Our Little Princess.

  

She was just a little thing. She came to us in the winter, a small black fluff of fur, with perky little ears, and a tiny pointy tail. We took her out to play in the snow and she was almost engulfed. She and Sam frolicked and played, Sam bounding above the drifts, she in his wake, almost over her head. She was four months old, and we were already smitten. 

She was my daughter's dog. I already had Sam and wasn't looking for another. But Katie came to me and asked if she could have a dog for her 18th birthday. I hesitated. In the end, I said yes, and Belle came to live with us. 

She was a full blood Miniature Schnauzer, and came with papers that are long since lost. We never cared about those things. She was feisty and happy. She loved to play ball. She was one of those dogs that you can throw the ball and she would retrieve it. She would drop it at your feet and then wait happily, mouth open, smiling, for you to throw it again. How could you resist a dog like that?

She was about two years old when we moved to California. Katie was 19 and didn't want to go, so she stayed in the house, and the Belle stayed, too. My brother in law was going to be renting our house, and Katie would just stay in her room, as she always had.  I came back for a quick visit a month after we left, and it was then that Belle began to pull on my heartstrings. When I came in the back door, she was there, all alone in the big house. She was so excited to see me, she followed me all over the place. When I tried to go back toward the door, she began clawing at my feet. She clearly didn't want me to go! I was only there a day or so, and I took her with me everywhere I went that day, and I slept with her in Katie's bed that night. I began to love that little dog. When it came time to leave, I tried to fool her. I gave her a bowl of food and tried to sneak out the back door. She wasn't having it. She followed me and stood there just watching me, head slightly askew, those black eyes of hers saying everything her mouth couldn't say. I burst into tears. I closed the door on her sad little face and went back to Ca.  

After a few months Katie had some problems at the house and went to live with her boyfriend's parents, out in the country. She took Belle with her, where she was soon joined by her new brother Caesar, a yellow lab, about a year younger than she was.  

Shortly after Christmas, we were lounging around the apartment in Ca when we got a call. It was Katie and she was sobbing hysterically. Belle got run over, I think she is going to die!"  We were in shock. The Mr. began to cry. We were so worried. We didn't know if she was going to live or die. It sounded Bad. Somehow she had gotten out of the gate and wandered out onto the highway. She had been hit. when Jeffrey had come home and noticed the gate open he began calling. She came dragging herself down the road, torn and bloody. He took her immediately to the vet and she went into surgery. I could think of nothing else all day. I wished with all my heart I could be there for her, and for my daughter who had been out of her mind with grief for her dog. I could do nothing but pray, so I did that, with everything I had in me. 

 She did survive, but for the rest of her life she would bear the scars of that awful day on her forehead and under her belly and legs.  t. 

A few months later we moved back home. Katie and Jeffrey, now married, came to live with us, and Belle came home, too. When Katie and Jeffrey eventually moved out, Belly became our dog. They had acquired two other dogs, both labs, and had their hands full, and on top of that, Jeffrey was joining the Marines and shipping off to California. Three dogs would be too much for Katie to care for her by herself in an apartment. We were only too glad to take Belle off of their hands. But she would always remain Katie's dog. And Katie would always be her special person. When Katie's car would pull up outside, Belle, always knew. I don't know how she knew, but she knew. She had a peculiar bark that was only reserved for Katie, and when Katie came in and said Beeeeel! Belly would respond with such much enthusiasm she could barely contain herself. 

And I loved that dog. Even when she bullied Sam and her new brother Caesar, mercilessly. Caesar was a 100 pound yellow lab, but it made no difference to her. She was twenty pounds of scrappy dog, who could hold her own. She would chase him across the room and literally knock him off of his feet. Caesar was scared of her. Sam wasn't so much afraid, as he was just submissive. He put up with anything. Well almost anything. One time she tried to take his bone away. One thing Sam prized, was his bone. He went into full attack mode. I had never seen him like that. He clearly had had enough! It was the only time in thirteen years that I ever saw him do anything like that. He was a sweet and loving Beagle, but even Beagles have their limits, sometimes.

The years went by. Sam got old and feeble and eventually passed away. Belle never seemed to get old. She never turned gray. Her fur remained jet black and beautiful. She remained pretty agile, although she didn't play anymore, after Sam passed away. I would take her outside and put her in the fence, as I had so many times, but she would just sit at the gate and wait for me to get her. She looked so small and lonely out there, I couldn't bear it. I would go get her. After he was gone she didn't go out much anymore. She was ten years old by then. 

And then the Mr. got sick. There were long days that we were unable to be with Belle. She would be alone much of the time. She developed a lot of anxiety. I felt so bad for her. 

When the doctor told us we would have to move to Houston for three months, we didn't know what we would do with Belle. Katie was renting a house and couldn't have another dog. She couldn't go with us to the hotel. At this point my dad stepped up, and said he would take care of her. I was so relieved. I knew we wouldn't have to worry about her and she would be in good hands. 

When the three months was up we were reunited with great joy. However, I could see that the time away had taken a toll on her. She was ill with a cold when I walked in the front door and picked her up from her bed. I was alarmed that she didn't notice when I came in the door. She was asleep and facing the wall. She startled when I touched her.  I noticed she was not her usual self. Our little Belle had gotten old in those three months. She was stiff legged and her back legs were shaky and weak, something she had never exhibited before. Over the next two years the shaking and weakness would increase. She would eventually not be able to walk up the stairs. I started carrying her everywhere we went. The doctor put her on steroids and pain meds round the clock. We confined her to a play pen. And for awhile we thought she would get better. But she didn't. She developed doggie dementia. I would put her on the floor and she would immediately stagger drunkenly to the corner and stand there with her nose to the wall. Or she would wedge herself into a tiny space between the shelf and the wall and get stuck. She got lost behind the washing machine once. She couldn't be left alone in the room because she could get hurt. I came home from an outing once and couldn't find her. I heard her whining and finally found her flat out on the floor, arms and legs splayed out, under a large piece of furniture, where she had gotten stuck. She couldn't get out, she was pinned to the floor. After that she was in the playpen or on my lap all the time. And she started sleeping. All the time, she slept. Our lively little dog was a shadow of her former self. She had never been a quiet dog, and now she seldom made a sound. She didn't bark when someone came in, she didn't "talk" when we would give her treats. She just slept. 

Last Friday we came home from taking our daughter to college and I was appalled to find that things had progressed further. She couldn't hold herself up. She would walk a step and flop over. Her back legs would crisscross when I held her up. She had no superficial feeling in her feet. She was still eating and going to the bathroom, but she wasn't drinking much because she couldn't get to her water bowl without help. I called the vet. I was going to take her in right then. I was crying. My little baby was going to leave us. She couldn't go on this way. After talking to the receptionist, we decided to make an appt. for Mon. We would muddle through the weekend. It would give everybody time to come see her. We were pretty sure we were going to make the call, however we both hoped the doctor would say there was still hope for recovery. We couldn't bear the thought of losing her. 

The weekend hours crawled. It was difficult to see her this way. It was difficult to feed her. I had to hold her body up while she ate, otherwise she just flopped on the floor next to the food. It was messy and emotional, trying to get her to eat. She was so thin. I wanted her to get every bite, but she was flipping food everywhere, and making a horrible mess. I tried to help her, as best I could. When she was done, I would clean up her little face, like a little baby. I would wash her paws, her beautiful paws, and lay her back down in bed, cover her with a blanket and she would go back to sleep. On Saturday I gave her a bath. I put a towel in the kitchen sink and laid her down on it, on her side. I began to run the warm water over her, very gently. She just lay there, mostly unmoving. Whereas at one time she would have been up and out of there, shaking water all the way, now I had to lift her head out of the water, she was so weak. I finished bathing her and dried her off. She seemed to feel better after that, because she was able to carry herself around the yard, very wobbly, and relieve herself. I was amazed that she was able to hold herself up, when just a few minutes ago she couldn't even hold her own head up. 

Katie came to visit. She wrapped her up in a blanket and cuddled with her for a few hours. Then she had to go. I held Belle all the rest of the day, and all day on Sun. I stroked her beautiful ears, and her velvety paws. I thought about all the years we had together. How she helped me, when I was learning photography. She moved so fast, and I finally understood how to freeze high speed motion while shooting her one day, out in the back yard. Through the years I did lots of portraits of her. Photo shoots of her on the bed, looking at the window. I even made her a string of pearls for a formal dog portrait. I painted a watercolor of her. 

She was such a happy dog. I loved her so much. You always know the day will come when they will go. You just don't realize how quickly it gets here. One day you are feeding them puppy chow, and the next, you are carrying them in your arms because they are too old to walk down the stairs. 

We went to bed early on Sun night.  Neither of us could sleep. I was up several times because I could hear her in playpen trying to move around. She was trying to get to the water, but she couldn't manage it. I would get up and help her drink, and put her back in her bed. 

Monday morning came way to early. We were emotional. Belle was quiet all the way to the clinic. Barely even moved in my arms. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, though, she came to life. She knew where we were. She began to have anxiety and it didn't stop the whole time we were there. I had to go outside at one point and just cry. I just couldn't take it. 

We went over the quality of life scale. Belle scored a 25. What can we do the doctor asked to close the gap between her score and the normal score of 75. We knew there was nothing else we could do, short of 8k dollar surgery, surgery we just couldn't afford, and that we wouldn't put her through at her age. 

We had done everything medically that we could do. We knew she couldn't go on the way she was.  The doctor continued. My concern is, that this paralysis is could be ascending. Her front legs are weakening. Eventually this could creep up and affect her diaphragm. The Mr. and I looked at each other. There was no doubt. We would not let that happen. 

They took her away to sedate her, as she was still agitated and crying loudly. I couldn't bear it. They brought her back and she was quiet. laying on her side, not moving, but still with us. The Mr. was sobbing. I felt like my heart was ripping in two, but I wasn't crying. We leaned over her. Stroked her fur. Those little ears. We talked to her. They gave her the drug that would her end her life, and in a minute it was over. My little dog was gone. I put my face to her face and felt her whiskers one more time. I stayed there for an eternity, but it was really only a few seconds. As we exited the room, me being the last one out, I reached out with my hand and gently grabbed her little paw, one last time, her beautiful, perfectly manicured, velvety little paw, and then I let it slip away. I wished that I could hold onto it forever. 

Katie was inconsolable. She didn't talk to us for two days. I worried about her until I finally heard from her. I held on until I was alone for an afternoon, and then I was also inconsolable. I felt so empty without her. Every time I would doze off in my chair I would wake up in a panic, thinking I had forgotten to take her out, or feed her, only to sink back down as I realize I don't own a dog anymore, for the first time in17 years. It's a little eerie and unnerving. I know she isn't suffering anymore. I know she is in a better place, but I would give anything to stroke her little paw or her little ears just one more time. 

Today the vet's office called to say her ashes had come back. I went in to claim the remains of my little dog and then The Mr. and I sat in the car and cried as we looked at the little box with her name carved in the wood. I noticed there was something else in the bag. Curious, I reached in and pulled out a small bag with clippings of her beautiful jet black hair. It was totally unexpected. I reached in again and pulled out a small plaque. And then I burst into tears. It was a plaster imprint of her front paw, maybe even the one I had grabbed on the way out the door. Only God himself saw me do that, and only God himself knew how much I had wished I could hold onto that paw forever. It was his unexpected gift to me and I was comforted, after all.