Osa the Dog and the Last Goodbye
When we got to my son's house yesterday, he explained to me that one of his dogs wasn't feeling well. Osa, a 13-year-old lab/pit mix had a swollen stomach and was moving around very gingerly. Her condition had not changed by this morning and he elected to take he to the emergency vet's office in his neighborhood. The two of them were not gone long when he returned, grim faced. "She's dying" he told me.
Osa survived the removal of stomach tumors three years ago. Now they have returned and in such profusion and size that removing them at her age isn't a practical option. my granddaughte,r who lives in Virginia had an October trip already planned to come home for a visit with Osa, the family dog since she was in kindergarten. She planned that visit because of Osa's age and health history. My son had the unenviable task of calling her today to break the news. Unsurprisingly, she changed her flight plans immediately and within a couple of hours was through security at Reagan airport in DC, on her way home to Texas to say goodbye to her beloved pet.
My grandson, 19, lives in town but has been scarce lately, doing his own thing. He got called today too and will be coming over tomorrow. We canceled our evening plans and elected to stay around the house, feeding Osa tiny treats and sitting on the floor with her. I looked through my pictures today for images of the kids and Osa through the years.
I am of course sorry that it has come to this. I'm happy that arranging a sad family reunion has been possible. Seeing the grandkids is an unexpected treat, despite the circumstances. The dogs my children grew up with live in our memories and in family stories long after their deaths, as I'm sure Osa will. Their short lives and early deaths are the price we inevitably pay for all the joy our pets bring us. I wish it could be some other way.
Addendum
I wrote the paragraphs above shortly before going to bed. I awoke a few hours later to find this obituary written by my son.
Every day since October of 2012, over a quarter of my life, my first waking act has been to ask, in singsong, “who’s a hungry puppy”, and this furry angel has tippy-tapped and wagged her tail waiting on a bowl of kibble. Since the day she came home, she has the most human-centric dog I’ve ever known. Her greatest delights in life were Kraft singles, and rubs. She was a fierce hunter and devoured countless rodents, rabbits and squirrels, but with people she was the personification of affection. I’ve met dozens of neighbors over the years because she was a determined escape artist, for the sole purpose of finding the first person she could locate and flopping to the ground for pets, which her smile and sweet nature inevitably elicited before the phone call of “Hi, I think I have your dog, she’s really sweet”.
My daughter was kindergartener when she joined our family, and Osa has been with her through all of the milestones and tribulations from kindergarten until her senior year. Siblings always bicker, but I never minded the nightly tussle over whose turn it was to sleep with Osa. I am grateful for the many nights she spent beside my bed, and even more grateful for the nights she sensed I needed her and just came and pressed her side against me while I read.
She crossed the rainbow bridge tonight, curled up in the arms of the girl who loved her and she loved the very most. I’m sitting with her now, swaddled in her tattered quilt that’s been her cozy spot for well over a decade.
Grief is the price we pay for love, and I would gladly pay that price a thousand times for 12 years with this angel.
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