Goodnight and Goodbye, Sweet Lily

Today was one of the hardest I’ve been through. We knew this day would come sooner than later, and today, we said goodbye to our wonderful baby, Lily. We watched her closely this week, and each day as she regressed a little more, we knew it was time. She had progressed to the point where she no longer could navigate around the house (we think vision in both eyes were now affected), she seemed confused and weak, had trouble standing on her own, and didn’t even flinch when we mentioned “treats” or “hungry”. She no longer wagged her tail, and seemed to be so, so tired. She was tired of fighting.

I called on Saturday to make an appointment when it was clear that it was the right thing to do, and then prepared ourselves to say our final goodbyes. It was the hardest call I’ve had to make, and all weekend it clouded my thoughts to think about her leaving.

As the weather turned warmer this weekend, I took her outside and also looked for my opportunity to capture some final photos of her. She’s so beautiful, even when she’s sick and not feeling like herself. She picked this spot Sunday afternoon. Words can’t express how much I love this dog, and how much my heart aches with missing her.

This morning we got Ben ready for school, and then Joe dropped him off while I stayed with Lily for a few more hours. He met me back at home, and we rode to the vet’s with Lily together. The hardest goodbye I’ve ever had to face. She went to sleep peacefully, finally relaxing and getting the rest that she needed, with Joe and I by her side.

It’s the small moments that are the hardest. The treat jar on the shelf, her favorite ball in the corner. The quiet of the house. No more padding of her feet, no more jingle of her collar. When I accidentally drop food on the floor, and look to call her to clean it up, and she’s not there. It’s the little things, that after nine years of having her underfoot and in my heart, that trigger the sadness all over again. She was so much a part of my life and my family that it just feels so empty without her here. There is definitely a hole in my heart that will take a long time to heal.

To the “seat stealer”, “baby bean”, “fun police”, “crazy dog”, “pie stealer”, “bean-bean”, “baby dog”, “baby girl”, “lovey”, “lickey-dog”, “smiley”, and “sweetheart”… we love you so much, and our hearts are breaking without you. We know you are in a better place now, with no more pain, and no more sorrow. I long to see the day again where I can feel your licks on my face and rub your velvet ears once more.

I know somewhere up there someone is giving you lots of belly rubs and tennis balls to chew.

Goodbye, baby girl.

Happy Birthday, Lily!

A bittersweet day today… 9 years ago today Lily was born at a breeder’s home in Massachusetts (family friend of a friend). We picked her up 9 weeks later, but I always celebrate her birthday on this day. So to the baby girl who the vet didn’t think would last until Christmas, Happy Birthday, you made it, old girl! :)

It’s bittersweet because though she is still here with us, and still coping with her tumor and the medication side effects, I know it’s most likely to be her last birthday. So last night I stayed up really late and fired up iMovie. I put together a slideshow of all my favorite photos of she and I, and later of her, Joe, and even Ben.

I hope you can see the love shine through that we have for her, and how happy she has made all of us:

We love you, Lily, and are so happy you are still here with us, short as your time may be.

(Benjamin is 4 years 1 month 3 weeks and 3 days old and baby girl is 31 weeks growing)

Still Standing

I would have thought that when Lily’s brain tumor was diagnosed, I would have realized that her time here was limited, come to terms with her inevitable death, and cried all I could cry. But denial is a powerful thing. Yes, I saw the tumor on the screen. Yes, I knew she had fallen over a few times, and wasn’t her true, normal self. The past few weeks though have been filled with so much love and fun times with Lily, taking her to parks, watching her wade around up north in the streams, and having her chase a ball or two in the back yard. We were so happy with her progress, that on Friday, the vet decided to try and dial down her dosage of the steroid she is on (prednisone). So instead of the 1 1/2 tablets she was getting, he wanted to try and just give her one per day.

At first, it was like Lily was almost 100% back. She was trotting, playing, and even barking at us again when we got to rowdy playing in the living room :) It was different than her normal bark, but still, it showed her spirit was still there. She even flipped over for a belly rub ;) We were riding high seeing her so happy, and it gave me huge optimism that she might last longer than everyone originally thought.

We woke up Wednesday morning to our dreams crashing down. Lily had declined so rapidly overnight, that she couldn’t even stand. When she tried, she fell, her head tilted, and her eyes looked like she had spun in circles too many times and couldn’t focus. It was awful. I immediately started crying. Ben saw my tears, and came over and in his sweet little voice told me not to be sad, and kissed my cheek. I love that kid. I pulled myself together, and waited for the vet to return my phone call. Joe announced he would stay home with her for as long as he could, until we had instructions on what else to do. We hand fed her some food (her lab appetite never quits), and I left to drop off Ben at school.

Waiting at work, the vet finally returned my phone call and told me to give her an extra dose of prednisone, but warned me that unfortunately, she’s progressing as we all knew she inevitably would, and the double dose of meds might not be enough to bring her back. I broke down at work, and finally had to excuse myself to come home. We made an appointment to bring her in the next morning, and in my head, I thought it was an appointment to say goodbye.

By the time I picked up Ben from school, and Joe had returned to work, Lily was miraculously standing, without falling over. Her eyes were back to normal, and she seemed wobbly, but mostly stable. I couldn’t believe it. In the same amount of time that she had declined, she had just as quickly recovered. She was tired, but could at last rest.

So at the checkup the next morning, the vet was happy to see that she had improved, but again warned us that another relapse was inevitable. It could be days or weeks, but she will eventually have another horrible episode, if not worse, than we saw on Wednesday. We discussed surgery, but with the recovery being so hard, and her extended quality of life being poor and limited, we opted not to pursue that option.

Later that day, I took Lily outside for a few more photos. The sun was shining, and Lily was smiling and enjoying the slight chill in the air. My heart is so heavy with sadness at the thought that our goodbye is coming so soon, but it’s also so, so thankful that I get a little more time with her, to show her how much we love her.

Our plan is to take it day by day, be thankful for every extra day we get to spend with her, and understand that her next episode means that it’s finally time to say goodbye. It will be one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, but it’s all we can do, to ease her suffering.

Love you, Lily.

Ben is 3 years 10 months 3 weeks 4 days old

Lily

My first baby. Lily.

8 years old, and up until a few weeks ago, healthy.

Fast forward to two weeks ago, and all of a sudden, Lily is falling over after being startled awake, will only turn to the left, has only a fraction of her normal lab energy, and is bumping into things on her right side. Including slamming into the car door.

They have tested her for all sorts of things, and it looks like Lilybean is losing vision in her right eye. It would explain a lot… why she is clumsy when things are left on the floor out of her view, why she fell down the stairs, why she is SO startled when people sneak up on her right side. Now the big question… WHY is she losing her vision?

I have to say, I’m scared. I’ve been fighting back tears all weekend thinking about it. I had hoped that she would live a long healthy life, be there when Ben started school, be around until he was old enough to remember her. Be around long enough for our (eventual) 2nd kid to know her, and possibly have vague memories of her. She was my first dog, and my uber companion when I lived alone in Illinois. She was the reason I met some amazing people at the dog park in Virginia, and she has always been an amazing dog. I put my heart and soul into her well being, and it devastates me to think I could lose her soon. I know it’s inevitable, but this just caught me so off guard. She went from healthy, running around the yard like crazy, jumping into our pool crazy dog, to a dog who looks terrified and scared on a daily basis.

So think good thoughts. We have an appointment with an opthamalogist tomorrow morning. I hope to get more answers as to the cause of her vision loss, and hope it’s by some miracle, treatable. At the very least, I just want her to gain some quality of life back.

I’ll update when I know more, but meanwhile, going to give her lots of hugs tonight.

(Ben is 3 years 7 months 2 weeks and 3 days old)