by Bridie Cavanaugh

Created on: August 12, 2008

Dogs are a part of our families. We are responsible for taking care of them in good times and in bad. As your dog ages you are told that they will let you know when it is time to let them go. This is a conversation you hope to never have. Days, months and years go by. They become a part of your life and a part of you. You forget that someday you will need to have "the" conversation. Then one day they stumble, they lose energy, they lose the light in their eyes. The conversation must be held. You look into big brown eyes, and instead of joy and love, you see pain and confusion. You see a plea that their message is understood. It is time. Time to let your furry partner go. Time to say goodbye. Think of them at this time. Think of their life and their love. Don't think of the pain you will feel to let them go but think of the pain they will suffer it you make them stay past their time.

Bridie was my first dog. A regal, self possessed, diva. To strangers she appeared cold and aloof but those she loved knew it was all an act. She was funny, quirky and proud. She doled out kisses judiciously and people would proudly vie for her affections. She would run straight out of the ocean and wind her wet body around the nearest human in a vain attempt to dry herself off. She'd stamp her feet and toss her head in order to get a walk started just a little bit faster. She'd listen patiently while I cried and lick the salty tears off my face. Forever etched into the channels of my heart, she was my hearthound.

I realized the conversation was near when she growled at a child at the park. She had never acted that way before. The child kept coming at her and coming at her. She had backed up until she was behind me and gave a growl. I was shocked but I also knew the issue was something much bigger than an annoying child. I thought back to the days she didn't want to get up or I felt the need to cut our walks short. I realized the signs had been there. The veterinarian confirmed a kidney issue and we had a regime to follow.

She was back to herself for a while. We took full advantage. I took time off of work. We went to her favorite beach. She smiled as she ran into the ocean and sat down. All I could see was her head peeking out over the waves. We went to the park and had a picnic under her favorite tree. We shared apples, peanut butter sandwiches and cookies. We visited her special people. She received the extra praise, scratches and snacks with dignity and joy.

She relapsed. She struggled to stand and every walk was a chore. She turned down her favorite meals and struggled to lift her head in greeting. On her last night we headed out together to the homemade ice-cream stand and shared a large bowl of vanilla and a cone. It was just the two of us. No other dogs. No other friends. I looked into her eyes and realized I saw pain. The light was gone. It was time to have the conversation.

"I'm tired, she seemed to say, tired of pain, tired of feeling ill. I love you, and our life, but it is time to let me go. Remember me, and think of me, when you look out at the ocean or picnic under a tree. I may leave you in body but my spirit will remain. I'll be there when you come home from work and go to bed at night. I'll be by your side as you welcome new dogs into your life and I'll be proud to share your love. Sometimes, when you least expect it, you will see me standing, watching, waiting. A gray blur just out of sight."

I let her go that next day. Quietly, with dignity, surrounded by those she loved. It has been years but I swear when I cry, I can feel her smoothing away the tears. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I see a gray blur and the slow sweep of a big tail wagging a greeting.

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