It has been 5 days since my furkid Hairy had passed away. Swinging forth and back among the emotions, denial, shock, numbness, grief, and bargaining. Here I am sitting on the couch, seeing his empty bed from corner of my eye. Now and then I find myself looking at his bed, expecting to see him snoozing among his creamy fur all over him, and to see the bed empty, for a second, confusion, before realization he is gone.
"It was only a dog." Your dog may be just a dog to you, but Hairy was more to me. He was one of my anchors. After finding out that I was not meant to have biological children, my life was thrown into chaos, rage and grief. And there he was, an anchor reminding me, that I do have children, just with fur and big hearts. Lola and Hairy's presences held me to the world that I despairingly wanted to leave. Cuddling with Hairy in my bed, feeling vibrations of his loud snoozing, his laid-back attitude, the comedy of him sitting there, analyzing me while I was trying to teach him to sit (would you believe it took me two years only to realize that he already knows how to sit, just with a different word taught to him before me, 'Down' instead of 'sit!'), being so polite that he would wait for me to catch up with him on walks. Such a perfect gentleman, he was.
I had an hunch something was wrong with him in October, and took him to the vet. The vet wasn't sure, waffling between kidney or liver disease. In Colorado, a specialist saw him, and the lab works were not clear either. All they know was that he wasn't able to eat fully, and that he was not hungry. What he would eat one day, chicken, he won't eat at next meal, then beef. Even the raw diet did not help.
He stayed with the vet for a week in December, in hope he would improve with their care. He wasn't getting better, and so then released into my care. That night I found him sleeping right next to me, after sleeping in his bed for the last few months. He was in pain, and so I knew it was time. It was time to let go of the anchor. It was very hard. My heart was breaking.
To love him was to have it done in familiar environment, in his bed, among people that loved him. The vet came to the house, honoring Hairy, as she administrated the shot stopping his heart. Next time I see him, his ashes will be spread out in the sunflower field.
The bed is still here, empty. Lola looks at the bed from a distance. She knows Hairy is not here. She is staying close to me, reminding me "Mom, I'm here." And with cuddling her, basking in her warmth and love, she is my furkid, my child.
I love you and miss you, Hairy.