Fiona

Out walking around the block last night, I was remembering how my dog Fiona died. She had had a large growth on her abdomen for a long time, but it became malignant. The morning I woke up, had to urge her to go outside to pee and then when she came back, she wouldn't eat, I knew she was very ill. She was always crazy excited to go out into the yard, and had never refused food in her life before then. 

In 2002, 8 years old, shortly before moving to LA

I took her to the vet and they said there wasn't anything they could do for her. She was too old for surgery and it probably wouldn't help anyway. So we put her on painkillers and fed her white rice and boiled chicken and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. But then she stopped eating even the boiled chicken. She had difficulty standing. It was clear that she was still in pain, even on the painkillers. 

The vet offers euthanasia at one's home, so my partner at the time and I decided it was time. They came over at the appointed time, on November 11th 2009, and we all sat around on the floor with Fiona. Another sign that she was not feeling well at all was that she barely reacted to the presence of these new people in her domain, the living room. Usually, she greeted people ferociously; one of her really bad habits was jumping up on people in a fit of mad love.  We took her outside. We wanted her to die out in the yard, under the open sky. Her favorite places were all outside. The yard was her haven. 

She hobbled out and took a pee and then stood there for a second, milky-eyed and snowy muzzled and as if trying to find her feet. Then she turned and hobbled back toward the house. "No honey, come on, come over here." She stopped and looked back. Then she started walking back to the house again. I went and got her and led her to the vet and his assistant, on the ground. My partner and I pet her and held her. The vet got a syringe ready. 

Fiona always hated needles and she flinched at the sight of it, but I took her head in my hand and cooed in her ear. "It's okay girl. It's not going to hurt." The vet worked the needle into her leg and she barely reacted, and an entire syringe of probably pentobarbital coursed into her. She started to buck a little bit and got a wild look in her eye. It seemed to me that she figured out what was happening, which is of course a matter of interpretation and is perhaps unlikely, but she was pretty smart and that was the impression she gave. 

She tried to get up and pushed against the six hands that were on her. The vet had either missed the vein or her heart was so strong that one syringe was not doing it. Hastily, the vet loaded another and injected her. She was not comfortable and seemed terrified, the exact opposite of what I had hoped for. I had imagined that she would just drift off peacefully, and I think that is what usually happens. But Fiona and "the usual" had little familiarity with each other, so I guess it's not surprising that things were going a little bit haywire. 

But finally, for about 10 seconds, she did calm down, and her muscles went loose. I kissed her head, and stroked her sleek back. She heaved a few very deep breaths. In a few more seconds, she was gone. She rolled completely on her side and her tongue lolled out of her mouth, her eyes wide open. You could tell her old dog's body was soulless now, inanimate. 

The vet carried her to the car out front. "Her ashes will be ready in a few days. We'll call. Take care of yourselves. She was a strong, good old girl." 

My partner and I went into the house and, in the kitchen, I collapsed into her arms and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. 

12 years of her being a vital spirit, a problem dog, destructive, restless, neurotic, terrified of thunder and bed sheets, always eager for endless exercise, her toes broken repeatedly in her refusal to slow down, her love of water, her obsession with human food, her endless, unconditional, infinite and always forgiving and huge-hearted love. 

Gone. 

Where she spent the last 8 months of her life, mostly sleeping

I have had some weird experiences since she died where I could swear she was present, paying a visit. The sense I have always gotten is that she roams wild and free in many dimensions that only partly intersect with this one. Once, while I was camping on Isla Magdalena, I swear it seemed she was excited to see me and tearing all around, chasing birds, trying to find coyotes and reassuring me that everything was all right with her. It also felt like maybe she was saying a kind of final goodbye, like she might not visit again. She hasn't, yet. Strange experiences, to be sure. 

On my walk last night, the memory of how she died reminded me that all of the love that has come my way has been a tremendous gift. While it is true that I want to be discerning and aware of who my trustworthy people are, this is a kind of counterbalance to my last post about "the currency." No matter how much heartbreak, sorrow, loss, betrayal, confusion, jealousy, anger, resentment— love is a tremendous gift. I experienced a wave of forgiveness toward those who had wronged me, and forgiveness toward myself for all of my own self-inflicted harm. A sense of all of us simply doing the absolute best we can washed over me.

Fiona had that big-hearted capacity for forgiveness, for enthusiastic love, and an almost total lack of self-consciousness. She simply loved life and people and the world. She was game for anything. She, like all good dogs, always just took me exactly as I was. There was a sacred and wild joy in her that refused to be dampened by disappointment or other circumstance. I sometimes wonder how I might have better let her know how deeply I loved her and appreciated her, beyond what I had already done. I guess it has to be enough. 

She was with me for the last 7 years of my alcoholic drinking. Over that span of time, she and I moved seven times, including into a house with many other animals and into a tiny apartment in Los Angeles. Then she was with me for the first 5 years of my sobriety. We moved five times, including back to Santa Fe and then to Arizona. It amazes me now to see people post on Facebook or wherever that they have to get rid of a pet because they are moving. It never even occurred to me, with Fiona. 

The big lesson from her life and death is to love fiercely and with as open a heart as possible. The opportunities to love are gifts that come along unbidden and over which we have little control. Even when our hearts get mangled, if we keep showing up for the lesson, it's there. And we can stay ready for the next one, instead of closing off and becoming bitter. Because, one of these days, we'll be out in the yard and we'll start to hobble back to the house and the universe is going to say "No, come here. Come over here."

In the apartment in Los Angeles, just after the carpets had been thoroughly cleaned. She looks so excited to have new barf space.