Sadness

She was the best dog I've ever had. Claire said "Belle was perfect." I want to concentrate on the nine years of love, happiness, amusement and companionship she gave our family, and maybe soon I will; but now there's a cavern carved down the middle of my chest. We had to make the awful decision that confronts so many pet owners, and while we know we did the right thing, it just hurts.

I'm 51 years old and Belle is the eighth dog I've lost. She's the first one about which I've had to make that terrible decision. She hadn't been feeling well for weeks. Heavy panting was the first sign, but we had no inkling it was this serious. As recently as Friday, we had hope that we could treat her and she would bounce back. Over the weekend, though, we had to force feed her baby food in a syringe. She would drink water, but wouldn't stand to do it. When I had to pick her up off the floor to get her to walk outside, I feared the worst. When she couldn't walk ten steps without stumbling, my fears were confirmed.

We took her to the doctor first thing and honestly I was still clinging to hope.I kept thinking "it's always darkest before the dawn." I wanted to hear the vet say "yeah, we'll give her some fluids, put an oxygen mask on her and see if we can get her back on her feet." Instead, he said, "I hate to put it this way, but she's in the process of dying. Her liver is shutting down, her breathing is labored. If she could talk to us, she would say she's in agony. I know what I would do if she were my dog." Claire and I just made eye contact and we knew he was right.

How unexpected was this? We had two full boxes of dog biscuits and a case of dog food in the cupboard. Her decline seemed sudden and it's been a little bit stunning.

With the exception of our first year of marriage, I haven't been without a dog a day in my life. If you ask me now, I'm prepared to say I'm out of the dog business for a long time. Belle was just so terrific, I can't imagine dealing with another dog right now. The training, house breaking, all of the aspects of the responsibility: I just can't even think about it.

She was only nine years old. She was never, not once, a source of frustration, She was never destructive or loud. She was perfectly housebroken. She would fetch the paper every morning. She would actively play with the kids and us. She was everything you would want a dog to be, truly. The only criticism I can think of was the shedding. That's what brooms and vacuum cleaners are for.

Let's not forget about the Old formerly Fat Cat, who is fourteen years old and has lost her best friend.

I'm sure she doesn't know it yet. Poor thing, this is the third dog she's lost along the way. The other two died right outside the French doors that lead to our patio. Oddly, the Sheltie passed away on the very day we brought home Puppy Belle.

I know we will look back on Belle's too-short life with great fondness and affection, but right now the house is just too damn quiet.

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