My darling girl.

I wrote this in 2020 – couldn’t bring myself to publish it then.

Today marks 4 months since I lost my much beloved dog, Lara. She gave us 11 years of pure joy and happiness. Ever so innocent, ever so good-tempered, playful and loving to the last. It is often difficult to explain to people the intensity and longevity of of my grief or the infinite ways she made my life better or the inexplicable ways in which I miss her – she was not just a dog.

She was a bundle of love.

She fell sick in June, 2020 – internal organ infection that required surgery. The vet told me she almost didn’t make it – but then my brave girl, she did. In just a few days, she was her usual playful self and her stitches healed nicely. The only thing that seemed odd was her constant butt rubbing, that turned out to be maggots, much our surprise. She’d only ever been indoors, in air conditioning – except when she had to go to the loo, that’s when the flies got to her. When we took her to the vet, Lara was an active dog. When we brought her back that evening, she was barely moving. An emergency vet home showed high fever… that didn’t really come down until she died.

That day began 4 weeks of daily visits to the vet or emergency vet house-calls late at night. Towards the end, we were putting the IV into the canola ourselves, sitting with her for hours waiting for it to finish. I remember on July 22nd, when we were bringing her home after a vet visit, my husband suggested that perhaps it was time to put her to sleep. That after six weeks of treatment and tests, she was only getting worse, that pumping her with medication was the only thing keeping her alive; that she hadn’t really eaten in days. On the way home, we stopped at a burger joint and got her a cheesy beef burger – I didn’t know at the time that that would be her last meal.

Lara, there were times when I used to worry, should anything happen to me, who would love you as much as I do. I was never going to be ready to let you go, monkey. I remember, that after the last visit to the doctor’s I came home and I cried and cried and I was ready to fight for you. But then that last night I spent laying awake with you, watching you groan in pain, that seizure I couldn’t understand and the doctors I couldn’t reach – and yet, you still came out of it and opened your eyes for me in the morning. But I knew.

That last morning when I called you to the balcony, our special evening place, you still dragged yourself over. But you looked so tired, so exhausted. Were we tormenting you or helping you? How could I decide to end your life that is so precious to me? How long do I keep pumping you with meds, poked and prodded by doctors on a daily basis, in pain just to keep you close to me? I will never forget the look in your eyes in that morning light on the balcony. A look that seemed to say I’m tired, but I can keep trying – but one that also said I’m tired, please don’t make me.

What you and I had was so special and strong and I have truly and deeply loved you. You will always be my heart.

I often wonder if Lara still flesh and fur, down there, buried too deep and perhaps not deep enough. I remember, the day after she were gone, there had never been silence so deafening reverberating off the walls, and the house had never felt so heavy and empty at the same time.

RIP Lara: Sept. 9th, 2009 – July 23rd, 2020