I posted the following essay on my Facebook pages; it was written on August 29th about the death of our 16-year-old long-haired dachshund that we loved immensely. We still can't get used to our house, this life, without him.
I could have chosen a little girl puppy. With a house of testosterone filled with four males, it would have made sense to pick a dog to provide a little more estrogen to the family. When our youngest son, Jason, then 4, had begged for a puppy, we finally said yes, and it was me who made the drive to Bear Creek near Siler City to pick our pup from a new litter. I held the male and female puppy in the palm of my hand; I almost picked the girl. But I picked the male puppy, the red, long-haired dachshund with the black ring around the tip of his tail. Something told me it was him that would fit in with all my guys, to complete my house of testosterone. The litter was born on October 27, 2004, the night the Red Sox finally won the World Series after 86 years of coming close. With my husband’s family being from the Boston area and all of us being avid Red Sox fans, “Yes,” I thought, "That is our puppy." So we named him Fenway after Fenway Park where the Red Sox play. I truly believed God had meant for this puppy to be ours.
But the vet called this morning, saying Fenway had a setback this morning, and his breathing was labored again. We waited for improvement that didn't come. So together we made that tough decision to not let him suffer any longer. We wanted to bring him home and have it happen here through the Laps of Love vets that visit homes. But the vet said it would be too hard on Fenway to leave the hospital. Kevin, Billy, David, Jason, David's fiance Claire, and I went to the NC State vet hospital to say our good-byes. It had happened so quickly when he seemed to be in pretty good health just Monday morning. I took along some of his beloved sweet tea, naively thinking he would be able to drink any of it all. I'd been through the pain of pets dying before but never have had to say good-bye like this or do it in the hospital setting. I didn't know Fen would be too out of it to drink anything. We all had to wait outside the hospital - due to Covid -- and even though we had an appointment at 2, they didn't come and take us to Fenway until about 2:20 -- meaning we had to stand there and watch as others dropped off their dogs for care since they couldn't go in. It was tough to watch that. We had to go back 3 at time instead of with all of us together, which I really hated. David, Claire, and Billy went back and stayed a bit. When they came out, we all sobbed outside in each other's arms. Then Jason, Kevin, and I went back. The thing about animals is that they are so innocent, and you can't really explain things to them like you can with humans; you just hope they know. But it hurts because of that innocence. So deeply. We all were able to say how much we loved him, how much we'd miss him, how much better he'd made our lives. And then Jason and I left Kevin to be with Fen to the very end. The two of them. Side by side as usual.
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