When it's Time to Say Goodbye

My dog Raven was meant to be a cat. I adopted her following the worst year of my life, a time when within the span of six short months I lost my long-time canine companion Bandit, then my oldest brother, then my mother. The house seemed too empty, too lonely. Maybe I’ll try getting a cat this time, I thought. I grew up in a dog family; we were never without a dog for long. I liked cats but knew little about keeping them as pets. What the heck, I told myself, try something different, break out of the mold. The search began.

After explaining all this to a rescue group volunteer one spring weekend, she told me about an Australian Shepherd mix available for adoption at another facility. My curiosity got the best of me and I decided to go take a look. When I first met Raven she put her head in my lap, let out a great big sigh, and jumped right into my heart. She was living in my house later that evening. Now what was that about a cat?

I had only the sketchiest details about her: approximately one year old, doesn’t like to ride in cars, gets scared if you try to pick her up, good with kids and cats, they told me. Not a lot to go on, but it sure made things interesting when I stupidly attempted to pick her up because she refused to get in the car on the way home from the adoption center. Over the years she learned to enjoy riding in the car but never, ever let anyone pick her up. We didn’t have kids and as for the part about getting along with cats? Well, not so much, since she blew out her knee chasing a cat down the street, resulting in the purchase of an extremely expensive bionic joint for our wild and crazy girl.

This creature with the mysterious past was right by my side for more than 10 years. Sure, she also had a nutty streak and got into lots of trouble. Often I wondered, what was I thinking, why didn’t I pick a cat instead? A cat would not dig meteor craters in my gardens, would not try to eat the sofa, would not drag a squirrel into the house through the doggy door and take it on a romp through the family room, would not kill innocent birds just stopping by to use the birdbath (well okay, maybe a cat would do that too). But it was all part of the bargain. Before long I realized I had fallen hopelessly in love with yet another dog.

Raven was bigger than Bandit and strong, she liked to play rough. There was this certain posture, this certain look in her eyes when you just knew it was coming. Raven would streak across the yard at lightning speed and body slam you! It was as if we had suddenly been transported into the middle of a mosh pit. This took some getting used to on my part but eventually I learned the best way to play along with those wild and crazy Raven games.

Her seemingly endless quirks and phobias provided an endless source of amusement. We especially enjoyed the way she “smiled” – baring teeth and gums and hissing. It was a little disturbing to outsiders but we explained that it was her way of saying “Oops, sorry, I’m not in trouble am I?”

Raven’s wildness was equally matched by her sweet, loving disposition. As age began to take its toll, she slowed down and eventually became this big black blob curled up next to you, wherever that might be.

We were devastated last Christmas when Raven was diagnosed with canine lymphoma. The prognosis was not good; without chemotherapy maybe a few months at best. Our veterinarian prescribed a steroid that kept the cancer in remission for a while. When it was no longer effective, we stopped the medication and let the cancer run its course. Secretly I hoped she would make it to see another snowfall, the dog that loved making her own peculiar brand of snow angels, the dog that loved to lay on the deck during snowstorms just because it felt so darned good. But it was not to be.

The vet told us many times, you will know when it’s time. And she was right, we knew. One day Raven was hanging out with us, playing with Tonka, digging little holes in the dirt, and the next morning we found her lying outside with a vacant stare, forever lost to the disease.

When it’s time to say goodbye, oh how the heart breaks. Yet I cherish every minute I spent with Raven. Meet you at the Rainbow Bridge someday, my pretty girl.

We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.

~ Irving Townsend – The Once Again Prince

It's a Dog's Life from Deborah French on Vimeo.