Annie's Story - Part 3 - Farewell

Annie's Story - Part 3 - Farewell

For a dog that didn't like swimming and was afraid to go in the lake, Annie sure loved to be bathed. I used to put a large plastic bowl into the kitchen sink, fill it with warm water, and stand Annie in it while I bathed her. She never made a fuss - as long as I didn't get puppy shampoo too close to her face - I used puppy shampoo because it was very gentle on her skin. She particularly loved to have the warm water run over her to rinse her off.

I would bundle her up in a large towel afterwards and carry her to the couch to cuddle while I dried her off and then wrapped her again in another soft towel until she was thoroughly dry and comfy.

As my own health issues progressed, bathing Annie eventually got too difficult for me to do on my own. There was a dog groomer a few blocks down the street who had her shop attached to her home. One day as I was walking with Annie I saw the groomer outside working in her garden and stopped to chat. I explained what I needed, introduced her to Annie and, of course, they hit it off immediately - kind of a mutual love at first meeting. The first grooming appointment was quickly arranged for the following week.

When I picked Annie up after her 'session' I had to giggle. Not only had she been shampooed, trimmed and nails clipped - she was sporting a cute pink bandana and the sweetest tiny pink bow in her hair! I swear that little old girl strutted her stuff all the way home! Of course, the bow went flying almost as soon as we got into the apartment - Annie was not a 'fluffy, frilly' dog by any means ... but it was days before she would let me take that bandana off to wash it.

Another person Annie loved was the lady who came twice a month to do cleaning and laundry for me, things I was no longer able to do for myself. Patti was wonderful to me, and loved my 'little girl' just as much. Knowing that the vacuum bothered her, Patti would simply scoop Annie up with one arm and vacuum with the other, so she always felt safe.

As time went on, although sweet and loving as always, Annie's own health declined. Eventually she was unable to keep her food down and needed to be carried outside several times a day to do her business. She stopped going for walks and no longer showed any interest in picnics or going to the lake, or even visiting the neighbour's cats in the yard. She was in pain and had difficulty walking. The only thing Annie wanted to do was cuddle up in her favourite blanket and have me hold her. It was heartbreaking — and the day finally came that I was forced to make the agonizing decision no "furbaby parent" wants to have to make ... the decision to let her go.

The fact was that Annie was 21 years old, worn out and tired and in poor health. I had been taking care of her for seven years; more years than I had ever expected to have with my little girl. Annie had become such a vital part of my life; a gift that I didn't want to relinquish, wasn't ready to give back. I knew that I was being selfish, thinking more of how much I would miss her, how difficult being without her would be, rather than what was best for her.

I phoned several Vets in the area and talked to them about Annie, hoping they would be able to suggest an alternative that would keep her going for a few more years. But we all knew it really was simply a matter of time, and it was obvious her quality of life was suffering. I was devastated, but knew they were right. With a heavy heart I made an appointment to bring Annie to the clinic at the end of the week. Selfish as it was, I was the one that needed that last couple of days.

That June morning in 2014, before I took Annie to the Vets, I went to the convenience store and bought Annie the one treat she was never allowed to have ... chocolate. It's really bad for pets, but it was something she always wanted and I would never give her. I didn't give her a lot, but even with no teeth to chew, that sweet little dog enjoyed every single morsel of it. It was our last 'adventure' together.

I put Annie's favourite blue sweater on her, wrapped her in her own blanket and she and I took a taxi to the Vets. I held her through to the end; and the Vet was kind enough to give me private time afterwards — I cried like a baby.

Annie isn't in pain anymore. I believe she is with my brother; her dad Andy, in that place where there is no sickness or sorrow or pain, and her ashes are with my brother's. I have wonderful memories of our time together, Annie's picture in a locket, and a tiny amount of her ashes in a vial. She will always be with me and I will love her forever.

Annie and Andy, together again.

Rest in Peace, little Annie.

Part 1
Part 2

Top photo taken by Todd Greening, Photographer; all other photos are my own.