Goodbye Loyal Friend

Less than a week ago, thinking I would be putting Leo down the following morning, I wrote a post that I never published. Instead, having realized it wasn't quite yet time to let Leo go, I wrote about my change of heart. I knew full well it was only a matter of days -- and very few days, at that -- but I trusted Leo to give me a sign when he was ready.

We enjoyed five more days of Leo's smile. On day two, he joined me and Manny for a six block walk. On day three, still excited about the prospect of a walk, he joined us again. That time, he barely made it around the corner. On day four, he made it to the front stoop, plopping down to watch the world go by as Manny and I did a few laps around the front lawn.

His last hurrah occurred at about four in the morning on Mother's Day, when he alerted me with a single bark -- as he always has -- that he wished to take care of some things in the backyard. And take care of things he did: he barked at the traffic through the fence, he wandered around, sniffing to make sure all was as it should be, and, exhausted, he settled in for a brief nap on the deck. He came in when I called him, determined to walk proudly to his water bowl before he settled down with a loud thud on the family room floor, which is where he remained for the rest of the day.

He didn't bother to get up when Manny and I went for a walk. He turned his nose up at all food offerings. He tried to move a few times, but would collapse quickly on his shaky hind legs. His breathing was even but slightly labored, and his pale gums were a telltale sign of a ruptured tumor somewhere within his failing body. I imagine Leo felt like shit, but he was a Lab. He reserved any strength he had to wag his heavy tail when we would approach. The last thing Leo wanted was for any of us to feel bad.

My kind and physically strong neighbor and her son lifted Leo into the car for me, and off we went for his final journey. I laughed through my tears as the nice hospital aide presented me with all sorts of surreal decisions: cremation alone or in a group, a plain wood box or a metal urn for his ashes, did I want a clay paw print? I went with wood, oak rather than cherry, and I'm embarrassed to admit I said yes to the paw print. I saved a few pennies and went with group cremation, thinking Leo wouldn't mind the company. (There are partitions, so most of the ashes I get will probably belong to Leo.)

When I entered the room to be with Leo for his final moments, he thumped his tail, giving me one final smile. I was able to tell him how much we all loved him, and he died peacefully and with grace, just as he had lived. It was time.