Gigi Bear

This week our dog Gigi died. She’d been sick since January, which in retrospect was amplified by having teeth removed. She’d been diagnosed with pancreatitis in February and we spent 6 weeks slowly nursing her back to health. She completed a considerable round of medications and became accustomed to being hand fed pieces of rotisserie chicken. (Dark meat only, please.)

Last week, after having returned to her dog food and gained some weight, she started showing strange neurological signs including scream barking and pushing her head into corners. Tests showed she likely had meningitis, with the only confirmation coming from a spinal tap — which we were not willing to put her through. She was in obvious pain and there is no longterm treatment for this.

Holding a beloved pet, trying to keep your voice steady and calm, and whispering your last words of love to them while they die is among the most difficult, painful experiences I’ve had. With Gigi, this was further complicated because of COVID. We were lucky to be able to be with her in her last moments and while they asked us to wear masks, in her last minutes I pulled mine off and pressed my face against hers. I don’t know if it was more for me or her, but I wanted her to be able to see my face and not be scared.

I inherited Gigi (and her older sister Grace) when Jason and I married. They quickly became my dogs and Grace continues to be my sidekick. Happy Gigi memories include her bullying Nelson to establish herself as the alpha, which was hilarious considering she weighed all of 9 pounds, and the fact she loved to swim. During the summer we would visit family with a pool and Gigi loved to get in and hang out on a raft. She’s the only dog I’ve ever had who loved heat and water.

She also loved baby carrots, walks with her sister as long as she was at the front of the pack, and in her final days — being held.

I don’t think the loss of a pet ever gets easier. I will miss that sweet little dog until my last days. For now, I’m grateful for these last weeks at home with her, and being here now with Grace as we transition to a one-dog home.

We didn’t need the loss of an animal on top of managing a pandemic and other trying family concerns, but here we are. Hopeful today is brighter.

Hold your loved ones close. Again, again, I am reminded how fragile and temporary this all is.

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