A few weeks ago I posted about my dogs in honor of National Adopt a Shelter Dog Month. In the post I mentioned how well our 17-year-old dog Schmoopie was doing despite her age. Unfortunately, that didn’t stay true for long.
About 10 days ago she started to take a turn for the worst, and a week ago we had to let her go. It was the right thing to do, and as pet owners that love their pets, it was the responsible thing to do. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard as hell to make that call and take her on her last trip to the vet.
As I’ve thought about it over the last week, I realized that I’ve spent more of my adult life with her than without her. She was there to welcome both of my daughters home from the hospital, and fussed over them every chance she got (she would stand on her hind legs to look in the bassinet when they would start to cry and snuggle against them when they were in reach).
When we talked about our loss on Facebook we got a lot support, especially for our daughters who couldn’t imagine life without her. A lot of people said we were lucky to have had her so long. I have to say, I’m not sure about that.
Don’t get me wrong, it was a blessing to have as much time with that sweet fur ball as we did, but I think that makes saying goodbye even harder. My husband and I can’t really remember a life without her. My daughters never knew a time without that fuzzy face checking on them. 17 years is a long time to love and be loved in return.
I know in time we’ll stop looking for her when we walk through the house. We’ll stop reaching for her dish to feed her. We’ll get used to saying dog and not dogs. But right now it’s hard to say goodbye.