BEFORE
Anyone who has lived through any medical drama will tell you that waiting to find out bad news is awful. I don't think it's worse than the bad news itself. I imagine that once I find out what's to become of my poor Henry, it will feel plenty awful, but I'm not liking this stage much either, that's for sure. Made worse by the fact that I'm plagued by the question of "have I really done enough?" And "did I miss anything at all?" It's not so much believing that I made a bad decision somewhere along the way. It's more the worry that I am giving up even where others would hang in there. But would they? And would that be the right choice, given what we all know about Henry?
But hanging in there is not without its own scary moments. Last night, Henry lunged at a construction worker across the street. I could hardly contain him -- he is so powerful, so determined! This morning he lunged toward a father and son, walking to school. I quickly redirected, being oh so glad that they did not round the corner earlier. How can I hang in there when my gentle pup, the most loving lap dog in the world, is a holy terror when confronted with the human world outside my doors?
Morning. He comes over to greet me, breaking my heart right down the middle. We walk...
They eat. I eat. Daffodils. Pretty. Coming of spring.
(for you, Henry)
They play. Side by side, chewing.
I take them to day care, I meet up with my friend for coffee.
It's snowing outside. It will snow more later. Two feet they say, this Sunday. Henry loves snow, but hates the coming down of wet stuff. Funny contradiction there! My dog is full of those funny contradictions.
DURING
I finally have that talk with my vet, whom I love so much for her smartness, her compassion, her advice. A long talk. It's a consensus. Henry cannot function in a world with strangers in it. It's not his fault, it's not ours. He is and will always be fiercely protective of me, of the two of us. And maybe the meds have made him feel even more powerful so that he is losing his inhibitions. Or maybe they've helped him feel more calm at home, but not outside. We wont know. As Ed keeps telling me -- I've had ample warnings that he could hurt someone.
Time to say good-bye to this most magnificent, regal dog -- a dog that I love so deeply that I cannot imagine a day without him, I cannot see his image, his eyes without bursting into tears.
Ed and I go together to pick him up at daycare.
Henry Bean, the Navigator. My beloved pup. Rest in peace knowing to the last second of your life that you were loved more than I could ever have believed a person could love a dog.
AFTER
I pick up Sadey. Is she puzzled that he isn't here? I dont know. I just don't know anything right now except that Henry is with the stars and the moon that used to shine so brightly on us all at night. And in my heart. Always.
with so much love...
