A year ago today...

Dear little Willie, it was a year ago today that we went to the groomer for your usual St. Patrick's Day haircut.  You proudly strutted out the door fully aware of the little green bow attached to your collar and how handsome you looked.  

We had an appointment with our vet, Dr. Waag, later in the day to check into the cough you had that awakened us several times each night over the past week.  As little dogs age, that often develop problems with the little bones in the trachea which may cause coughing. The vet didn't sound worried when I called after the first night of coughing saying to give it a few days and see if it went away.  It didn't. 

You were nervous as always when we walked into Dr. Waag's foreboding clinic.  You sniffed around for a few seconds settling under the bench where I usually sat  when waiting.  You always loved sitting on my lap but here you were nervous, preferring to sit on the floor near my legs, your cold little nose tapping my leg every so often, your little front leg touching mine.  In an animated tone, I reassured you that nothing bad would happen.  But you remembered the last painful shots you'd had here and how tightly we held you to keep your from squirming.

Dr. Waag warmly greeted us while walking us to the big scale.  You stepped on without hesitation remembering that it was your Mom that hated the scale at the doctor's office, not you.  You'd lost 2 pounds.  We had been walking everyday all winter so maybe that attributed to the weight loss. No big deal, right?

They took you out of the exam room for an x-ray while you looked at me with those expressive eyes, asking, "Why are they taking me away from you?"  Again I reassured you and minutes later you were back in the room with me, anxiously sniffing around the room, contemplating a few spritzes to which I gently said, "no bad potty." You came and sat by me, again your little nose tapping my leg. Ten minutes later, Dr. Waag came back to the exam room with a sad look on his face, one that we had seen three years earlier, the day we let your brother BenBenBen go to doggie heaven.

The news was heart wrenching.  You had a mass that filled your chest cavity, pressing onto your lungs and heart.  We'd have to wait several days to have the U of M veterinary department review the test results and determine the prognosis.

The next few days were a haze. Dad and I speculated on the outcome trying not to imagine the worst. The coughing at night escalated to awakening us every 2 hours during which you'd jump off the bed, frightened and confused until the frenzied coughing jag ended and gingerly climb up your pet steps back on the bed nuzzling up against me. Our hearts were breaking for you, for us.  

Five days later, Dr. Waag called with the worst possible news.  You would only last two more weeks until your heart and lungs were crowded out by the savage, malignant tumor.  We had imagined, months, not weeks.  Surgery and traditional treatment were not viable options.  Our precious little WorldWideWillie's life was about to end. 

I took this photo of you the night we got the worst news. 

You dragged your toys onto our bed, up the two sets of pet steps 

in order to rest your weary head.

The rest of the story, the 17 days you lasted, as detailed in the beginning of this blog, were some of the most bittersweet, memorable days of my life spending every precious moment with you, whether up with you all night while you coughed or, during the days when you seldom coughed.  You figured out that you wouldn't cough when you were standing so you often stood next to me wherever I was, your eyes half shut with exhaustion, teetering on your little legs.  

We continued our daily walks, however slowly, with many rest stops in between.  The walks made you happy, made me cry.  We went to Petco, your favorite. We went for rides in the car with the windows open so you could stick your head out and "bite the air." We sat outside in the warm sun, your head turned skyward "sniffing the air.  We didn't sleep.  We didn't care.  We just wanted to be with you.

So, I write this to you today to tell you that we haven't forgotten you and that we thank you for the lessons we learned about unconditional love, a concept nearly impossible to behold among us humans... a gift that Mother Nature has bestowed upon us humans enabling us to love her amazing creatures, blending us into one family that fulfills our lives in a magical way.

On the anniversary of the day you left us, April 9, 2011,  I will write for the final time in this blog to begin a new chapter in our lives, a new blog.

(Please visit us at: www.worldwidewaftage.blogspot.com) 

I will let you go, our dear Willie, not the memories but the sorrow, not the endearing stories, but the pain.  

Your last day...