Little menial things.

A very long time ago, when we were first told that Rufus wouldn't be with us much longer, I started preparing a post, an obituary for a dog. I filled it with stories and pictures about him. It was quite long.

Weeks passed. Rufus ate pap and thrived. The vet ate his words, and was no doubt pleased to do so. Once in a while, I would edit the draft, just to be ready. The weeks turned into months. The draft got further and further down the list of posts to edit, until eventually, it was no longer on the 1st page, or the 2nd or even the 3rd.

I just found it a couple of minutes ago. The date on the draft was 7.06.10.

There's nothing in it that I want to use today. Maybe it'll get published another day. Maybe it'll just sit as a draft in perpetuity, a reminder of how long Rufus survived and what a great fight he put up. 

Instead, I'm going to tell you about the little menial practical things we've been doing since Rufus went away.

***

The First Day.

We took down the barrier that had divided our house for so long.

We moved the dining table back to its original position, though neither of us really remembered exactly where that was anymore.

We kept going around the table to get to the kitchen instead of walking directly into it.

We stared at the new-found space and marvelled at how empty it looked.

We cleaned the nonslip rubber mat and put it away.

No doubt Georgia will one day need it.

We hugged Georgia and told her she was a good girl and not to be sad.

We washed the soiled towels, old rag Tshirts and bedsheets. There'll be no more daily dog laundry.

We rolled up Rufus's bed and his backup bed, and put them in a corner. When the rain stops, one will probably become Georgia's sunbed.

We mopped the urine off the floor for a last time, and wrung out the mop to finally give it a chance to dry.

The Other Half played fetch in the house with Georgia and she surprised us by bringing the ball back every single time.

He googled what size Revolution we would now need to buy since there are no longer 2 dogs to share 3 pipettes.

I applied Revolution on Georgia and threw away the excess 1/2 pipette.

I put aside Rufus's glucosamine and green lip mussel powder to give away.

I reminded The Other Half to pop over to the vet's to pay the bill and to return Rufus's thyroxin tablets.

We told Georgia she was a good girl and not to be sad.

We talked about how we would now only need to buy meat once in 2 weeks instead of twice a week.

We talked about re-introducing fish, cheese, eggs and yoghurt to Georgia's diet. Though it may be a while before we get there because the freezer is chock full of meat for 2 dogs.

We fed Georgia the leftovers from Rufus's last meal and she gobbled it all up.

I took Rufus's collar and leash down from the dresser hook, and put them next to Jordan's.

I washed his food bowl, but couldn't make myself put it in the shed.

We closed some windows because there's no longer a snow dog that likes a cold windy house.

We turned off the kitchen light because there's no longer a dog on the other side of the barrier that needs it on at night.

We closed the back door because there's no longer an incontinent dog that needs 24-hour access to the backyard.

We woke up late this morning because there's no longer an incontinent dog anxious for his early morning walk.  

I didn't top up the water bowl because there's no longer a dog that drinks copious amounts of water every few minutes.

We fed Georgia a hearty breakfast and she gobbled it all up.

We stopped telling her not to be sad. We stopped worrying about how she might adjust.

I deleted the daily feeding time reminders on my mobile phone.

I thought about what I can do, now that I don't have to be home to feed Rufus his small meals thoughout the day.

I got scared thinking about how much time I now have.

The Other Half thinks he might clean the car today, if the sun comes out. It's a bit furry and smells of urine.

We think we might plan a little weekend away soon, now that we can.

I find time for a few regrets.

I regret that Rufus didn't have time to eat his chicken wing, a cheesymite scroll or an egg. But there's only so much you can stuff into a dog in 24 hours.

I regret that Jordan had to be alone in a kennel at the clinic, with a needle and drip in his leg, on his last day.

I regret that he didn't get to eat all his favourite foods like Rufus, and only got one dried something or other from the vet's treat section, that he asked for himself.

I regret that Rufus didn't get carried out through the house and the front door. A door he hadn't used since his incontinence made it too messy a prospect.

The Other Half takes Georgia out for a long walk to Callan park, the organic food market, and the vet to pay the bill and return the thyroxin. They come back with greasy chorizo rolls and Georgia gets to eat some too, for the first time in a long time.

I discover that I was wrong about Rufus's birthday being in early May. It's actually today.

In a way, I find that most appropriate.

***

The Last Day.

The rain held back long enough to take Rufus to Elkington, one of his favourite parks.

He spent the afternoon with his favourite person in the world [not me], at his favourite pub.

We woke up to a blue sky on Friday morning and went to Callan park.

We filled the hours between coming home and 12 by stuffing him with more food. He ate all the things he hadn't been allowed to for a year - rubbishy treats, a fruit bun, cheese, a lamb shank bone - until his stomach looked like he'd swallowed a soccer ball.

I gave him a last brush and wipe down, hugged him and told him what a good boy he was.

 

We left strict instructions for him to be nice to Jordan and not to bully him. We told him to tell Jordan we missed him very much.

The clinic called at 15 to 1 to say the vet was coming over. I went out to the front porch to wait for him. As I stood there, it started to bucket down. The vet arrived with an assistant.

We told him how Rufus had perked up in the last 24 hours. Were we being too hasty to let him go? He told us many things, the short answer was no.

He explained what he was going to do. He described how Rufus might react. He told us how long it would take. He advised us on whether and when to let Georgia witness and be a part of the procedure.

Rufus got up to have a long, long drink. When he came back to his bed, the vet gave him a sedative. The Other Half cradled his head as he fell asleep. It took almost 10 minutes. The vet shaved his back left leg and gave him the final injection. Like Jordan, he was gone in seconds. Less time than had been anticipated for a dog his size. It was all over by about 1.20.

He was ready, the vet said. It was the right time.

Right on cue, the sun came back out.

***

To friends, and the many strangers who dropped by over the last few days - 

Thank you. Your thoughts and well wishes have all been gratefully received. Whether you realise it or not, and in ways you might not imagine, your kindness has been helping.

Love and peace back xox