In Memorium

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She was our Bloodhound. She was 12 years old. And we had to put her down yesterday.

I haven’t posted about my pet family yet. Five (now four) dogs, two cats (those are the indoor cats, we always seem to have strays hanging around outside). Later about them. This post is dedicated to Morena.

She came to us about 10 years ago, when she was three years old. She had been with a family who loved her, but they also had two huge Mastiffs, who bullied her. She quickly became part of our family. Over the years, we have had many complaints about her wonderful, full throated barking (it’s really not a howl, more like a bray). She was a foster mother to all the other young dogs we have added to our pack. She was loving, sweet and stubborn.

When she was younger, she used to run with us. We couldn’t let her off the leash, though, even in safe areas, because she would take off, like it was a game, daring us to chase and catch her.

In recent years, though, she slowed down, as arthritis took its toll. Joints ached, the walk was slower, the sleep was longer. Still, her check ups were always positive. Her weight was good, she was still active.

Until about two weeks ago. Suddenly, she didn’t want to eat. We tried to lure her with canned food, cooked chicken and other goodies. At first that worked, although she was steadily losing weight. We took her to the vet, who, of course, had many ideas. Blood was taken, a surgery was tentatively scheduled to remove a tumor. That idea was cast aside when she continued to lose weight and not eat. No way could she endure anesthesia. The vet suggested an ultrasound, steroids. We tried the steroids, considered the ultrasound. As it turned out, there was no time.

Morena was such a trooper. Up until the day she died, she wanted to go for her walk. She was so weak, she could hardly walk, but she would come to the door, join the other dogs for about half a block, then one of us would bring her home. Sometimes she would fall, and we’d have to pick her back up.

Damn, the decision is always so hard. Say what you like about not wanting your dog to suffer, we can convince ourselves that they will get better. That final day, my husband was at home with her, watch her grow weaker until she couldn’t lift her head. He called the vet, then called me.

I came home. We had to carry her to the car. It was shocking how light the formerly 100 pound dog felt. We stayed in the car until it was time to go to the treatment room. We stayed with her, petting her, talking to her, loving her, as they injected her and she finally went to her final peace.

I’m sorry that this is a downer. Grieving is a process. We spend time crying, laughing, remembering. And repeating those all over again as we work through. Mine has just started. What is comforting me now, is knowing that she is finally free from pain, those arthritic joints can move freely again, the cancer (for I’m sure that it is what it was) is gone from her body. She is my Mo, and wherever she is now, I’ll bet she’s howling up a storm.