Cooperative Living July 2016 - 42

Rural Living | by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
Here's to Brownie: The Best
Dog a Girl Could Ask For
Despite her many health problems, she remained a happy little dog,
always wagging, flashing her pretty smile.
I
knew the day was coming, and
dreaded it. Perhaps I waited longer
than I should have.
But, the day arrived. Brownie let me
know she was ready to be set free on
Thursday, May 19. And I mustered all
the resolve and courage I could, and
made the arrangements.
For about a year, Brownie and I
have been " two old groany girls " when
dawn arrived. I'd chuckle to hear our
moans and groans as we attempted to
get up and greet the day. But we both
somehow always managed.
On that fateful morning, however,
Brownie " slept in " - she wasn't
waiting there, wagging, at her food
dish. I made her breakfast, concealed
the heart pills and diuretics and
whatever other meds she was taking
two or three times a day, and left it
on her placemat. She didn't eat it for
awhile.
Instead, she did what she always did
after breakfast: Came in and flopped on
the floor beside my desk chair as I
worked. But, she groaned loudly the
whole morning. Finally, about nine
o'clock, it hit me: This little dog is in a
lot of pain. Her arthritis had steadily
increased until it became impossible to
even brush her lush, triple-coat fur; she
would cry. I took to telling Brownie she
looked like " a little ragbag. " She didn't
seem to mind. Tufts of her lovely fur
drifted throughout the house.
Despite her many health problems,
she remained a happy little dog,
always wagging, flashing her pretty
smile. She slept a lot. But then, so
did I; I was recovering from my second
new knee. We napped through most
of the afternoon some days. But, we
were together.
40 | Cooperative Living | July 2016
Her appetite was certainly unaffected
― probably due to one of those pills. She'd
gobble down the pile of tasty gravycovered
stew in her dish and then wag
over to gaze at me like Oliver Twist.
After I faced the awful truth that
Thursday morning, I called
Auntie Anne to tell her this
was the day we'd been
dreading. We both
cried on the phone.
Our appointment
was at 4:30,
shortly before
the vet's office
closed. I did not
want to be there
amongst a
crowd. I did not
want anyone
gawking at me as
I sobbed and blew
my nose.
I was worried about driving
home afterward. Could I possibly do that?
I put out " feelers " to friends, but most
didn't pick up on my hints and offer to
drive us. One did, but she didn't get off
work until 4; by the time she picked us up
and drove us to Warm Springs, we'd be
late. I thanked her for the kind offer, but
told her, " Brownie and I have faced
everything together; we'll do this as we
always have: Together, on our own. "
That afternoon, I filled her dish every
time she walked past and looked at it.
She gobbled it down. Shortly before we
had to leave, I let Brownie outside. She
rolled and groaned happily in the grass.
She dozed in the sunshine. I watched from
the window. " Why, " I wondered, " am I
doing this? " Then, she tried to come up
the porch steps and tripped. I knew: It
truly was time.
I drove with one hand on the wheel,
and the other stroking Brownie's soft,
silky fur. When we arrived, there was my
friend, waiting. She wouldn't let me face
this alone.
The sickeningly sad ordeal was as
" nice " as it could be. I held my
little darling in my arms as
she drifted away. I cried
out loud, and sobbed
into her comforting
fur. How would I
live without her?
I did not know.
And still do not.
Auntie Anne
cried out loud,
too. She loved
Brownie. We
The Party Dog
hugged each other,
and she told me,
" You're doing the right
thing. " I desperately needed
to hear that.
Brownie will be cremated. I have a nice,
cheerful " Good Dog " treat jar. Her ashes
will go in there, and sit on the shrine I've
created with photos, and her collar with
the little pink name tag. Meanwhile, she
will wait for me at the " Rainbow Bridge, "
where all our beloved pets welcome us
when our time comes.
When my time comes, Brownie's
ashes will be buried with me. She'll be
snuggled in my arms for eternity.
Somehow, that's comforting. But still
makes me very, very sad.
There will be no more dogs for me.
I've already had the very best. 
To order Margo Oxendine's A Party
of One, email recorder@ htcnet.org,
or call 540-468-2147 Monday-Thursday
from 9-5.
www.co-opliving.com
http://www.co-opliving.com
Cooperative Living July 2016

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