My (Betty Louise) life has dramatically changed in the last week. It is the reason there have not been any posts. We at Women on Air want to share our real and authentic stories with you, and wish for all of us to feel into who we are…even at times of grief.
Last Sunday evening, I made the decision to euthanize my trusted companion, Lacey dog. She was a border collie mix we rescued 10 years ago beginning at the wee young age of 5 weeks old (see photo below). She was a quiet puppy barely chewing anything except the crotches of our underwear, a bazaar but common puppy habit. Coupled with that charming trait was the joy of eating cat poop and horse manure…our reassurance Lace was indeed not of the human species. Other than those less than appetizing behaviors, Lace grew into my life as an “almost-human” member.
I am sure the “Dog Whisperer” would not approve of my choice to let her sleep under the covers with me after the separation from my husband…eight years ago. But oh how good it felt with her warm furry body laying next to me - she was the perfect size to curl right up inside my legs like an extra blanket for my calves and thighs.
It was so much more than warmth though…it was the unconditional love that rolled into that curve of my body. I do believe it might be the purest love on the planet. And once you have experienced that feeling of unconditional love and the being who gave it to you is gone…well, there is an emptiness that feels so deep and cavernous and at the same time your breath is so shallow it will not go past your chest. Note: I am once again breathing, but it has taken a conscious focus, a dance class, and moving and meditating daily.
Lacey was absolutely without a doubt, the most perfect animal for me. She protected me and snuggled with me (most of the time) keeping me warm and safe. She would bark at every visitor to my door, and then settle quietly in the corner when she knew it was safe. She would sit looking away from our campsite or beach site guarding us at all times. When my daughter, Rebecca, would be at my home during our co-parenting days, Lace would go to sleep with her because of her night fears. She would usually get up in the middle of the night to come back and sleep with me though. It was always a victory for Rebecca when Lace spent the whole night with her. She would lie on my feet quietly (well not so quietly as she aged) breathing which always felt so soothing to me. The first time I took her to the vet, she told me Lace would be “low maintenance” and she lived up to the prediction completely.
She was a proud watchdog who hated anyone fussing over her or paying special attention when they were worried about her. So when she began growing tumors, I did one surgery and said “no more.” The tumor turned out to be malignant. Rebecca and I agreed that she would hate to hang on and go thru treatments of any kind. When her cancer showed up on her rear end, the grief of making that excruciating decision was before me. How much pain is the right amount of pain?
Opening to the power of choosing to, either be humane and loving by putting her down while she still barked at our visitors or keeping her alive until the pain got so bad she could not follow her instincts, was the feeling of grief from the inside out. I understand why so many do not make the choice to let them go. We want to hold onto all that unconditional love for every possible moment.
Lacey’s gift to me was to show me what pure love could be. Thanks, Lace.
For those of you that have read my cathartic expression of grief, I thank you. Relaying this experience so vulnerably keeps me in my truth…and truth is a path to inner peace.
Blessing to all the creatures in the world.
RIP Lacey-girl.
