The Empty Spot

Last year, our then ten-year-old Labrador Retriever, Abby had a major behavior change.  Suddenly, the one dog who was so fond of sleeping in her kennel, decided she’d rather sleep with us in the bed.  If you’ve been following this blog for a while, then you may have read about it here:  http://howlandstudios.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=125&action=edit where I made light of the situation, but the change in our Lab’s personality sent warning alarms blaring inside my head.  My husband remained in denial, not wanting to believe anything was wrong but in my heart, I knew the end was near.

Over the past year, Abby, the once raucous, independent dog became sedentary, spending long hours curled up in “her” leather chair.  She also began to seek me out in ways she’d never done before.  The dog who had always wanted nothing from me but to play games, now wanted to curl up beside me on the couch.  She wanted me to lovingly stroke her head.  I think she knew something was wrong too.

And then a month ago, my husband began having difficulty getting her to eat.  He tried everything.  He separated her from the other dogs.  He would feed it to her piece by piece.  He tried changing foods.  He began mixing her food with rice and then soft dog food.  All the while, Abby continued to go from lean to skinny to skin and bones.  Then, last Thursday she wouldn’t eat. 

Friday morning I drove her to the vet trying to ignore what every fiber of my being already knew; that this was the end.  I was already crying before I walked through the door to the vet’s office and it only took the vet a second to look at Abby and say, “She has a mass in her stomach.  I can see it from here.”  I cried patient, fat tears that fell down my cheeks.  My husband, without taking his sunglasses off, laid his face in his hands and sobbed.  He’d picked Abby out of the litter when she was two days old.  He’d greeted her at the airport when she was old enough to be separated from her mother and flown to Arizona.  She’d been his sole support system when his first wife had left him.  I met her when she was almost three.  I may have been the stepmom but for all practical purposes, I was the only mom she’d ever known.

It’s been rough for us.  Abby’s presence seems to be with us at every turn.   Daisy Mae, the fourteen-year-old beagle, took Abby’s spot on the bed which was only fitting since Abby had kicked her out of that spot over a year ago.  Things have just started to get back to normal.  The tears have subsided.  Routines have been re-established.  I have been noticing that Daisy Mae’s belly has been getting a little portly and knowing that Abby had an abdominal mass, last night I decided to take a feel.  And there’s something there.  Something below the surface poking out on Daisy Mae’s left side.  She looked back at me while I was massaging it with a look on her face that said, “So now you know.”  My heart withered up like a raison.  I had been trying to prepare myself for an empty spot in our household for over a year.  I’m not ready for another one.  Not this soon.  Well…really not ever but I suppose it’s inevitable because the worst part about loving a dog is having to let them go.

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