The End

It took some time to come back and finish my last post.  Cinnamon was one of the loves of my life.  I just didn't feel ready to say goodbye, so I never quite got around to it.  September 26, I started to write in my journal at school about a bad day that I'd had.  Ironically, I had my students write an entry about the worst day of their lives.  I had titled my own entry, "Not Quite The Worst Day Of My Life" because my SEA  had joked about knowing what I'd be writing about.  She made the joke in reference to the fact that my class was soon to be merged into a much larger class that was basically a clone of a group that had slogged through a very difficult year with two other teachers the previous year.

That evening, I headed home after school looking forward to having a far better evening.  That evening was to start taking my girl to the dog park-- something of a tradition since the inception of this blog.  She stumbled a bit going down the steps, but I simply thought that she probably was not feeling too well.  We drove down to the park, but Meadow was there.  Meadow, as mentioned previously, is a dog that is a bit of a trouble maker at the local park.  Several people do not go into the park with their animals because Meadow nips at them.

I figured that since Cinn might not be a hundred percent, that I should probably skip the park.  I headed home and unloaded the girl. She walked slowly up the drive and into the house.  We had some supper, she got some pets, and everything seemed fine.

At 6:05 that evening, Cinn headed into the corner of the room to get into her bed, but could not do it.  I watched and wondered for a second, then she turned to me with a look of terror in her eyes that I had only seen once before-- that being the weekend Finn left us.  I hopped off of the couch and headed straight to my girl.  Tracie was watching too.  I did not say so right away, but I was scared.  Really, really scared.

I saw that she could not stand up, but she could not quite lay down too.  I helped her down and laid with her for a couple of minutes.  Then I told Trace that she should call the emergency vet-- I knew something was wrong, and suspected it might be serious.  Cinn had been getting sick recently, and now the reality of it was looking me in the face, and it's face was that of my terrified pup.

Tracie called the vet and I headed in to Kamloops immediately.  The vet was behind the Brick parking lot.  I pulled in, opened the back of the car, and sat with Cinn under the open hatchback.  She laid still and enjoyed me holding her.  Another car arrived, and I started to unpack her, but it turned out that it was a family that had just hit a dog with their car.  They ran to the door, thinking that I was the vet, but I explained that was not the case.  I put Cinn back in and sat with her quietly, waiting for the vet to arrive, and hoping that she would take me and Cinn first because we had called first.  I admit, I was selfish-- I wanted her to fix my dog.  I justified it by telling myself that the other dog seemed fine, but scared.  As it turned out, and I am happy about this now, the dog was fine, but scared. 

When the vet did arrive, we all went in.  She checked the other dog first, and it seemed like forever that Cinn and I had to wait.  When the vet finally did see us, she asked me what I wanted her to do.  I told her to run any tests that she thought might help my dog.  Give my dog whatever medicine she might need to get her through.  She ran some tests, and it turned out that the only thing that was off was her thyroid levels.  I asked if it could be something else, to which she responded there was that possibility, but it was also possible that Cinn was just an old dog that had over exerted herself.  I asked her to give my dog any medicine that might help protect her through the night, so that I could get her to Paula in the morning.  She did what I asked, I paid the bill, and I headed home feeling somewhat bouyed by the possibility that Cinn was just tired.

I woke at about 2:00 that night.  Woke is perhaps a generous analysis because to wake, one has to sleep first.  More accurately, I got up after crying silently for a few hours.  I went and sat with my dog.  When I saw her lying there in obvious pain, I was fairly sure that it might be the last time that I would sit with her under our roof.  We listened to quiet music all night, and I talked to her about lots of different things.

Tracie woke a few hours later, and we talked.  I told her that I thought Cinn was dying, but that I thought we should call Paula in the morning to take her to Kamloops and make one more attempt to save her.

I called Paula early the next morning, and she said that she had no problem picking Cinn up and taking her in.  When Paula showed up, Cinn was going to the bathroom, and I talked with her a bit.  I told her that I would be back at lunch, and would call her then.  I did not really want Tracie to have to make any decisions about Cinn because she was really upset about the whole thing.  I put my girl in the back and kissed her goodbye.  Then I headed off to school and hoped that I could keep my own issues at arm's length as I worked with my new class.

I rushed home at lunch, hoping for a miracle and expecting something far less.  The world, as usual, did not fail to live up to my expectations.  Paula told me that she had considered calling earlier because they had to run some more tests.  They had found cancer, but they were not sure of the extent.  It did not look good, but if the cancer had not permeated some of the more vital organs, surgery might be an option.  I told her that I just wanted her to take whatever steps she could to help  my dog.  She told me to call after school, and she would let me know how things had turned out.

I muddled through the rest of my day, then once again rushed home.   Again, I hoped for a miracle and expected something far less.  Again, I got what I expected.  Tracie called while I waited at the door.  Half of the conversation was twice as much as I wanted to hear.  I knew that my girl would not come home again.  Tracie got off the phone and said, "Please bring her home."

Her eyes told me that she knew that she would never see her dog again.

I left quickly and got out on the highway as fast as I could.  I drove well in excess of the speed limit for the first half of my trip.  As I got closer to Kamloops, my speed steadily declined.  I wanted to be there, but I did not want to get there.  I knew that Cinn was safe, until after I said my goodbyes.  I wanted to be with her, but not for the last time.

I do not remember much about my drive to the vet, after I hit Kamloops.  Traffic, people, everything was pretty much irrelevant.  I remember pulling in to the office and walking up to the counter.  A dark haired assistant whom I had never talked to before asked if I was there to see Cinn, and I told her I was.  I asked if I could take her outside for a bit, but I started crying before I could get to the end of my question.  She told me that it should be no problem, and that she would go to the back to get her.  I really, really wanted to go outside and sit with her one last time, to let Tracie say goodbye on the phone, and to have a bit of time with her.

When she came back, she told me that they would get her and put her into Paula's room, and I could go in to see her from there.  I saw three of the assistants pulling her in on a blanket because my girl could no longer walk, and I knew that things were not going to transpire the way that I wanted them to.   I could not stop crying.  I think that there were a number of other people in the waiting room, but they were irrelevant for all intents and purposes.

I went into the back to sit with my girl one more time.  Paula came in shortly after, and told me to take as much time as I wanted.  She asked if I wanted to see the x rays, but I declined.  I really did not care about reasons at that point.   I just understood that I was going home without my girl that night.  It was to be the first time in fifteen years that no dog would be waiting at my door to greet me.  Paula left; and I sat, cuddled, and talked to Cinn.  I kissed her over and over.  I told her that Finn would be waiting for her, and that I wanted them to wait for me.  That I would be a while, but that one day I'd see them both again-- at least I hoped so.  The whole time, Cinn just panted and I could not even get a tail wag for a huge hug and kisses.  I knew that it was over, and I felt more sadness and rage than I had experienced for years. 

After a while, Paula came back in.  She asked if I was ready, and I asked again if I could go outside and let Tracie say goodbye to Cinn.  She told me that it was o.k. to use the cell phone, in spite of the signs in the lobby.  I called Tracie, and she said her goodbyes over the phone.  I never asked what she said, but it did not manage any sort of reaction from our dying girl either.

Finally, after what seemed like a thousand years but not nearly long enough, Paula came back.  She asked if I was ready, and I responded that I probably was not, but that I couldn't see any other way.  She reassured me that it was the right decision.  I held Cinn as she administered the lethal chemicals.  For the second time in five years, I felt the life leave an animal that had touched my life on a far more profound level than most humans that I have met.  She stopped breathing for a moment, gave one last heave, and then expired.

Paula told me that the girls could bring Cinn to the back, but I told her that I would rather do it.  When she said that she did not want me to have to do that, I told her that it really did not bother me.  In truth, I really wanted to.  When Cinn came home with me, I had carried her into the house.  When she was sick the day before, I had carried her out of the house for the last time.  It seemed right that I would be the one that would carry her body to where they would send her off-- it had been the same with Finn before her.  You were my dog. It was my right, my responsibility.  Mine alone. 

I've given thought to whether Connor should have a dog, considering the impossible bargain that we make with them.  After a great deal of consideration, I have come to the conclusion that he should.

The lessons that dogs teach those of us ready to learn them are profound.  If a person gives his or her life to save another, we consider them to be a hero.  Dogs give every moment of every day to please their adoptive parents.  They spend all of their time at our beck and call, regardless of whether we are worthy of their devotion.  They love us without reservation and they serve regardless of other considerations.

When they pass, they teach us their final lesson.  After years spent as a living beside us in our shadows, they make us realize for the first time that our light was magnified beside them and forever diminished without them. They made us more than we were and better than we are, and that we should aspire to their greatest qualities-- love and loyalty in particular.

I can not promise that I will finish your story because it costs me something every time that I go back to update "My Best Friend's Lives" and because I really don't want to close that book.  I will, however, always return to it because you all had something infinitely important to contribute to the world and something that should be shared.  I will also always return because I will want to return to that moment in time when we were together.  When we were young, immortal, and invincible, and time seemed to stretch on to infinity.

You will always be loved and will always be remembered.  Goodbye for now little girl.