So for the latter part of 2009 and much of 2010, we were a
five-dog household. Things were going
pretty smoothly, with one exception:
Molly did not like Chelsea. At
all. She attacked her on a few different
occasions, and we eventually took to separating the two of them at all times
(if one was on the couch, the other was on the floor, they never ate near one
another, etc.). We never quite figured
out why this was the case – Chelsea was indifferent to Molly, but for some
reason, Molly felt threatened by Chelsea.
We finally decided that because Molly had clearly been the alpha dog in
her lifelong relationship with Gunni, she did not know what to do when faced
with another alpha…Chelsea had been an only dog for a decade and was used to
ruling the roost! Since Molly was
completely deaf and almost entirely blind, it was not too difficult to keep
Chelsea out of range, and we carried on like that until the fall of 2010, when
Molly started to deteriorate. She was
moving quite slowly and had a lot of difficulty settling down at night; it
became our routine for C to sit and hold her in his arms until she fell asleep
– once that happened, she was out cold for the night. That was such a sweet thing to witness each
evening. And it had to be him – Molly
was not at all interested in me rocking her to sleep!
In mid-November, C brought her inside on a rainy Monday
evening, and when she shook to get the water off of her fur, she fell over and
howled in pain. She was inconsolable and
we had no idea what had happened, so we rushed her to the vet and our beloved
Dr. T. examined her and put her on some anti-seizure medication. We took her home monitored her closely; my
mom came over each day sit with her while I was at school. She seemed to be responding to the medication
quite well and had a good week, so when we took her back for a check up the
following Monday, Dr. T. looked her over and told us to keep doing what we had
been doing and said that she was surprised at how well Molly appeared. We told my mom we were in the clear and that
she didn’t need to keep spending ten hours a day watching our dogs (what on
earth would we ever do without my mom?!?).
The next day was Tuesday, November 23. I went about my day as usual, and came home
right after school because I didn’t want the dogs to be alone for any longer
than absolutely necessary. Things seemed
fine for about the first half hour, and then right in front of me, Molly had a
terrifying seizure. It was the most
horrific thing I have ever witnessed.
She was screaming in pain and her body was contorting into impossible
positions. And I was helpless. The other dogs completely freaked out,
running around her and barking and whimpering and it was all I could do to get
them away from her. The seizure probably
lasted for 60 or 70 seconds, but it felt like a million times that. Once it stopped, I picked her up and held her
in a blanket while I called C, my mom, and Dr. T., in that order. C said he would leave work immediately and
meet me at the vet and my mom would come over to sit with the other dogs.
I put Molly in the car, crying hysterically, certain I would
not be returning home with her. When we
got to the vet, C was waiting for us, and of course, Molly was thrilled to see
him and was acting perfectly fine – so I seemed like a lunatic who had
overreacted! We were shown to an exam
room immediately, and Dr. T. took her from us to run some tests. When she returned, we knew it was not good
news. The difference in Molly from less
than 24 hours earlier, when Dr. T. had last seen her, was evident. She told us that we could take her home, but
that that the chances were very high for Molly to have another violent seizure
again, one that would likely take her life.
She was fifteen-and-a-half years old and we just could not see risking that kind of trauma for her. Dr. T. told
us there was bleeding in Molly's brain and that she had likely been experiencing extensive
pain while the pressure was building. She also told us that it was
just a matter of time before something awful happened. We selfishly wanted to bring her home because
we were not ready to part with her, but we knew we would never “be ready” to
part with her and we did not want her to suffer in any way. So I called my mom and filled her in and she
said all of the loving things one needs to hear when faced with such an ominous
decision, and we told Dr. T. we could not let Molly be in pain any longer.
She brought Molly back into the room and let us have some
time alone to say our goodbyes. We cried
and hugged and kissed her and told her we loved her and that we wanted her to
be free and happy. We told her that Muggsi
and Holly and Murphy would be waiting for her at the Rainbow Bridge and that
she would be able to see beautiful colors and hear sweet music again. We mostly told her how much we would miss her
and what a gift she had been to us for those precious fourteen months.
After about half an hour, Dr. T. peeked in the room and we
nodded. Having experienced this before
with Muggsi and Murphy, I was prepared to put Molly up on the table and stand
beside it. Dr. T., being the most
incredible and compassionate vet on the planet, had another plan. On the bench in the room, I sat holding Molly,
C had his arms around me and his hands on Molly, and Dr. T. knelt on the floor
so she was face-to-face with Molly. Yes,
that’s right. She knelt on the floor so
we could hold out little dog in our arms.
As Molly passed from this life on to her next great adventure, Dr. T.
put her head on Molly and cried, too.
She then hugged us told us how brave we were to allow our love for Molly
to guide our decision. As she took Molly
from the room, Craig and I were in awe of how someone who does this everyday
could still be moved by the loss of a little creature. The fact that she recognized what Molly meant
to us and was so attentive to us, so gracious, so loving is why we drive more
miles than necessary whenever one of our dogs needs care. She is an amazing human being and the best
vet we would possible ask for. We will
never, ever forget the kindness she showed us that day.
We each had our own car, so we had to drive home separately,
which was trying. Entering the house
without Molly, with the other four dogs looking up at us expectantly, was
difficult. But the most awful thing was
picking up Gunni and realizing she was now an orphan. She had spent her entire thirteen-and-a-half
years with her mother, and now she was alone.
It broke my heart to think about this, and Gunni spent the next few
weeks wandering around and moaning for Molly before accepting in her own way
that Molly wasn’t coming home.
The next day, Wednesday, was a half-day at school; the
students were being released early because it was the day before
Thanksgiving. I did not want to go to
school that day – I had cried most of the night and was exhausted. However, I told myself that it was a short
day and that I could survive it. I was
doing a pretty decent job of burying my feelings and operating on autopilot, but about 20 minutes into the day, one of my students asked if I was all
right because I was being really quiet (apparently they are used to me bossing
them around!). This was at the point in
the day when my homeroom students went into my partner’s classroom, and her
homeroom students came to me, so there were 50+ kids in motion, coming and
going and getting their things from one room to the other. I told this student that yes, I was OK, but
as soon as I said it, I started crying.
Sobbing. Choking on the words
that Molly had passed away the night before.
The students knew all of my dogs from the pictures around the room of
them and from the stories I would share about them. Without any type of direction at all, these
sixth grade students formed a very long single-file line to each give me a hug
and say something sweet and comforting.
Even the boys, who at that age, are often too cool for that sort of
mushy stuff.
I loved (I do not like to use the past tense, but I am not
currently teaching) being a teacher.
Didn’t always love the bureaucratic nonsense, but I loved being a
teacher. And I loved my kids. Every single one of them, as difficult as
they could be at times. But I cannot
think of a time when I loved my students more than when THEY took care of ME on
that very sad Wednesday morning. As I
write this, I can picture their faces and the kind words they spoke to me. How fortunate I am to have been their
teacher.
The next (and final) installment in the "Our Dachshunds" series will be the story of Duchess. Stay tuned!
Happy Tails to you!
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