My Heartbreak

Bailey Boy

March 30, 1991-September 25, 2007

For those of you who haven't yet heard, I lost Bailey yesterday. He was 16 and a half years old and a wonderful boy. He became ill early yesterday morning and by the time we got to the vet, his little veins had already collapsed. Our vet was surprised he was conscious. I kept my promise to Bailey that I would not let him suffer and held him while he was given a shot to relax him so he would fall asleep. I held him in my arms and rocked him and sang his favorite lullaby to him (Baby Beluga) and we locked eyes until he fell asleep. His sweet snoring assured me that he was in no pain. I then held him while he was given the final shot. He went very quickly and peacefully. I kissed all his precious places...his lips, his ears, his eyes, his tummy, his paws and even nibbled on his "chicken leg" as he always liked; I buried my face in his tummy and inhaled the sweet scent of him for the last time. I felt privileged to be with him and grateful for having been his mommy.

Now my grief and tears are only for myself because I know he is in a better place...a place without arthritis or pancreatitis or ear infections; one where he can hear and see and run and play again. The puppies miss him, but I think they understand. Before Mom came to get us to take us to the vet, he sat on the living room floor and all the puppies came and sat in a perfect circle surrounding him. I think they were saying goodbye.

I will close with a poem that describes how I feel right now. I'm sure that it will get easier, but right now I don't quite believe it.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
-- W.H. Auden