It was Cinco de Mayo. Bro. Mo had called me downstairs because "Emily wasn't moving." She was awake and alert, but would not get up. no matter how much we called her. Eventually, after a tear-filled call to Michelle she moved. Emily has always had a sense of people's (especially mine) emotions. So, I feel after she realized something was wrong, and that we realized something was wrong, she started trying to prove us wrong. She moved a little. But then would promptly plop on the floor. She even made it upstairs. So Michael came over to watch the girls while we took her to the clinic that Michelle worked at. She wouldn't come down from upstairs and Michael and I had to carry her down. (Bro. Mo. had thrown his back out) She had peed upstairs. It all seemed to be surreal. This couldn't be happening, even though we had mentally started preparing ourselves for this inevitable point for a few months prior. She had been a part of our family since just a few months after we were married. We "rescued" her from abusive owners when she was 4 months old. She was our first baby. She had a ruptured spleen, and cancer had been spreading for a while, Michelle said after it was all done. I will never forget her popping her head up from the exam table to make sure I was still there every time I would sit down. My head was killing me from all the crying that day. And, she even wagged her tail a little up to the very end. She knew. She knew she was going and didn't know how to tell us goodbye. It was murder watching the girls say their last goodbyes, all huddled around her on the floor. Even Michael had to turn away for fear of us seeing him cry.
I have to believe that we will be reunited with our pets in the eternities, just like our human family members. It really is like a part of our family is missing. The first few weeks after were hard. Home didn't feel like home. Something was missing. There was no puppy sitting on the couch waiting up for me when I had to work at night. There was no dog to watch out for when I got out of bed in the middle of the night. I found myself absently watching my step after there was no need. There is no dog scratching at the door to get in, or sitting under my feet as I cut meat hoping for a little smidgen. The night of her passing, we apparently had a party-goer from next door (the TPD "Notice of Unruly Gathering" poster is still plastered the the front window of their house) hiding in our front door alcove and fire 2 shots. We woke to them and Bro. Mo. turned on the foyer light which scared him away to run to his car that was backed into our driveway. Next we know, police are EVERYWHERE and the police helicopter (which is nothing new) was overhead. But, when it shines the spotlight directly over your house and into the backyard while you are waiting for the police to come question you, it gets a little more real. All I kept thinking was "I don't need this now. My emotions are so raw. If only Emily were here she would have barked long before the guy even fired the shots." But she wasn't and we had to face the fact we were on our own for our safety now.
Now its been 3 months and life goes on. And some may read this and say "She was just a dog."
To that I say: "I feel sorry for you to never have known the love of a pet."
I have many more pics of her that were taken with old-style film. Emma used to sit on her all the time. And a particular pic of Emily sitting on the toilet seat. She is irreplaceable. We love you Emily.
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