Bonita Is Gone

(Post 196 of 263)

Thursday, Bonita started to decline, being lethargic in addition to her usual poor appetite. Her vet said to keep monitoring her and that he’d do a home visit on Sunday, but didn’t think it sounded like anything serious, maybe the dog equivalent of a cold.

Saturday evening before bed, she had a stroke or seizure. While that was very scary, she was orientated and back to being my dog within an hour, so I’m thinking seizure.

Her vet came on Sunday, and from the exam, he said she was likely on last days, as I must remember she was an old dog, but that he would start her on some meds to improve her circulation and stimulate her appetite, then have me keep monitoring her.

I’d seen this before many times in my life. It doesn’t matter if the being is canine, feline, or human, death announces itself the same way, looks the same, smells the same. She had an event early Saturday afternoon that had me calling the vet back to put her to sleep.

The call made, I bundled her up and went to the porch with her, rocking her as we did every night. Because she was going to sleep, I did our usual routine, only this time enveloped by a bright blue sky pillowed by fluffy white clouds instead of under an inky blanket of stars. I reminded her of what a good girl she is and how much she is loved. As always, I thanked for being my dog. All things I tell her every night just in case because we never know what a long night will bring to an old dog.

After a while she seemed to come back to herself for a moment, just long enough to gaze at me with those big chocolate eyes. She gave me a slow blink, dog for “I love you,” and I didn’t realise until that moment how much I needed one last slow blink from her. And then her eyes did that thing that all eyes do before death, and I knew she was gone even if her heart was still thumping against mine.

Dr. Pablo showed up then, cried a little with me, prepared her, gave me one final moment, and then it happened exactly as I wished it would for her, safe at home, without pain, in the arms of the one who chose to be her mommy when so many had refused her that role before. How miraculous that we came into our lives at exactly the right moment.

Of course, these things always happen on a Sunday, so whether I choose to bury her here or cremate her, I couldn’t do either yesterday as the former requires lime and shops were closed and the latter business was closed. So she is bundled in her favourite blankie, sealed up in a large bag, and sleeping in the deep freezer. How horrific that feels, but it’s also right, so that I can decide what I wish to do with her. My first thought was to bury her here, but I’m thinking long-term about the garden and I believe the night’s wisdom will tell me to choose cremation.

I’ve been a mom or a foster mom to a fur baby my entire adult life, 25 years. There was Herman, then Peggy, Samuel, Tabitha, and Neelix to say goodbye to. Then over four years there was, Mechka, Sausage, Pengue, Sassy, Charlie, Gray, Maggie, Leilu, another Charlie, and then Simone to mind and keep my heart busy. And then a stretch of loneliness the likes of which I had never known before until Bonita and I found each other.

I’m not going to say Bonita is going to be my last. I’m too young and have too much life ahead of me to say that for sure. But sitting with her last night and today, I found myself reflecting on who I’ve been as a pet parent. In some ways I was shite at it, but I think in the ways that really matter, I was a good mom. Like when Neelix died in October of ’13, I’m ready to take a break for a bit and see where a pet-less life takes me.

Bonita loved digging holes, cheese, and any treat in the shape of a stick. She had a cheerful disposition and a sense of humour most humans could learn from. She was brave, strong, and resilient, starting off as a dog who cowered at loud noises and strange people to one who was curious, won over anyone she met, and who liked to get underfoot and supervise when her domain was being modified. She was the perfect dog for me and I could not have asked for a better companion.

This one came up in my Facebook memories today. She was radiant.

She really did not care about food much, but never turned down a treat in the shape of a stick!

She might have been a cat in a former life. This was our post-work routine — I’d shut down and go sit for a bit to let her give me a bath.

One of my favourite pictures of her. You can see just how intelligent she was and connected with me.

She was a pro napper and knew that blankies could double as pillows.

One of our last moments together. I love that she learned to snuggle in her last weeks. Maybe she knew the end was coming.

Another favourite photo, one showing off her famous smile!

My guardian angel will keep looking over me as I work.

Thank you, sweet girl, and may flights of angels sing thee to they rest.