A Good Girl
Our darlin Clementine has left her body. She was the best dog anyone could ask for. Sixteen years ago we were raising two toddlers and not sure if we were ready to add a pup to the mix. But our youngest, Scout, made it clear that she needed a canine companion. She would toddle through the house, arms full of stuffed animals, asking “where my gog?” We surrendered after she came to us, petting the fuzzy leaves of a strawberry announcing, “THIS my goggy.”
Our kids grew up with Clementine. They don’t remember life without her. She was the best and like all pets, she saved us 1000 times over — being there when others weren’t able and offering us her unconditional love.
Preparing to have her euthanized was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. Despite my training as a doula and death educator I couldn’t seem to get there. Every time I would imagine life without her I’d become nauseous and overwhelmed. And even though I believe we don’t need our earthly bodies to connect with those we’ve lost, I couldn’t get past the grief of knowing I’d never hold her furry face again. Never hear the clickety clack of her waking across the hardwood floors.
One the tools our family used was a guide from OSU’s college of veterinary medicine. It helped us stay honest with ourselves about Clementine’s mental and physical decline. It helped us know when we’d reached the point we were selfishly keeping her alive for our own benefit.
My hopes of having Clementine euthanized in her own bed, at home, were far from affordable. $400 for a mobile service, even though we opted out of the cremation, the urn, the paw print, lock of hair, etc. And the rate was not negotiable. That was a bummer.
On Friday afternoon we called our regular vet, the kind and gentle old school Dr. Virgil McKee. He had us come right in. It was a perfect sunny day so I asked if he could give her the injection outside. McKee is a wonderful human and a flexible practitioner. I’m not sure anyone else would have accommodated us. With Clem in my arms, we stepped outside and under a bright May sky he delivered the cocktail that stopped Clementine’s heart. She didn’t make a sound, no pain just peace, and I was able to cradle her in my arms like a baby through the entire thing. We wrapped her in a sheet from our linen closet and took her home to bury her in the backyard. He charged us $70.
This morning I had coffee and a croissant at Clementine’s grave. I noticed that a tiny bit of my grief had subsided. I know, in part, it’s because I was able to give her a good death. I sat on the spring grass and told her about Scout going to prom last night. I broke off a piece of my croissant for her; culinary communion. And vowed to carry her in my heart for the rest of my life. This is my new church.
