It Was Time

They say you will know when it's time.

We had to put Scilla down Monday. She was 18 ½ years old to the day—almost completely deaf, practically blind, and couldn’t get up and down the stairs anymore. But, she still ate like a horse, got excited when you came home, followed you everywhere and loved to sleep on your lap, just like she did as a puppy. We carried her up and down the stairs, outside to go to the bathroom and cleaned up accidents without even batting any eye. Because that’s what you do for a family member.

Over the last few months, her health was deteriorating more rapidly and we knew, “that day” was coming. On Monday, she began having seizures. Nothing extreme or overly dramatic, but nonetheless cause for concern. After a while, she seemed to be doing a bit better, but when she whimpered as she laid down, we knew. We hadn’t heard as much as a yip out of her in almost a year (Deafness will do that to you).

Scilla was my wedding gift to Sue. I remember the day we bought her from the pet store. There was a big open pen in the middle of the store with about five or six puppies. Right next to it was a big sign that read, “Do NOT handle the puppies.” Sue walked up, looked in the pen and walked away. Scilla followed her around the inside of that pen everywhere she went. Sue walked back over to her at which point the store owner said, “Go ahead, pick her up.” Sold. 

She was two years old when Patrick was born. People said to us, “You’re going to have problems with her. She’s used to being the queen of the house.” But, when Patrick went back into the hospital because he was jaundice, she laid by his bassinet for two days. In return, he taught her how to eat table scraps by pushing his food over his high chair tray, where she learned to sit below him and wait like a harbor seal at Fisherman’s Wharf.

She chased bubbles in the summertime to the point where one day we had to carry her up the stairs because her muscles were so sore. She jumped at the snow shovel in the winter, becoming covered in snow balls to the point where we had to put her in the bathtub to dry out. She ruined three couches because she had to lay on the very top of the cushions. She jumped out of a moving car, got bitten by a German Shepard and ate over a pound and a half of chocolate in one sitting.

  

Over the years we watched her grow from “Baby Scilla” to “Mama Scilla” and finally to “Gramma Scilla." Each year, our Christmas Card picture was of Patrick in his hockey jersey holding her by the tree. This year, there won’t be a card.

But, it was time.

I was at work, stuck in two meetings, so Sue took her to the vet. Scilla used to shake like crazy when we got anywhere near the place, but this time she was peaceful and calm. Sue walked into the room and Scilla laid down on the table. She didn’t give Sue the “Why are you doing this to me?” look, she just quietly slipped away.

I know some people think we're crazy because it hurts so much. Honestly, we couldn’t care less. Little dogs aren’t supposed to live that long, but we believe she lived as long as she did because she knew how much we loved her, and we knew how much she loved us. She didn’t want to lose us as much as we didn’t want to lose her.

But it was her time.

It's pretty quiet around our house now. We don’t hear the jingle of the tags on her collar. We have no reason to put our dinner plates on the floor after we’ve finished eating. We don’t see her standing on the top of the stairs, looking to see if it was really us coming home. It sucks.

If this was a letter written on paper, it would be drenched in tears. But that’s what happens when you lose someone who gave you over 18 years of truly unconditional love. But keeping her alive any longer would have just been selfish on our part. 

We know she’s probably somewhere chasing bubbles with Molly, or yipping at Grover. She’s happy again, and one day we will be too. 

Good-bye Scilla. We will love you always.