Rest in Peace, my friend

(image credit)

Shem is at peace.

Last night when my husband came home from work earlier than he was supposed to, Shem gathered strength and managed, despite being incapable of walking,  to get off his pillows and out of his crate to greet him. Bob gathered Shem onto his lap and then sat stroking him for about an hour as I barbecued, steamed broccoli, and set the table.  While I stood at the barbecue, I watched the boys through the glass doors of the porch.

At about 7 PM, I looked up and saw that Shem was standing, and that he had vomited blood all over the floor.  Bob motioned to me to come in and open the front door, and he carried Shem over to the Kousa dogwood tree 10 feet from the entrance of our home, and lay down with him, sobbing.

This was it. I knew it was time to call the vet to come over and euthanize our boy. Even though we had scheduled this leave taking for the next night, Shem had other ideas.  Within minutes, a vet was on her way over to us.

Shem was so clearly ready to go. There was no denying it any longer.

Yesterday morning, I had arranged to speak with a pet communicator, an animal psychic we’d worked with before. Bob wanted to have a chance to speak with Shem before he passed and so, while the vet and the technician stood by on our stone front path in the dwindling light before dusk, I placed the call and turned on speaker so I could record the conversation on my mp3 player  for the kids.

I told the psychic that Shem was dying.  She asked me to describe him, then when I had, she paused.

“Shem says he has an awful taste in his mouth – this is a kidney issue, isn’t it?”

Through my tears, “yeah.”

“He says to tell you that he knows this is something you are doing FOR him, not to him.  He knows it’s time and he is eager to leave that body.”

Bob and I gulped, wiped tears and made affirming noises.

“He also says that he’ll be with you, hanging out in the room with the wooden chairs (our kitchen), and that he loves you.”

I don’t know how much of that I believe, but it was exactly what Bob and I needed to hear. I thanked her, hung up the phone, and then I motioned the patient and compassionate vet to come and help us let Shem go.

Within moments of receiving the injection, Shem was gone.

By the light of the setting sun, my husband wrapped Shem in burlap, and he and I buried him in the grave that Sphyrnatude and I had dug that morning.

He is now free.

May his spirit romp and play on our land, chase deer and squirrels, and rest in peace.

Keeping this written log of what happened has been a powerful and tear-soaked exercise in dealing with the host of emotions I could not have imagined before. I am a changed person for having known Shem, I learned countless lessons from him, and will always be grateful for his teaching me facets I hadn’t known about boundaries, body language, commitment, and love.  Knowing people are reading, keeping up with the sad end of this journey, and sending compassionate understanding – so many of you have been here – has made it easier. Thank you.

I made mistakes with him and his training that ended up biting me in the leg (literally), without which I would not be the pet lover I am. When we bring another dog into our home – not any time soon, but eventually – I will start out as I mean to continue, be alert to nuances of doggie communication, and be consistent and firm.  At some points in my time with Shem, I feared him, and with that in mind, I know I will always set clear relationship boundaries so that training is foremost, love applied liberally, and harmony is achieved.

Shem shaped my personal evolution, and I am a better person for it. I’m grieving, but I am also so happy there has been resolution to this terribly sad situation. Now I can smile and remember the joy, and work on moving on.

But I am so going to miss my boy.