Hi Ron

I am sorry, too, for your family's loss, and I know many people here have been through it. The thought of the loss of a beloved pet conjures up many emotions and memories, often left dusty and untouched inside us since childhood.

I might have posted this before, so forgive me if I have. If not, I recreated below an article I wrote on the loss of our own beloved Thia, which appeared in our local paper back in the days when I used to write regular editorials on pretty much whatever I wanted to. It might not be the fully edited version, so forgive me if you find a mistake.

I hope it helps.

tps
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The Cycle of Life

I left Lake Forest Pet Hospital burdened with guilt and yet relieved the option I had just exercised had been available.

Thia (long “e”) joined our family in 1990, eight weeks old and one full year before our first child was born. It was Fourth of July weekend. I don’t remember why, but Carol and I decided to visit the pound. We spotted a girl holding a darling German Shepard–Rottweiler puppy. Her sister went home with us.

So began our love affair that would end thirteen and one-half years later.

Thia grew to be a big girl, black with a white stripe on her chest and two tan dots above her eyes. She was as warm with friends and family as she was ferocious with strangers. During her long life she helped raise two babies (our kids), survived a pair of cross-country moves, discovered snow (to her delight) at age eight, but never learned to like water.

Summer was bowing to autumn when old age caught up with her. Getting up had become a painful chore. I knew it was bad when she looked at me with sad eyes, as if apologizing for no longer being able to chase me around the kitchen island. Still, she managed. I pretended not to know what it meant.

Kids have a keen sense about these things. My son Demetri wrote a card predicting the passing of his “best friend” and how much she meant to him. Two days later I found Thia on the kitchen floor. A stroke? A seizure? We are still not sure. Her breathing was labored, her eyes glassy. She perked up a bit that night. I tried to convince myself she was ok. I knew better.

The long farewell took two agonizing nights. We kept her as comfortable as possible hoping for a miracle that never arrived.

I groomed her one last time with her favorite black brush. She lifted her feverish head to deliver a lick on the cheek, a longstanding ritual between us. My brother helped me carry her to the van. The longest two-mile drive of my life ended at the Lake Forest Pet Hospital. Brad Cahoon, Thia’s favorite vet, was on vacation; Richard Johnson stood in. Though they see this sad drama often, the staff was warm and caring. (Thanks.) I was wreck. My hand shook as I signed the form approving her destruction.

My kids returned from school to find a letter Thia had “left” for them. Here is what it said:

Dear Demetri and Alex

I’m sorry I had to leave you today.

I remember when your mom and dad brought both of you home from the hospital, first Alex, and then Demetri. I crawled under your cribs to make sure no one bothered you, and slept in the nursery to protect you. You learned to walk holding onto my fur. It hurt, but I didn’t mind.

You probably don’t know this, but when I could climb stairs I would nudge open your doors every night and sniff the air to make sure you were in your beds, safe and sound.

Please remember all the good times you had with me, like when you would wrap me in a blanket and we would all rough house on the floor. I really got excited when you would watch a movie because it meant popcorn! Sometimes when Papa barbequed he would let me lick the grill top. That made Momma mad, so we would hide it from her. It was our little secret.

Thank you for always taking good care of me and dropping food under the table when no one was looking.

The last few months I have not been feeling well. I am old now. My legs are tired, my eyes don’t see well, and my ears don’t work much anymore. I miss those the most because I always loved hearing your voices. The last two days have been really hard. I was suffering. God was calling me home, so I had to leave you. Thank you for your hugs, ice cubes, kisses, and tears. I was crying, too, because I will miss you very much.

I will always be in your hearts and memories, and some day you can tell your kids about me. And they can tell their kids. And that way, I will live forever.

THIA