipped the lavender bows from her hair to add to the hair we had clipped from her the night before to save. He covered her with a special cloth and took her to her vet who is also our friend. Dwight told Dan he didn't want anyone else but him to touch her or initiate the process or scoop out her ashes.
Two weeks before her death all the dogs had been to the groomers and dolled up for Easter and spring. Emily was done in lavender with bows and a bandanna. I took pictures of her but didn't get them developed until after she had died. The second picture I posted here brought a smile to my face and I had to chuckle at her. It looks as if she's grinning and at the same time the picture has an ethereal quality to it. It was like she was saying, 'It's okay mom, I'm having a blast now. See you soon."
And I can't wait to see her again too. I take comfort in the fact that much of my family is over in Spirit World and taking care of her until we get there. She loved to ride and she has my car windows all smeared with doggie nose prints that I can't bear to clean off. Forget that during the night when lights hit them I can barely see out the window. I thought that when a year had passed I'd be able to clean them, but I can't face that task yet. And the fireplace heart still has her tracks from dirty little feet on the tiles after a spring rain. We've been careful when washing carpets or cleaning for the holidays not to clean the hearth. Again I thought at the one year mark, but it's still not enough. And I still can't bear to go to the park, her favorite place, even to take the Foo-Foo's after all this time. I guess someday it will all be okay and not as painful. Or maybe I'll sell the car and the house without ever cleaning away those memories.
