| Romanov loved getting new toys. |
In the days leading up to that day, I was gathering some of
my older writing with the intention of creating some post-dated blog posts that
would come up every day while I was out of town. Thursday morning Rob and I went to the store
to buy some last minute traveling needs and we picked up two new toys—one for
Romanov, one for Snowdoll. We do this
every year on our birthdays, mine and Rob’s and sometimes even on the puppies’. The truth is, Snowdoll doesn’t really care.
Romanov loves having new toys and, whenever he receives a new toy, he is so
happy, so eager to show it off, that, whenever someone comes over, he will grab
his new toy and bring it the way a small child does, showing off the latest,
greatest toy.
So we found toys, chosen for their texture, one Romanov
particularly likes in his toys. It would give him something new to enjoy before
the surgery and then, again, when he had recovered from the surgery. And with the surgery that Friday, a new toy
was timely.
Of course, the surgery itself was scheduled around my
birthday because we used my birthday gift money to pay for the surgery. Romanov had a sort of ulcerated sore near his
anus and, although it was critical or even necessary for him to have the
surgery, we wanted him to feel more comfortable. So I paid for the unnecessary surgery that
killed him.
Friday morning, Rob took Romanov to the veterinarians and
came home as we waited to receive the call to tell us Romanov was out of surgery,
recovering from the anesthesia, and would be ready to come home. The vet called hours earlier than we
anticipated, explaining that the blood work revealed Romanov has stage 4 cancer
and the surgery wouldn’t do more than make him more comfortable. I didn’t want to proceed, knowing that stage
4 cancer is incurable, that we might need the money to make the ultimate decision
for him, to provide him with the necessary pain medication to alleviate the
pain that comes with pervasive, metastasized cancer. Rob pointed out that we should do anything we
could to make Romanov more comfortable, and I agreed. We gave the vet the green light to go ahead
and perform the surgery. Then we waited
again for the call.
Saturday we had maneuvered Romanov onto a sheet so we could
more easily move him from room to room, something he didn’t especially
like. I insisted he be moved to the great
room because it has carpeting which would be easier for his puppy paws to “grip”
when he was ready to get up. He wouldn’t eat but he would take some water. Only a small amount. We even raised the blinds so he could look
out the window, to enjoy the view of birds or chipmunks hopping about. We’d laid out some plastic so we wouldn’t
have to worry about Romanov urinating, lay blankets beneath him, which we
changed out, whenever he did.
Better but not well.
Sunday, I suggested to Rob we get some chicken so I could
make some broth and buy some organic broth for him in the meantime. When we moved Romanov into the great room
from the bedroom, I noticed his paws were unusually cold. I took my meditation blanket and lay it
across him, trying to warm him up. I
went over to Romanov several times, holding first one paw and then another in
my hands, trying to warm them up, concerned that I could not. I got up to get myself a drink of water and
noticed, as I passed him, that his eyes were rolled up in the way that scares
me when he is sleeping with his eyes open.
I normally would wake him up because it disturbs me so much but this
time, because I knew he was supposed to be recovering, I just slipped by as
quietly as I could.
When I walked back into the room his eyes were open. His eyes were open, and I stopped because, in
that instant, I knew. I sat down beside
him, staring at the blanket, willing it to move, to rise, to show some
indication of breathing. And it seemed
to move, of course, because the vertigo will cause things to move in and out,
because I wanted it so very much, because my will desired nothing more than to
see Romanov breathing in that moment.
| Purple orchids from Joe & Erin |
I reached under the blanket. I touched his ribs, to feel his
heart or breath or anything. He was cold
beyond his paws now. He was gone. I knew this.
I picked up my phone which I had kept close throughout. I called Rob.
“Come home now.”
“I’m on my way. What’s wrong?”
“Just come home.”
I could not put an answer into words because words would
make it more real. I hung up. I put the phone down. I put my hands on Romanov, buried my finger
in his fur, started to cry. I even tried
to close his eyes but could not. His
eyes would not close. I took his paw in
my hands again. So cold. I sat away from him, making space for
Snowdoll as I called her over.
She wanted nothing to do with him. She just looked and rushed away. She knew as well.
When Rob came in, he left the bags in the kitchen and came
into the great room, dropping down beside where Romanov lay. He bowed himself over Romanov, sobbing as I
had been, wrapping his arms around him. “Come on, buddy. Come on.”
I think I said something about its being too late. Rob’s hat fell askew as he buried his face
into the same fur where I had buried my fingers. Rob was prepared to simply bury Romanov in
the back yard but I became hysterical, fell to my knees, demanding we have him
cremated. We had to do this. I didn’t care if we couldn’t pay the IRS or
buy food for a week or a month or a year.
We had to have Romanov cremated.
Rob demurred. After
all, we both want to be cremated, and Romanov deserves the same honor we would
choose for ourselves.
The man who came to take Romanov for cremation complimented
Snowdoll on how beautiful she is, complimented Romanov as well, saying what a
beautiful dog he is. He was. Rob suggested that I go into the bedroom
while they took care of things. I wanted
to protest but I saw the body bag and realized I wasn’t strong enough for any
of this. I took Snowdoll into the
bedroom and we waited there. While we
were in the other room I didn’t know that the mand had brought with him a way
to get a paw print from Romanov so we made a wonderful choice and he left with
Romanov and we had two paw prints for him.
That was four weeks ago today. A couple of days later, the man returned with
the ashes in a sort of jar that had been painted with stone texture paint. I had already decided I wanted a memorial
pendant. Rob wanted one as well. We offered the man a tip, at least to pay for
the gas coming to our home, but he refused, asking only that we send him photos
of both our dogs because he had been telling his wife how beautiful our dogs
are. Were. Are.
I don’t cry every day now. Only every Thursday, Friday,
Saturday, and always on a Sunday. I hold
onto the grief because that is the only way I can hold onto him. For now.
Eventually I’ll reach the point where I can let it all go. I’m just not there yet. Not now.
Not yet.
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| Rob and his buddy. |









