Morena1995-2008

Our dog is dead.

When we got home last night, Morena seemed perfectly normal, according to Andy, and ran in with tail wagging to finish some supper and have a drink. I bustled about emptying the car and getting settled, and didn’t pay much attention until I had my nightgown on and called her into the bedroom. When she came, she was agitated, circled around and around, looked weird and bloated.. What’s wrong with your dog?, said Andy. When I really looked at her I ran to let her out, and she rushed out the back door, out the gate, and down the driveway. I followed in bare feet. Andy came after me bringing slippers, fortunately, and with them on I went after her, following the noises she was making rustling in the leaves. I called but no response. I stumbled down the road in the dark, and finally ended up at the foot of the hill, by Dane and Kathy’s driveway, where she came close enough for me to grab her collar. I walked her up the hill, stopping frequently, and came in and told Andy we had to take her to the vet. I called and they said to come right away – it sounded like bloat and was life-threatening. We did. It was.

Apparently the cause of canine bloat, “Gastric Dilatation-Volvulus” (“GDV”), is not fully known, it’s more frequent in old dogs and big dogs, Bernese Mountain dogs are prone to it, and a massive surgery is the only remedy, if the dog can survive it. The nice young woman vet told us it looked grave, and what did we want to do? It was a very hard decision, and we for a brief moment chose the surgery – but then realized it didn’t really make sense. Morena has been visibly and rapidly aging recently. She doesn’t like noise and too many people. She wants to be near me at every moment. This is difficult because she has also become incontinent, and we struggle with spreading plastic and towels, trying to keep her in only certain locations during the day, etc.

So, we decided to let her go. The vet brought her in and put her on a quilt, and administered the hypodermic. It was quick and painless. She looked miserable and uncomfortable, and then pretty sedated,

MorenaNovember 15, 2008

but we were able to spend a few minutes alone with her. I stroked her silky head and ears, and remembered all the times I’ve loved the feeling of her. Andy quietly had his hand on her, as his concern was that she know that we were there with her at the end. To the extent that she knew anything, I’m sure she did.As we left the attendant told us that she had once been through a similar thing, had chosen surgery, and the dog had not survived the recovery. She said she had realized that they chose the surgery selfishly, because they wanted more of the dog’s companionship, but it had been a mistake, and she would never do it again. It helped a little to think that we had not made the selfish choice, but rather the one that seemed in the best interest of Morena’s quality of life.

I suppose it is inevitable to have regrets. I regret I did not see her joy when we came home last night. I regret that yesterday was cleaning day, so that even though she wanted to be in, I kept her out most of the day while we cleaned. When I did let her in I blocked off the bedroom, where she wanted to go. Of course rationally I know that ! could not know it was her last day; that the incontinence and urine smell and dribble were the reason, (not unreasonable!), that I kept her out until the cleaning was done; that I moved out to sit on the deck after lunch so I could be near her, etc. etc. There probably could not be a perfect, regret-free time to lose your beloved dog companion. Somehow the irrational regret still holds.

Of course today we are constantly reminded of her absence. These last years she has slept in the bedroom with us, mostly next to Andy, and when he got up last night he looked to be sure he wouldn’t step on her before remembering that she would never be stepped on again. I woke and thought of the many times she would come over to check and be sure that I was still there in bed. She would touch my hand or arm or shoulder with her nose, lightly, and then retreat to sleep again. The house feels profoundly empty today.

Still, I know that we have been blessed to share 13 years with her shining spirit, and that we gave her the best life we knew how. She was vigorous and happy until near the end. For many years she romped through the meadow and woods, chasing deer and digging for gophers. She even caught one or two!

...digging for gophers...

She loved walking to the mailbox with us, and would run ahead and then check back to be sure we were coming.

She traveled in the RV to Baja many times, lying across my lap in the cab while on the way, leaping out, tail wagging furiousy, to run into the water up to her belly when we arrived. She always seemed to recognize that Juncalito Beach was our family’s favorite spot.

Together the three of us made a unit, a team, a devoted family.

We shared many rituals. Sunday morning was always pancakes, and I had to make enough to have some left over for her to catch.

Evenings meant going down to the hot tub with Andy. Coming when called meant biscuits. Christmas meant special bones. Loud noises and wind meant hiding under my desk. Rabbits meant permission to run across the lawn after them, although both the rabbits and we knew she would never catch them.

Her puppyhood was a delight...

Morena’s 13 years were the equivalent of 80 -some, they say. Her puppyhood was a delight, her young adulthood an example of healthy happiness, her middle age a more dignified coming to sedate contemplation, and her old age a gradual diminution of all that had gone before. It is probably good that the end was quick, and we were there. Now we are left to grieve and get over it. One day we will think of her with only joy, not tears. May it come soon.

...her old age a gradual diminution...

I’ve been remembering Morena stories!

When we got our new puppy she was a ball of black fur, so we named her Morena, meaning ’brunette’ or ‘the dark one.’

Morena’s coat was dark, but her spirit was lightness itself. She radiated happiness with life. She greeted your presence anew each morning with delight. The spring of her step, the wag of her tail, the glint in her eye all said ‘How wonderful! You’re here!’ She liked all people except small children, whom she considered unpredictable creatures from outer space, and from whom she kept her distance. Loud noises bothered her, and she went into the back of the closet or under my desk to try to escape them. We had a thunderstorm once which terrified her. Although at that time she still slept outside at night, Andy let her in and she made her way to our bedroom. A loud clap brought her up to my side of our king-size bed, and I let her climb up on the bed beside me, hoping Andy wouldn’t realize it. All of a sudden, an even louder clap boomed, and she rose straight up and plopped herself between the two of us. He felt so sorry for her he let her stay that way!

Of course during 13 years memorable things of all kinds happened. We remember Baja, where she tried to follow us by swimming beside our kayaks (she refused to sit on them.) We took to chaining her up to the RV, but one time forgot. We were paddling way beyond the point and widely separated when I realized that the strange noises I was hearing were not seal noises but Morena noises. She had managed to swim around the point too, but apparently tired and climbed onto a rock at the point, from which there was no land access. I did manage to wrestle her onto the kayak – she was desperate – but paddling back on a one-person kayak loaded with large wet terrified dog in my lap was challenging!

MorenaPart 2, November 17, 2008

Another scary Baja moment was when she swam with us snorkeling at the near point, and suddenly caught her foot between two rocks. It was well and truly stuck, and for a few brief moments we thought we would have to amputate the paw to get her out of the water. Fortunately she suddenly turned it to just the right angle and it released. Most of her Baja water adventures were not so dramatic, but consisted of running out in the wavelets to cool off, to splash, and to play. She did not really like to swim but did so, when younger, to stay near to us. Fortunately, although we feared the worst, she never encountered a stingray. She did bring us dried pufferfish in her mouth occasionally, which terrified us since our previous dog Eleanor had died of chewing a pufferfish. Out of the water, she had her own trails through the dunes and down the beach, visiting each group of campers for a morning hello, and hopefully, a biscuit.

...she had her own trails through the dunes...

For most of her life food was an constant joy to Morena, and nothing edible within reach lasted long if we weren’t looking. Most memorable was the time the garden club came. Georgia Randle brought her a biscuit, as usual. She accepted it eagerly and then promptly threw it up! This seemed surprising, but she showed no other signs of distress so I cleaned up the mess and the meeting went on. After the meeting, when we went to the dining room for refreshments, we discovered her problem. The refreshments, two angel food cakes, had been set on the sideboard. We found only crumbs. Morena had enjoyed them both! Apparently the dog biscuit had been one treat too many.

The three of us, Andy, Morena, and I, came to know each other intimately well. Every day, getting dressed in the morning, Andy would sit on a footstool to put on his shoes. Morena immediately laid her head in his lap, wanting a good pet. After a minute or two Andy would say, ‘Okay that’s enough’ , and they both felt they had started the day. In the evening she joined him in walking down to the hot tub. She kept her eye on me and didn’t move for standard house chores, but was on her feet instantly if she saw signs of a prospective walk to the mailbox or the clothesline. If she thought the signals showed our imminent departure, she made herself very scarce, hoping not to be noticed. If you said, ‘Let’s go for a ride,” however, she was out the door and into the garage, waiting to jump into the back seat.

Morena easily recognized friends and acquaintances, and wriggled with joy to see special favorite family members. She knew the sound of George Saam’s truck, and got totally excited with a kind of delicious anxiety about the rough play she expected from him. The UPS man also brought biscuits, so he was a favorite too. She liked other dogs, but as she got older the energy of puppies tired her out, and she would only play for a few minutes, then sort them out with a woof and tell them to leave her alone.

She liked other dogs...

Morena showed her affection in many ways. She would look deeply into your eyes, or climb into your lap and lay her head on your shoulder. In youth her herding dog instincts were very strong, and she would try to get you where she wanted you by nipping your heels. She used her mouth for cconnection as well as food and herding, nuzzling your hand or catching the edge of your bathrobe in her teeth. She liked to touch and be touched, and often just came to lean on you.

I loved Morena as a puppy, but over the years my connection to her deepened. I treasured her luminous spirit, palpable from her puppy days to her last breath. When she was twelve, we taught her a new trick – to speak! The woofs, the pets, the walks, the snuggles – the sharing of days and nights – were a constant joy.

Her death puts an end to that reality…and perhaps opens another.

In her poem ‘In Blackwater Woods’, Mary Oliver puts words to some of my feelings. She describes grieving as

…the fires and the black river of loss whose other side is salvation, whose meaning none of us will ever know.

She goes on to say:

To live in this world

you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it

against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

I’m trying.

She liked to touch and be touched...

The three of us, Andy, Morena, and I, came to know each other intimately well...

(kicking back in the RV at Juncalito Beach)

(She) often just came to lean on you.

...the snuggles...were a constant joy.