Goodbye, Sweet Kayla

Today is a very sad day for our family. The matriarch of our canines, Kayla, crossed over this morning. What a beautiful soul . . . she would have been 16 years old in May. Robert got her when he was living in British Columbia, and she's been through a lot with him over the years. Always faithful, always loving. I've never seen a dog as crazy about food. She did this happy dance every time we would feed her . . . . bouncing back and forth between the 2 back legs and the 2 front legs, then twisting, and, if you weren't fast enough with the food bowl, barking at you to speed things up. And she had an amazing internal clock that, if we happened to be home, exactly at 5:00 p.m., she would come find you so that you could fill that food bowl. The Boxers, who previous to our family merger had been "pick at the bowl all day long" eaters, learned quickly to eat their food or it would be gone.

Over the holidays, we knew something was up because she stopped doing the happy dance. She stopped eating her food at one point, but we bought her a different food which she seemed to love, so we hoped she had just tired of the old food. However, a few days ago, she stopped showing interest in that food . . . then we found some soiled spots on the carpet . . . something was definitely not right. Friday night, when Mattie and I came home, Robert was on the floor with her . . . he said she had stumbled coming down the stairs and just stayed where she fell. She wouldn't eat or drink. Later that night, though, Robert's daughter came over . . . we were going to go skiing the next day, so she was going to spend the night with us. Kayla perked up a little when she arrived. The next morning, she even ate her breakfast and went outside with the other dogs . . . we thought maybe the previous evening had just been a sore muscle or hip. We had neighbors check on her throughout the day, and she seemed okay Saturday night when we returned from skiing. However, on Sunday, she barely moved the entire day. Wouldn't eat . . . even when I cooked her chicken, which she loved. Wouldn't eat her cookies. Wouldn't play. At one point, I tried to take her out to use the bathroom, and she collapsed at the edge of the patio. I got a blanket and put on the floor and carried her back inside. She didn't move all night and only drank a little water, no food. So, this morning, we called the vet first thing. No appointments available, but they said they could work us in on a walk-in basis. At 10:30, they called us back. The vet took her history from us, checked her heart and her kidneys and told us it was time. Her kidneys were hard and very small . . . and with the lack of output over the course of the weekend, signaled failure. Her heart was very slow and breathing labored. . . . She was suffering, which a grand lady like her should not have to do.

I've never had to do anything like that before.

My first dog, Bugle, went without my knowledge . . . my dad took him to the vet without me even knowing . . . and came home without him. I still struggle with that today . . . the never-getting-to-say-goodbye to my first best friend. My second dog, Bud, was living with my parents when I was at college . . . I came home for the weekend, and my dad told me that Bud was ready to die and that he had just let him out of the pen to go do it on his terms. I was dumbfounded and furious. My brother and I spent the entire day . . . until nightfall . . . looking for his body . . . never found it. My third dog, Murphy, my beloved Basset Hound, was staying with my first husband at the time he crosssed over because I had suspected my second husband, who I was married to at the time, was being abusive to him when I was not around --- this same husband is the one who beat me to a pulp one night for turning down the volume on our TV after putting Bug to bed. So I was not with Murphy either . . . he was 14 though and had lived a great life. My first husband very sweetly took him back to his parents' property in Mena and buried him there. The night my second husband beat me, he also kicked our Great Dane, Sadie, in the mouth as he crossed the room to take me out. So, when I left home to live on the road with Bug (my ex was threatening to kill me), we sheltered Sadie with a vet friend of mine so she wouldn't be hurt by him. Devastated and trying to live as a single parent with a 4-year-old, paying all the bills without any support, I found a couple in Northwest Arkansas who had Sadie's sibling and some other Great Danes . . . I gave her to them to raise while I picked up the pieces of a broken life. They loved her dearly, and I could never bring myself to ask for her back after I got back on my feet a couple of years later. She, too, crossed over before I moved to Colorado, but I wasn't there.

Long story to say that I was not prepared for today. But the vet was incredible. He's the same one who diagnosed Cooper with Addison's Disease, and he was compassionate, competent, and answered all of our questions before we could even ask. He shaved a little area of her beautiful golden leg and inserted the IV. Robert and I held her the entire time . . . . looking into those beautiful, loving brown eyes . . . telling her what a good dog she had been . . . how she had always done everything right . . . how much love and joy she had brought to everyone . . . how we were so thankful she wouldn't have to hurt or struggle anymore. We held her until the very end . . . one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do . . . watch the life go out of a living creature . . . one of our cherished family members.

Goodby, sweet Kayla . . . . we miss you so . . . .