Today was our yellow lab Casey’s last day on Earth.  She was 14.  It’s been coming for some time.  Casey was diagnosed with laryngeal paralysis more than 4 years ago.  With this condition eventually the flaps of the larynx no longer open and close resulting in suffocation.  In the last 3 months the condition has become more uncomfortable.  Making the decision that it was time to end her suffering has been the backdrop of my summer.  It has sucked.  I felt myself always watching her for signs of suffering, always hoping that she would simply slip away in her sleep, but Casey’s heart was strong.  Her legs were strong too despite ACL surgery 7 years ago.  It was just her breath that couldn’t keep up with her otherwise vigorous body.  In the last 2 weeks her breathing was labored, she was no longer able to climb the stairs with the flaps open which meant she had to hold her breath to make it and then gasp for air, coughing and dry heaving for several minutes once she did.  It’s no way to live.  She continued to take her walks with me almost every day at Bay Farm and I know she felt alive, free and blissfully happy there…if a little slow.  This morning I brought Casey to Bay Farm for the last time.  She didn’t make it very far.  She wandered into the woods in an area where I couldn’t follow her, something she has never once done, as if looking for a place to pass away.  I have heard about this but had never witnessed it until this morning.  She did eventually come back out but she had given me the signal that I needed to see that she was ready.

Casey was our ‘middle child’ dog.  She came 2 years after Riley and 10 years before Joy.  We had the pick of the litter and we chose her because she bullied all her brothers and sisters to make it to our lap and fell asleep.  Casey was what every  lab is at their core.  She was goofy, bumbling, playful, loving and willing to let any robber come in and steal all your possessions in exchange for a good rub.  Casey was so tolerant of small children, dogs, Joy’s bossiness and even cool with taking food right out of her mouth.  She was never alone with us.  She was always part of a pack and truly hated being alone.  She had a habit of barking at seemingly nothing at the back door when we weren’t home.  Before we had children and when we both worked corporate jobs, we never knew what havoc our separation anxiety friend would wreak on our home.  She chewed plenty of chair legs, destroyed more comforters than I can count and even ate a couch.  She was also just about the loudest, most babyish patient to visit the Vet’s office.  Bringing her there was a nightmare.  She would cry so loudly that it drowned out all other sound.  She panted and carried on so that the vet usually couldn’t hear her heart or lungs with the stethoscope.  She had 3 nemeses: cats, skateboards and squirrels.  I am certain that Casey would want me to share with you her hunting statistics.  Her lifetime catch included 2 birds and 1 squirrel.  After each episode I was horrified, crying for the lost animals, and yet somehow happy for her moments of glory.  In the last couple of years squirrels, sensing her age, would taunt her through the sliding glass door.  Casey used to bark at them but finally gave in and took to just watching them, six inches away from her, and yet powerless to stop their invasion of her space.

Yet despite her annoying and expensive taste in chew toys and crazy behavior with the vet she was a wonderful friend.  Perhaps the greatest thing about having a dog is that they teach us how to live in the moment.  They don’t care what happened yesterday or what is coming tomorrow.  They live for the now and they live for our love.  Bliss for Casey was getting a quality rub.  She really never required any more than that.  If only all our relationships could be that pure.  She also never saw me as anything other than the love of her life.  I wasn’t Erin with a brain tumor.  I was Erin, owner of my heart, preparer of my meals and delivery person to Bay Farm. When Riley passed away 2 years ago Casey certainly felt grief.  For about 2 weeks she seemed a bit lost.  Then I noticed her starting to dream more.  When she slept she often lay on her side and I saw her running in her sleep, flailing her legs like a trot and even huffing barks in her sleep.  I sensed that she and Riley were connecting in the dream state.  Our loved ones in spirit often visit while we sleep as we are more open to receiving them then.  I was so comforted as I watched Casey and Riley connecting in this way.  I felt relieved that Riley was indeed present and felt happy for Casey that she hadn’t truly lost her favorite pal.  I believe there is no death, no real separation, it’s simply dropping the density of the body and returning to a state of pure energy.  I have experienced both my father’s and Riley’s presence many times.

Some of the best times in Casey’s life have been in the last year at Bay Farm.  In September 2013 I began walking there every day with Casey and Joy.  Bay Farm is not just for dog owners but it is the one place around that they can go without leash and feel what it’s like to be wild.  They smelled everything they came in contact with, met and played with many canine friends, Casey swam in the Bay and just genuinely appreciated the moment in all its glory.  We walked through rain, snow and bitter cold.  I am so grateful to Casey for being my companion through all of it.  Casey’s breathing has been so loud for so long that I know it will feel strange to walk in silence with Joy.  In fact, my nickname for her in these last years has been ‘huffy-puffy’. Casey gave me so much and I’m so honored that I got to be on her life journey.  I said my goodbyes many times to her over the last couple weeks.  She was never a licker but she was snuggling herself under my chin.  We shared some beautiful moments lately that I will always treasure.  About a month ago I called in divine reinforcements to help me keep her comfortable.  It was my dad’s suggestion (that I received from a friend who easily communicates with the other side).  I sensed her calmness through the process of transition.  It’s been a beautifully poignant experience to witness.

Just last night I walked past my wall calendar that for the month of August focuses on the feeling of Compassion.  Compassion is defined as sympathetic consciousness together with the desire to alleviate someone’s suffering.  Casey gave me such an amazing final gift in allowing me to be one with this state of being: Compassion.  Normally I like for things to be orderly.  I like to control the pace and direction of life and I thought I had some control of this situation even a week ago.  I wanted for Casey to pass peacefully.  I wanted to minimize her suffering.  I wanted to be able to keep our end of summer plans and not worry about my buddy anymore.  In the end though, it was Casey who let me know when she was ready.  I gave myself over to feeling compassion at a very deep level.  I surrendered the control which I never truly possessed in the first place.  I allowed Casey to show me the way.

I am grateful that she left this plane before experiencing too much pain. She passed peacefully, as if falling asleep in my arms. I am grateful that I was there to help her transition.  I am grateful that Casey lived a wonderful life.  I wish that all dogs could have it so good.  I consider myself so blessed to have known her and know that now I have one more soul watching over me, guiding me and cheering me on.  The best language that I have ever heard about losing a loved one comes from one of the greatest movies of all time The Shawshank Redemption after Andy escapes.   Red, in a beautiful soliloquy, says “Sometimes it makes me sad though…Andy being gone.  I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged.  Their feathers are just too bright.  And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up DOES rejoice.  But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they’re gone…I guess I just miss my friend.”  We know it was time, but I still feel the pain of losing her.  I have already experienced moments that seem out of the blue when I simply burst into tears.  It’s the nature of grieving I believe.  I hate the feeling.  Sadly I have felt my share in the last 4 years.  I have learned to feel it all and have talked with the kids a lot about letting it out.  I have also learned that time heals all wounds.  So for now, I will be patient with myself and each day simply embrace where I am.  I hope that she visits me soon and often.  Thank you Casey for the many ways you made my life fuller and happier.  I love you always.