My sweet, sweet Sophie

My baby has joined her big brother in Heaven.
The grief of losing Harley was too much for Sophie. She stopped eating, and when her appetite returned, the anemia she was diagnosed with several years ago seemed to have taken hold.
She endured a blood transfusion and looked to be coming back to me, but it wasn't to be. She died Jan. 26.
I loved that baby the second I saw her, running alongside the road. She was mine from that moment on, so defenseless, so in need of someone to love her, protect her. And Harley and I did just that. She was always such a diva, made such a big deal out of nothing, any mishap was a crisis that she needed help from. And now I know it was because she was filling a void in my heart that will remain empty now for the rest of my life.
I am consumed with grief and guilt - guilt for not being able to save her.
My life will never be the same without that angelic creature to meet me after a bad day... or a good day, with a tail wag, begging to be picked up and held so she could give me a kiss that would melt my heart.
She will always her her mommy's princess. And I will miss her with all my heart until the day I die.

Madison Grace

Although nothing could come close to filling the void left in my heart having lost the Harley man, I felt it was time for a puppy.
Enter Madison Grace... currently 4 pounds and an ounce of tri-colored Pembroke Welsh Corgi and the award winner at learning at break neck speed where the treats are stored.
Here she is, pictured with Sophie. Don't let the innocent act fool you ... slumber such as this is only possible after hours of running around the house like a complete heathen.

"Dogs leave paw prints on our hearts forever"

... that's what is imprinted on Harley's urn. And every day I realize more how true that is.
My most-treasured Christmas gift this year was given to me by Dr. Wallis.
When Bob and I left the clinic, having sent Harley to Heaven, I told Bob I was beating myself up for not taking Harley's paw print. I had snips of his fur, as I'd planned to do for so many months after coming to the realization that the end was nearing... but I'd forgotten to get his paw print.
When I went to Dr. Wallis' office the Monday before Christmas for Madison's first vet visit, Dr. Wallis said his vet tech, an art student, had something she wanted to give me.
Little did I know, they had made a cast of my baby's paw print. I can't begin to thank them nor put into words how much that gift meant to me.

Last night...

Last night I prayed for Sophie. She's having such a hard time. She's looking for Harley. And moping around. And not taking treats. And that's so unlike her. I know where he is. She just knows he's gone somewhere without her. She looks at where his bowl used to be. Sniffs at the rug in the laundry room where Harley would slumber the day away while I was at work.
And she lays with her head resting on her paws, looking at me like "What have you done with my bear?"
And I asked God to tell my baby boy goodnight, like I'd done every night before we went to sleep. And I told Him to thank Uncle Scotty for taking care of him. Before Harley took his last breath I told him to go find Uncle Scotty... my dear uncle who died of a heart attack after being diagnosed with cancer. Harley always listened to me. So I'm sure he did just that.
And I asked God to let me know Harley was OK, that he knew that I did what was right for him, but that I missed him terribly. And I went about the task of going to sleep, fighting tears, because I know they only make Sophie hurt worse.
Harley came to bed last night... In my dreams. He ran and jumped on the bed and looked at me with his tail wagging, waiting for a treat. In my dream, I told him "Harley man, you didn't even have to use your ramp. You jumped up there like you did when you were a little puppy." And in my dream I gave him his treat, just like I always did at bedtime.
And I knew. And when I woke up and realized it was a dream, even then, I had to smile. Because it was his way of telling me he knew I had done right by him. That he knew I'd always take care of him.
He's always with me. And he's able to romp around Heaven without the pain of the arthritis that he was too proud to let on he had. He can jump and run without having to wolf down a pain pill — even if that pain pill was always disguised by being wrapped with chicken or a hotdog. And he can hear me again when I tell him how much I love him.
And when I hug him around the neck and put my face in his fur, I don't have to pretend that I'm not feeling his lymph nodes to see if they're swolen... I'm just hugging him.
But God sent him to me in my dreams. I hope He keeps doing that.

Rest in peace, my beloved Harley Man

'95 Fat Boy Harley Aug. 16, 1995 - Dec. 9, 2008

 

Harley acted Sunday as if he just couldn’t get comfortable. I took him for a long walk. He came home and rested. Then at 11 p.m., was anxious again. We walked. And we went to bed.
Monday he was panting heavily. I worked. Went home. We walked. We went to bed. He came to the head of the bed and laid down on my arm. I told him “baby, when you need to give up, just go. Don’t worry about Mommy and Sophie. We will miss you. But we’ll be OK. But don’t you ever doubt Harley, you have been the joy of mommy’s life for 13 years. I will love you for the rest of my life.”
Tuesday morning he got up and went outside like always around 8 a.m. He always came back in the house and walked back up his ramp to get back in bed until I got up around 9 to get ready for work. He came back in the house and instead of coming up his ramp, he sat at the end of it, as if waiting for me, pleading for me to understand what he was trying to convey.
I know now he was telling me it was time to give up. That he couldn’t fight anymore. That he couldn't come back to bed.
I took him to Dr. Wallis at 2 p.m. He did xrays of Harley’s lungs. He showed them to me, first the ones he took a month ago. He showed me the lungs and how clear they were. Then he put the new xrays under the light. It was as if a cloud had formed over my baby’s lungs. Cancer had invaded his body and was threatening to either suffocate him or give him a heart attack from laboring so hard to breathe.
I had prayed that God would give me the answer, the peace of mind to KNOW what was right for Harley. There was no doubt when I saw those xrays that Harley was going to fight until his heart gave out. He was still eating, still taking walks, his lymph nodes were still fine. All outward signs showed he was OK. While internally, cancer was taking over his body.
Dr. Wallis said Harley wasn’t in pain, but that he was frustrated, it was aggravating him that he couldn't catch his breath. And that he wouldn’t make it until Christmas to see my mom, dad and Jared again. Oh how I wanted him to take a walk with his Grandpa one more time. But I knew Harley could take pain better than aggravation. And I couldn’t let him worry about me and struggle to breathe.
I called my boyfriend, Bob. He went with me to say goodbye.
Harley died in my arms. Dr. Wallis warned us he might jerk, fight the anestesia. He might die with his eyes open. He didn’t struggle in fear when the shot was administered. He just went to sleep. When Dr. Wallis asked him to lie down, he obeyed and never lifted his head again.
Dr. Wallis started the shot. Harley's breathing lessened and I told him to go find my Uncle Scotty, my dear uncle who died of a heart attack after being diagnosed with cancer, that he would give him walks in Heaven until I could get there.
And Harley stopped breathing.
Bob and I stayed with him in the room for several more minutes. I went to kiss Harley one last time and his nose was still wet, a sign, I’ve always been told, he was happy.
This is a letter I wrote to Harley back in April when he developed that mass on his toe. I wrote it when I was awaiting the results of that biopsy. That didn't turn out to be cancer, but was a sign, I know, from God that I needed to prepare and up the ante on spoiling him. And I did. Boy did I.

My beloved Harley man....
I am writing this now because in the near future, I might not be able to.
Words can’t express what you’ve meant to me since we met in Texas in 1995.
Through ups, downs, new jobs, moves, my kidney stones and your kidney infection, hurricanes... you’ve been the constant companion God knew I needed in my life.
I will never forget how you picked me, and not the other way around, and I will always be grateful I listened when you looked at me with eyes that said “Lady, it’s me you want. You don’t want a white, female chow. You want me.” I can’t believe I talked the lady down in price because I thought $100 was too much to pay for you. Little did I know, in a mere week, no amount of money would be too much.
Letting you go is going to be the most difficult decision I’ve ever made. But I owe you a graceful departure from the life we’ve shared to one where you will not be in pain. Where there will be no cats. Where there will always be grated cheese on your canned food, dry food combo and where it won’t matter if that food is weight management. Never again will I make you get your ears cleaned, have drops put in your eyes, your nails trimmed. You can have ice cream every day, not just on your birthday.
Sophie and I will miss you terribly. You’ve put yourself between us and what you thought might have been danger. You’ve checked out each and every visitor to the front door to make sure they met your approval. You stuck up for her when she got in over her head with the neighbor’s dog. You’ve been our fierce protector and loyal friend. Our house will not be the same without you in it. Your smells will linger, there will be traces of your fur. I’ll come home and find your toy basket full of toys you played with long enough to get them slobbery. I’ll find your ramp your dad made for you to make it easier for you to get into bed. Even if I were to rid the house of all these things, Harley man, I will never, and would never, want to rid it of the memories.
I will take a snip of your fur to keep with me forever. And I will hold you and watch you slip away because you know I could never let you go anywhere without me. And you will be free to run, Harley, with no limp, no more pain pills. And no leash. And you’ll be able to hear again. So I will tell you before I leave just how very much I love you.
And your ashes will be returned to me, and they will be put with my ashes when it’s time for us to meet again.
I will try so hard not to cry Harley. Because I know you hate it when I’m sad.
Every day I’ve had you in my life has been a blessing. You are taking a part of my heart to heaven with you. It will never be replaced. And there will never be another Harley man. No dog, no friend, could ever mean as much to me.
Love,
Mommy