Farewell, sweet Maggie

Our Maggie is gone. Beautiful, happy, loyal Mag-dog, Mag-girl, Maggie-puppy. My sweet, sweet baby! She no longer hurts. She no longer is trapped in a cancer-crippled body that prevents her from running and doing all the things she couldn't understand why we limited her from attempting.

I woke up this morning wishing it was all just a dream. But one look at the blood spatters on my pants, and my puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror, and I knew I needn't worry about tripping over Maggie as I headed into the bathroom. Nor would I find her in her favorite sleeping pose: on her back with legs sprawled in whichever direction gravity took them in the corner of our room by my side of the bed. The scratched paint - from her claws when she would awkwardly try to right herself - will likely be there awhile. But Maggie is gone forever.

Last night she developed a severe nose bleed. If you've never seen a dog with a bloody nose, count yourself lucky. It's horrifying and messy, because it's impossible to get the dog to lay still for you to apply an ice pack, and the only way the dog knows to clear her nostrils is to sneeze, which sends blood spraying everywhere.

The vet had warned us that Maggie's cancer would spread to her lungs, so of course we feared the worst. And of course, this all started 45 minutes after our vet's office closed for the weekend. Jeff hustled Maggie outside and did his best to calm her, as I called the emergency vet service in town to see if they could reach our vet - they couldn't - and to ask for advice. They recommended keeping her calm, applying ice if she let us, and then warned it could be a long night.)

A half-hour later, Maggie was no better, and in fact was now occasionally making choking sounds. I called the emergency vet service back and said we were bringing her in. We dropped the kids at friends (Thanks Crystal and Joel!) and headed for what we both seemed to know would be our last trip with her. I drove, while Jeff sat in back trying to calm her. If nothing else, I think Maggie appreciated her final hour was spent with just her "mom and dad."

The emergency vet took out his stethoscope and tried to listen for anything that would help him diagnose what was happening. Maggie did him no favors, alternating between panting and emitting a low growl if he pressed the stethoscope too hard on a sensitive spot.

The vet explained that he had no way of knowing if the cancer had reached her lungs. However, she'd already surpassed the typical osteosarcoma survival rate of three months. He said the cancer also has the ability to affect platelets and her liver's ability to produce whatever is needed to help blood to clot.

Having watched Maggie's reaction to the gentle nudges of his stethoscope, we knew we didn't want her poked and prodded any longer. And so with a shaky hand I signed the consent form to have her euthanized.

We stayed with her throughout, petting her, letting her lick our hands, telling her ridiculously false words of comfort like, "It's okay. You're okay."

It's not okay.  She'll never be okay. And we're left to grieve and try to comfort two grieving children who have never known life without her.

I cannot say enough good things about how kind and sensitive the vet and his staff were. They gave us our choice to stay with Maggie or not, and what to do with her remains (we chose cremation and they can dispose of her ashes.) They didn't rush us and left us to say our goodbyes before they returned to start the process. They explained what they were doing each step of the way, and when it was over, they again left us to cry and spend a few final moments with the dog who brought so much joy into our lives.

Maggie seemed happy right up until the end (other than her brief sneezing fits.) She was with the two people she loved most and was the sole focus of our attention. In some ways that made it easier, but it also made it harder. I have no doubt it was her ever-enthusiastic spirit that kept her with us this long. I now have to believe she has a soul and it is in a better place, running free, chasing a ball and mooching popcorn and any other treat she can get tossed her way.

We told the kids she's in heaven with Maddie. It my very liberal interpretation of the verse about no tears in Heaven. Doesn't that mean that everything and every creature who brings us joy will be there?

There were a lot of tears from the kids last night. I feel guilty for not giving them the chance to say goodbye, but at the same time know it would have been horribly unfair to have asked my friends to have watched two children who were just starting to grieve. I also wish I'd waited until we were back in the car to have broken the news to them, instead of creating the sobbing scene as we tried to leave our friends' house. I knew AJ would be devastated, but was surprised by Sydney's level of grief and understanding.

And so now we are a house with just a cat. Poor Spike is wondering what's going on. She always had a love/hate relationship with Maggie, and suddenly Maggie isn't here to annoy her, and in her place are two kids who want to shower her with all their love and affection, something she has never appreciated.

We will definitely get another dog, and right now are thinking it'd be best to get two. Jeff has said he needs some time, so we're telling the kids we'll wait until after our vacation in July, and then adopt. Those puppies are going to have some enormous paws to fill!

I know, with time, the tears will stop and the pain will ease. Someday the sight of chewed up tennis balls, the no-longer-needed dog food scoop, and leftover soft cat food that Maggie was always happy to finish... someday those things will inspire happy memories. I know this is the inevitable outcome of life, and I accept it and will no doubt repeat it, because when weighing this grief versus the 10+ years of joy Maggie gave us, the joy wins.

Farewell, sweet Maggie. Thank you for the happiness. We will never forget you.