Homage to Fluffy

I knew yesterday was coming for about a month. At Easter, Fluffy, our almost-16-year-old Bichon Frise, became ill and I was alone with her and her discomfort. She was in so much pain for about a day after a trip to the vet that I promised myself I wouldn't make her go through it again. The vet couldn't really tell me what was going on at that time, but I hoped that she would make it through Emily's graduation because Fluffy had been a part of Emily's life all through her school years. She seemed to recover just fine, and was a happy little dog as her life returned to normal - getting up, going outside, coming in and receiving a treat, exploring the kitchen floor for dropped pieces of food, and then heading back upstairs to sleep in her chair all day, before repeating the same routine in the afternoon and then again when Max came home from work.

I had noticed, though, that last week, some of her symptoms had returned, and when Martin came to paint the sunroom ceiling, he noted that she had lost weight. So I knew we were not far off.

Yesterday when I picked her up from boarding her because I was at the judicial conference, she was in pain again. Max and I took her back to the vet, and we tried a sedative and painkiller, but by the time we got home, it was clear that those medicines were not going to work. I had promised that I would not put her through that again, and so we made our final trip to the vet. He was compassionate and gave her a sedative to calm her down prior to giving her the last shot, so that she could have some peace so we could say our good-byes. And then Fluffy was no more.

It was hard to come home, and it was hard to talk to Emily later in the night to tell her what we had to do, but I know it was the right thing.

Fluffy came to us after Thanksgiving right before Emily had her 7th birthday. The summer before, we had visited Mike and Caroline, friends from Kansas City, who had two Bichons (Muffy and Mickey), both of whom had come, miraculously, from Susie in Sedalia. Emily had fallen in love with the two balls of white fur, who were perky and loving and lively. She was taken with the idea of having a dog - one just like Muffy and Mickey. One day in the late summer, she was visiting my mother, when Mother's neighbor came out to talk to her and asked her what she wanted for her birthday. Emly said that she wanted a dog - a Bichon Frise. And he, childless and therefore clueless, said that he would get her one because every little girl needs a dog.

I didn't really think much about it until about a month later, when Emily and I were taking a walk in the neighborhood. We stopped at our across-the-street neighbor's garage sale, and someone asked Emily what she was going to get for her birthday later on that year. She said, "Ted Simmons is going to get me a Bichon Frise." At that point, I knew we were in trouble.

That night, I told Max that we probably should start looking for a Bichon, because I didn't really want to disappoint my daughter on her 7th birthday. We had been a dog family once before, way before Emily was born, when Max's Pepsi had brought joy to our days, with her loving and outgoing nature, her climbing on the bed and licking Max's face to wake him every morning, and her wagging tail. She developed cancer, however, and the pain of losing her was almost unbearable - so much that we vowed we would never have another dog.

So here we were, deciding that our daughter should experience the joy and pain of dog ownership - but I knew that I would be the one taking the dog to the vet, taking her out, making sure she was fed and had water. That is what mothers do, even when their children say, "I'll take care of it and feed it and take it out and water it and pick up its poop." Max checked and found out that Susie was still in the business of breeding Bichons, and so secretly, we went out to look at the new puppies who had just been born to Lucy, Susie's show Bichon, and who would be ready for new homes about six weeks later - right around Thanksgiving.

We looked at the puppies and we fell in love with all of them, but could not take our eyes off the little girl who was beautiful and who ran around and around and around in her cage, and who, when taken out and was held, was, in Susie's words, "Stiff as a carp!" I picked her, and Susie said that she might not be available because our choice was her choice as well. I figured that meant that I had picked well. It turned out that my choice had some defects, and showing her would not be possible. She was going to be ours, but we thought that Emily should name her. So for the time being, she was "the puppy."

So on the day after Thanksgiving, we told Emily we were going to take a ride, and we went out into the country and down a little road, to a house in the woods. We told Emily we thought she might like to see the puppies in the house. I don't know if she was figuring out what was happening, but when we picked up the one who was ours, and put her into Emily's hands, Emily said, "Ooh! She's fluffy!!!" And the name stuck.

Over the years, Fluffy has been a blessing and a burden, a stress factor and a source of joy as she bounded around and around the house just as she had done in her cage. But even though I was usually the one who took her to the vet (and giving credit to Max, who gave her baths), and fed her and watered her and picked up her poop, Emily loved her dog. And so the task of telling her last night was not one I relished, but she, like we, knew it was coming. I think we all just hoped that something else would occur. But it was not to be.

And so once again, Max and I have vowed that we will never have another dog. It hurts too much to love so, and to receive such unconditional love from a little thing who can't say what hurts.

I'll let you know if we change our minds.