Goodbye, Gordon (you and your smelly little nose)....

After we received the news that Gordon's seizures were increasing both in number and severity this morning, it was obvious that his condition was not going to improve and although we were reassured he was in no pain and had no conscious idea what was happening to him, we wanted nothing more than to stop his suffering as soon as possible.

We also wanted to be there, so we arranged to come in at noon. Since the doctor performing the procedure was going to be awhile, we were asked if we wanted to visit with Gordon privately beforehand, and we agreed. Unfortunately, I hadn't adequately prepared myself. The tech brought him in, wrapped in a blanket and a pad, because he'd been incontinent for awhile. The tube had been removed from his throat, and he was barking - involuntarily, spastically, loudly, and constantly. His whole little body thrashed each time and it is a vision that I am sure will be in my nightmares for a long time to come. I tried to hold him, but he was stiff and his yelping got worse, so we just stroked his fur and whispered into his ear that we were there and that it was almost over. He still wagged his little tail so I hope that he knew on some level that we were with him. This was obviously difficult to see, but I'm glad that we did, because I knew beyond a doubt that we were doing the right thing for him. I had such an immense feeling of relief when he finally did fall silent, which is not to say that I felt good.

I realize that Gordon was with us for a short time - just under 2 months. Even so, I really cannot remember life without him. The irony of the fact that we were unsure about keeping him those first few days is not lost on me, either. But for a tiny puppy, he developed SUCH a big and fun personality. He quickly burrowed into our hearts and lives, and we never looked back. He was such a part of our family's routine and my thoughts throughout the day, that he might as well have been with us our whole lives. I never thought I'd have a reason to regret complaining about waking up in the middle of the night to take him out, or being annoyed when he licked my face too much...

I am sitting here in disbelief at what a difference a day makes...that things could be so different now. I don't often get too philosophical or spiritual, but I've had nothing but time to think today and I can't help but want to make sense of this. What lesson is this experience trying to teach me?

The only thing I can come up with is that Gordon got to be a part of our lives to change us for the better. He pulled Matt and me out of our own little worlds at a time when I can see that we had gotten just a little too preoccupied, complacent and maybe self-absorbed with mostly unimportant things. He challenged us to pay more attention, to go out of our way to care for him and teach him, and to open our hearts enough to let him make us really, really happy :) Louie was against the idea of a brother at first, too...but it was so sweet to watch the change in him as he fell just as in love with Gordon as we did. I am hoping that all he knew and felt was love in his short life, too.

I keep feeling silly for mourning the loss of a pet I've had for less time than I've had the jar of pickles that's chilling in my fridge door. I think of people who have lost parents, or my parents, who have lost children, and it makes me feel like I need to just snap out of it. But as many people have told me today, no one's loss is more or less significant than another's...Gordon was so loved, it's impossible not to acknowledge the void that his loss is leaving in its wake.

I am comforted knowing that he's got a bunch of friends to welcome him: Teddy (Matt's Golden Retriever), Jaxx (Meg's Golden), Baron (Kate's family's dog), Muffin (my overweight childhood cat), and many, many others. I know that he is somewhere where he will be a funny little puppy forever, and where he knows how much we love him.

Something told me on Monday night to make time to take some pictures of the boys (since we don't have nearly enough of those), even though I was tired. These are really painful to look through right now, but I'm glad that I have them and hopefully someday soon I'll be able to look at them without crying:

Bye, Gordy...we all love you and miss you!

The sun just came out...I'd like to think that it's Gordon's little way of showing us he heard me and he's ok :)