There comes a day

It all started as a family event, to drive 2 hours away and go pick out a Weimaraner puppy. The original intent was so I would have a running dog to be with me, esp in the early mornings and late evenings, as a safety element. This would be our first "big dog" and the thought of how to handle he/she seemed daunting. When we arrived, and saw a large litter of big puppies, and I knew this experience was going to be special. It was Lauren that picked her out. Thank you, Lauren, as you did indeed pick the perfect puppy for our family. The drive back home consisted primarily of ogling over an adorable grey, female puppy - and, of course what to name her. After much deliberation and disagreements, we all could agree on Bridgette. A beautiful name for a beautiful weimaraner puppy. Her paws were huge, and even though she was female, she would likely be a large sized dog for her breed, as her mom was over 100 lbs.
As we took her home and settled her in, we had a crate ready (although unsure of how to utilize it properly), a doggie door, and no idea of how to handle a high energy, large puppy. At our first vet visit, the doctor told us about a dog trainer that he used, and recommended we consider professional training to help mould our sweet Bridgey into the best dog she could be. That would turn out to be one of the best things for us all. We did indeed do that, and Bridgette did fantastic with it. We learned to be good pack leaders, and how to give Bridgette the things she needed to succeed.
During her first year, she and I began our running. It became a "job" she looked forward to, and she was great at it! We were told these types of dogs need a job, and running seemed the perfect fit. It's hard to believe now, that looking back, she had at many points run 30 miles at a time with me. She was always up to doing what I did, and had endless energy. She was a awesome running dog, and we spent many hours together doing so. For many years, she and I walked, and ran, and she also enjoyed riding in the car while I did errands.
As Bridgette aged, she ran less and begin a life of being a regular dog. We did much more walking, and still lots of car riding. She was well-mannered, and always loyal. She was "that dog" that never let you out of her site, never ran off, and could be let off a leash at any time and would stay near. Loyal. We could take her anywhere. David got her a Service Dog vest, and she really could go anywhere with us. No, she wasn't a Service Dog, silly us, and we didn't really use the vest, but her manners could allow her to be perceived as such. She was great with kids, and always loved being with us, wherever we went.

It's during these times that I never thought about end-of-life scenarios. Bridge would live forever, and that's just the way it was. She's healthy, happy, kind, and the best dog we have ever had. Then, hip problems arose. She had two hip surgeries, and they helped some. Later in her life, she had laser treatments for it, to help generate blood circulation in that area. She had realignments done, as if she was a regular at a chiropractor. Those treatments along with pain meds were her escape from her pain. What I found fascinating is she never complained, whimpered or let it stop her. Her little tail would always wag when it was walking time, and she followed me all around the farm despite her limp. She was strong when the struggle was so real. But I could see it in her eyes, and still can. Her eyes asking me Why? Why is this happening?
She has always slept on a crib mattress on the floor, and awhile back, I upgraded her to a twin size, so she could spread out even more on it. She would lay out so completely she could cover most of the mattress. I'm glad she was comfortable.
Not long ago, she could no longer get in the car. Nor could she tolerate the walks we used to take. She was only able to walk around the farm slowly, and would often find a place to lay and watch us. My heart knew what was happening, but my mind did not want to accept it. Then, it happened. The corner you never want to see turned. She was staying on her bed more, getting up less. Not really hungry, and looking up at me with those sad eyes. Why?
I have a lump in my throat when I see it all replay in my head. The corner now turned, and time is short. We assumed she would "rally" again as she always had done. A few bad days, then back up again as usual. This cycle of rallying back had run it's course. She was tired. Her body was not able to function as it once did. It's a hard thing to watch. And I'm sure even harder to be Bridgette and endure it all.
We wanted to allow her to be at home if at all possible, And she was, until her breathing was so labored that David and I could no longer allow her to suffer. We carried her to the car and headed up to the vet. I had called them earlier in the day to talk with them about her condition. They were so helpful in guiding us through this process. They are not advocates for putting any animal to sleep. To my surprise, the vet suggested it as the only option to alleviate her suffering and struggle. There was no rallying. They was no fixing her. It was time to let her go.
David and I were able to spend a little more time with her, but she was not able to focus or understand what was happening, which I suppose is a blessing. We said our goodbyes, kissed her sweet forehead and cried. The vet would make sure she was comfortable and take away the pain and suffering.
We all have that dog, that one dog that's different than all the rest. Granted, I have only written a snippet of who she was, and what our 11 years together consisted of. Yet, it's a record that plays in my head now, of all the wonderful memories. I come home now, and she's not here. It makes no sense to me, as somehow I was convinced she always would be.
I become so emotional at the thought of her passing, realizing how great the paw print she left on my heart really is. It's indescribable. Her loyalty, her smile, and her spirit are all displayed in a portrait that was drawn of her many years ago. It hangs on the wall, so that I can see her eyes when they were smiling.
Thank you, Bridgey, for all those years you blessed upon us. You are my biggest reward when I walk through those gates in heaven, as you will be the first I hug. And I know you'll be there waiting for me, as that's how you lived your life here on earth. Always beside us, always ready. Your sweet eyes always on us.

I Loved You Best

So this is where we part, My friend,
And you'll run on, around the bend.
Gone from site, but not from mind,
New treasures there, you'll truly find.

Your place I hold, you will be missed,
The fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.
And as you journey, to your final rest,
Take with you this, I loved you best.

-Jim Willis

I can't hide the tears when I say your name. God is Good, and together, my heart will heal, and I'll keep you there always. I cherish the joy you brought to my life.