When I was in the fifth grade, I came running home after stepping off the bus as I usually did, ready to throw my stuff by the front door upon entering the house. On this day my brothers and I happened upon a little white fluffy fur ball running laps around our coffee table. It was love at first sight. Our new addition to the family, a toy poodle puppy named Monet.
Monet had the funniest little under-bite. She was so lively and everyone’s best friend. My parents found her at the local animal shelter. She appeared to be pure bred and only 9 weeks old. Born August 1988, she remained relatively active her whole life. She had a passion for popcorn and grapes (I know, it’s awful). Monet, like many family pets went on vacations with us. She toured the whole Western United States with our family. She was truly my parent’s forth child. I remember she helped me find my hamsters when they escaped. Monet was there when I was depressed and would just lie next to me, comforting me.
One awful night in 2003, Monet’s desire for people food got the better of her as she found a package of chocolate chip cookies. My brother called my home where my parents were visiting, in the middle of the night to tell us Monet wasn’t acting herself. He took her into the animal hospital. Monet became worse and worse with blood in her stool, darting back and forth. X-rays didn’t show anything lodged, though we are still uncertain. At almost age 15 Monet was holding on to dear life, becoming increasingly lethargic as the day passed.
After numerous additional tests, no one was certain what was actually wrong with her. We weren’t able to pinpoint if there was an obstruction to have surgery done on because nothing showed up in the x-rays. We weren’t sure if she’d survive a surgery if it was attempted. We didn’t think she consumed enough chocolate causing her to be as sick as she was. We weren’t sure really what to think. We just feared having to make the choice of having her put to sleep or have surgery.
I went up to my home state one morning to be with my family as I feared the worse for our old dog Monet. When I arrived at the animal hospital, I saw how miserable Monet was. I know my dad wanted to do whatever he could to help her and get some additional life out of her. As my mom and I sat there with our beloved family friend, we both saw the misery in her eyes. I asked the doctor who’d cared for her, if it was her pet laying there on the table what she would do. She was not very optimistic of Monet’s recovery and stressed that Monet had lived a long life.
My mom wanted peace for Monet and after much thought and discussion, gave the doctor her blessing to allow her to be put to sleep. I held her in my arms while the doctor injected the drug into Monet’s tired body. She went limp so fast—too fast as if there was no fight in her. It pains me to this day to think about saying goodbye to her.
The hospital staff took a clay-like imprint of her paw for my parents to keep and I framed it for them in a shadow box. Apparently, there is a man who comes to the hospital to collect the cremated remains of people’s pets. He spreads their ashes along a river on the mountain. It was nice to know that people empathized with our pain.
Monet wasn’t just a dog to us, she was a family member. She brought so much joy and entertainment into our family. I’m not sure where dogs go when they die. I like to think they go back to their Creator. This thought brings my family peace. It’s so hard saying goodbye, but I’m so glad she got to be such a memorable part of our childhood.
(Melissa is a Families.com Christian Blogger. Read her blogs at: http://members.families.com/mj7/blog)