As I write this, my family's beloved Brown Lab/Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Bella is reaching the end of her life. She turned 11 in February, and after losing her gusto and spark over the past year or so due to arthritis and the usual ailments of an aging dog, early Thanksgiving morning she found herself stuck on the stairs while coming to wake us at some ungodly hour, as she had faithfully done for years.
Bella's decline happened gradually then suddenly (to borrow from Hemingway). By Thanksgiving, her mobility had significantly deteriorated thanks to a confluence of diabetes and other issues. Despite the attention of very capable and compassionate vets, it all started taking the Bella out of Bella
Our family has had many discussions about when it will be time, but those details will stay private. Our children, ages 18 and 15, have been thoughtful, compassionate, inquisitive, and mature throughout this situation, and my wife and I are proud of them
I won't detail Bella's quirks and warmth and affection; she was simply a great dog for my family—it is as if God had said to us, "I'm sending you a dog. Tell me what you want." And we got "the perfect dog," as my wife says.
This isn't an advertisement for rescues, though Bella was one. Somehow, by the time Bella came to us at age 3, we were her third home. I've sometimes half-jokingly said that “people would pay a lot of money for a dog like Bella.” This is true, but missing the point: we were lucky, and we've always been grateful for Bella and to Chesapeake Safe Harbor for matching us with her.
I grew up with a fantastic Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Justin. My family adopted him when I was 10 and he was 2. Thirty-one years have passed since we said goodbye to him in similar circumstances as we’re seeing now: lost mobility, with the spark of our athletic dog fading, all while our family had to ponder when it would be time.
For Justin, it was a hot, sunny July afternoon on Long Island before my junior year of college. I imagine that my late father would say he and my mother were doing their best amid questions from my sisters and me. My mother said something like this recently, and I hope our kids will understand: we are all doing our best.
Married life with kids, two jobs, and a dog is like living in a fast-forward. You're shot out of a cannon around age 30 and only about 20 years later skip to some kind of landing. 18 and 15? How did this happen?
A few months ago, as we started to anticipate this moment in Bella’s life, my family was all together on a relaxed weekend day, in our living room. There was a fire, some game or another on TV, and all five of us were content to be home. It struck me then, as I’d guess it does most parents, how fleeting these moments are. My son leaves for college in a few months, and my daughter isn’t far behind. Fleeting indeed.
Already, I sound like my parents circa 1998, after the kids had left home and with Justin long since gone: it's just nice to have everyone together.
I'll stash this post away until we've said goodbye to Bella. Writing it has been therapeutic, and I hope others can relate.
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Today, we said goodbye to Bella.
Thank you, Bella, and goodbye. May you find squirrels and chipmunks and Amazon deliveries and a beach that is full of tennis balls, dog biscuits and dog friends, including Justin and your dog sibling Redd Buttons.
You were our perfect dog.
