In
August 2004, I was making a trip to Walmart on a Saturday afternoon. Jim was
asleep after working the night-shift at QT, and the kids were having their
quiet time (naps).
When
I drove into the parking lot, I saw a pickup with a sign about free puppies.
So,
I stopped.
I
am a dog-lover. I’ve always been a dog-lover, and I know I will always be one.
We had to find new homes for our former furry family members when we moved from
OK to MO in 1997. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do because
two of them had been with me through my previous life in an abusive marriage.
I
got out of my car and walked over to the people who were there and looked
inside at their little treasures. One, in particular, called out to me. She was
black with white on her chest and paws, a little baby Lab mix. They told me she
was the runt, and that sealed it for me.
I
told them I would be back for her after my shopping trip, which I am pretty
sure I cut very short.
I
called Jim, and he said to go ahead and get her, although he was half-asleep
when we talked.
She
was scared, of course, when I took her home, but everyone just loved her.
Her
name would be Phoebe, or as Caleb spelled her name on a story he wrote in
school, Fee-Bee.
She
became the center of attention for our family. She loved to get under the
wooden deck in the back yard and cry, scream, really, until someone rescued
her. She also loved to jump up on the wooden dog house in the back yard of the
house we rented, calculate her move, and jump over the fence, running down the
sidewalk and mocking us as we chased after her.
She
was a very “smiley” girl.
The
smiles continued when we moved to AR, and when we chased her down the street,
she ran with a freedom and smile that couldn’t be matched… or caught easily.
She was having the time of her life.
I
remember saying to her one time, “Hey, you dog, don’t you love us? You are
always trying to get away.”
I
could go on and on with stories how Jesse and Isaac threw her like a football
in the backyard, and she was so scared she shook with fear for almost an hour
while I held her in a blanket. Or when she escaped and got a fish hook in her
ear on a Sunday morning before church, and I had a hard time feeling sorry for
her. Or when the only person she would listen to was Jim, and she ignored me as
much as she could when she was running down the road.
But
that girl, she was one of a kind.
Last
fall, Phoebe was 12, and we found out she had cancer. We knew she had lumps all
over her underside, but we knew that can also be normal for older dogs. We took
her to the doctor for lumps in her glands, and we were told she had lymphoma.
Isaac
wouldn’t believe it. He was with me, and when the doctor left the room, he
said, “Nope. She doesn’t have cancer. She doesn’t.”
We
did everything we could to make her comfortable, but it was obvious the cancer
was starting to take over. Her teeth started falling out with the terrible
inflammation/tumors of her gums. The teeth she had left were going every which
way, even sideways, and yet, Phoebe was still smiling.
At
the beginning of February, it became painfully clear that our girl was getting
worse, and we had to make that dreaded decision.
On
Monday, February 13th, we had an appointment set up at 5:00. Everyone
was going to be there. Jim, Jesse, Isaac and I had left work and school early,
and Jim stopped at Wendy’s to pick up some burgers for her. She loved them!
I
think she knew what was going on. We loved on her, hugged her, kissed her, took
a lot of pictures, and none of us could believe we were having to say goodbye.
When
it came time to head to the vet, Caleb had put her harness on her, and she
slipped on the tile as she wasn’t walking too steadily, and she slammed her
face into Caleb’s shoe. That began the flow of blood from her gums that wouldn’t
stop. There she was, standing in the yard with blood dripping from her mouth,
yet she was smiling because she got to go somewhere.
In
the car, the kids started arguing about whose fault it was that it happened,
and Caleb was blamed for something that was really just a terrible accident. He
fell apart because he was the one who had been taking care of her since she was
diagnosed. He didn’t have a job, and taking care of Phoebe was his job. In
fact, just that morning, while we were still at work and school, he was in the
back yard digging her grave so we wouldn’t have to do it after she was gone.
All
of us met at the vet’s office, I went in and told them what had happened with
the bleeding, and they said whenever we were ready, to bring her in.
It
was fast. She was on the table, looking at me lovingly, and right before she
left us, she looked up at Jim, and then closed her eyes.
All
of us were crying, brokenhearted, watching our girl go. She was our very first “family”
dog, and she had been with us for almost her whole life. All except the first 9
weeks she was alive. We had been through a lot together.
And
she was gone.
Jim
wrapped her up in the sheet after we all said our goodbyes, and he carried her
out to the car.
At
home, we put her inside her grave, right next to Sophie’s, and with that, she
was gone.
You
might be reading this and saying, you know, she was just a dog. Personally, I
don’t know if there is such a thing as “just a dog.”
Losing
her doggie sister, Sophie, just 15 months before, and then losing Phoebe, my
gosh.
I
didn’t fall apart too badly that day, and I mentioned it to Jim. “I haven’t
really fallen apart about Phoebe yet,” I said. And he said, “Yeah, I know…”
A
few days later, we had just gone to bed, and my mind went back to that day we
lost her, and I totally fell apart, sobbing hard, and Jim asked, “What’s going
on?” I strained to get the words out, “I miss Phoebe!” And that was that.
As
I sit here recounting this experience, my eyes are welling up with tears, and
my heart skips a few beats. It’s like losing a part of your family when your
dog moves on to somewhere else.
I
don’t know if there is a place in Heaven for dogs, but for as long as I’m
alive, I’m going to believe there is. And in that place, I know Sophie and
Phoebe are running and smiling.
