Tonight, the fire in her eyes still burns brightly…but for how long? She is 19 years old, her kidney function is nearly non-existant, her desire for food is waning, and the muscles in her back legs are wasting away threatening her ability to walk and stand. Every other day she looks and acts like she’s at death’s door, and then the next day she stands up (albeit wobbly) with an eager expression of “feed me!”
All pet owners have been there…on death watch. I hate to call it that, but that’s what it is. Looking for that fine line between “life is still good” and “ready for a peaceful forever sleep.” There comes that moment when our pets tell us it’s time for them to go, but sometimes is so hard to recognize as we wallow in our denial and impending grief.
After last Thursday, I was convinced she would be dead by Friday, or at least would not live through the weekend. But here she is today, with enough spunk to once again fool me into thinking that she swallowed that pill I just stuck down her throat. “No, really, human, I did, can’t you see me pretending to swallow? Don’t watch while I turn my head and spit the pill out on the bathroom floor.” Crafty little skinny one, she is.
I look at her and wonder what wings dare she aspire? To fly away to heaven or stay for a few more days on this mortal earth? Would she rather be left alone to die in peace? Or would she welcome one more head rub even while she protests one more hug? I think that may be it, that moment when I pick her up and she does not protest being held, that I will know she is no longer herself.
And then we will both water heaven with our tears.