Amber, 1996–2009

[catsidhe]

Today, about 1:30 in the afternoon, my Mother-in-law's 13 year old Cocker Spaniel, Amber, was put to sleep.

She had not eaten for more than five days, and anyone who knows Cocker Spaniels knows that not eating for one day is a sign of something being very wrong. She was not getting up, and was growling when people touched her.

Yesterday she was taken to the vet, and the prognosis was good: a compression in the back. Some cortisol and painkillers, and she would be fine. Last night, Anne managed to get some food into her, and it looked good.

But over the night, Amber was throwing up, and still not moving. She was taken back to the vet, and they had another look at the X-rays. They had concentrated on her back, and not noticed the growth in her stomach. From which she was now bleeding internally. Her gums were white, and she was in pain. She was given morphine, and mimdancer was called. Mimdancer's sister was still an hour's drive away, and Amber was in too much pain, and so she was gently put to sleep.



Mim got the girls out of school early, and they got to give her a last pat, before Amber was buried in Anne's garden, under a stone. (Shit, I'm crying now.)

When, after fighting peak-hour traffic, I got home, the girls were just going to bed. Not long ago, I heard Abi crying, so we had a talk. “What is ‘death’?” she asked. “Well, I said, what is ‘life’? Life is when you're alive, when your heart beats, and your brain thinks, and your muscles move: it's all about moving and doing. Death is when you stop. When your brain stops thinking, your heart stops pumping, and you just... stop. And you can rest.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“And Amber's in Heaven.”
“Yes. Amber's in heaven. She was old, for a dog, and she was hurting, and it was hurting her to be alive, so she stopped, and now she's in heaven eating Schmakos and chicken wings for breakfast, and she's happy.”
Some sobs.
“But if she's in heaven, she's never coming back!”
“No, darling, she's not. So we have to remember her, remember all the good things. Remember her snuffling for food. Sitting beside us at the table waiting for the scraps she always got. Being so excited to go for walks. The way she snored. And when we die, a long time from now, she'll be there to meet us.”



The girls have been quiet for a while, now. I think they're asleep. Abi's going to take some photos of Amber into school tomorrow, and will talk about her to her class. And Mim and her sister are at Anne's right now.

I've never been a ‘dog person’. Anyone who knows me will tell you that. But still, I've known Amber almost all her life, and she's Just Been There since before Mim and I were married. And she was a strong personality. And now she's gone. Requiescat in pace.




Oh, and I do know of people who would say that it is better not to indulge fantasies of an afterlife, and that we should have told the girls that when Amber died, that she just ceased to exist. My response is: fuck off. Anyone who says that six-year-olds are ready to hear that sort of cold reality has probably never had to say it to one.

Comments

[tooticky.livejournal.com]

I'm really sorry to hear that Amber has died. She was a lovely, friendly dog with an expressive face, ears and little stub of a tail. She has been around since I first met Miriam and Anne was well.
I like the way you're talking about death with the girls. Don't worry about 'cold reality' - the truth is that we don't know what happens to any of us after we die. We don't know if there is an 'after' or not. There's some evidence for and some against as far as I can see. It's a mystery. Therefore, trying to imagine what might happen, and hoping for something good is a reasonable human response. We always want to imagine what comes next and death is no different.
And you're right too, in that the physical facts of death and 'she's never coming back' are hard enough to bear without the thought that the one we love is extinguished - for adults as well as kids.

[bar-barra.livejournal.com]

Alas poor goggie. You said the right stuff. Cold reality and six year-olds rarely mix well and certainly not at times like this.

[omnot.livejournal.com]

Kids need heaven. It is hard enough for adults to process the concept of death, and children's brains are less developed.

My eldest was just days off being ten when he died. Her sisters aged seven and five. I've told them that we don't really know whether heaven is real, but they believe, in their heart of hearts, that their father is in heaven. (Disconcertingly, it took quite a bit of fast talking to convince my youngest that she did not really want to die in a hurry to be with him again.)

I see it as a mercy to have the established religious "heaven" mythos on hand to comfort them. They have their whole life to come to their own understanding of death. There's no rush.

My condolences to all of you who are feeling the loss of your canine companion. The pain of her death will fade, and when it does, the memories of her life will be with you all forever.

[sjl.livejournal.com]

I think of explaining the death of my sister's dog to my nieces, and my blood runs cold - I couldn't find the words. "Better the illusions that exalt us than 10,000 truths."

You said the right things. I wish you, and yours, strength.

Agreed.

[atheoi.livejournal.com]

I was born to Irish/Scott Cathols. However, Daddy grew up in New Orleans, so a lot of Southern fundamentalist voodoo got mixed in. Boy is he strange. Poppy Brite and I have had drinks on occasions.

In any case, I was a all-powerful God skeptic from very early on in my life, but very interested in mythos and ethics. I recently discovered in my mother's Childhood Vault an exercise from when I was six years old. We were supposed to write a prayer with an illustration. Attached was a note from my teacher about how the majority of students asked for "stuff",

My prayer was "Jesus help me to do the things I'm suposed to do"

And there's a picture of Jesus taking out the trash.

Well, I think that was my closest brush with Buddha, and I miss it.


Anywho, I had a pet die the same year. Dad has a ton on empathy, but I wasn't reassured. I was a weird kid.

Mom picked up on it, so maybe this would be a good book for (you) dad and mom right now since the kids are calm:

The Tenth Good Thing About Barney

I still give it to us older kids when a loved one has passed.
Good luck.
- K