She hadn’t wagged her tail in two days. Not when I tried to
comfort her and patch up the bleeding tumor. Not when I sobbed how sorry I was
into the soft fur on top of her head, my tears dropping off her ears. Not when I
spoke to her softly and tried to encourage her to eat or drink. Not when I
cleaned her up after she had an accident. Not when she was crying in pain and I
tried to soothe her. Last night, not too many minutes before she breathed her
last painful breath, my sweet Canela wagged her tail when I gently stroked her
head. It seemed like she wanted to reassure me just one last time.
Just after midnight her howl woke me for the fourth time.
The pain she felt was nearly palpable. Her howl brought Primero up from his
bedroom. We sat with her, unsure of what might transpire, wishing we could do
something to help ease her pain. I tried to help her get comfortable because
she was on her side laying on top of the huge tumor. She wouldn’t stay upright,
choosing to stay in her uncomfortable position. Soon her breathing became
slower, big gasps for air between prolonged moments of silence. Primero moved
away from her, crying, “Oh no! Please don’t tell me she’s doing this. She’s
dying right in front of us.” After she breathed her last breath, her eyes still
open staring at nothing, we agreed she had howled to bring us to her so she
wouldn’t die alone. She was quiet the whole time we sat with her. Primero and I
wept together our shoulders shaking in unison. I covered her up and we agreed
we would move her to the back porch in the morning. I couldn’t fathom leaving
her outside alone all night. Love Bug woke up so I tucked us both into bed and
slept fitfully until my alarm went off. After we moved her, I called my dad to
ask him to take her to the farm and bury her next to their dog Max (they had to
put him to sleep just after Thanksgiving. He was 15 and these two were the best
dam dogs you could ask for) because they were buddies.
Canela was a wonderful dog. She was my first dog that was
mine all alone and not a family dog. She was devoted to me and we shared such a
special connection and loving bond. She has been with me through a lot of
things in the nearly 12 years we were together. She was my confidant in
Nicaragua, the only one who let me sputter on in my broken Spanish and never
made me feel dumb about it. She was up for an adventure, traveling all the way
from Central America to the US with me – in February no less! She hated water
and rain but loved to run. And boy was she fast! She came home knowing all her
commands in Spanish but soon learned them in English, becoming a bilingual dog.
Whenever I spoke her name and she was within earshot, she would wag her tail.
As a puppy she used to take naps on my lap. She slept by my bed in two
different countries and three different houses for over a decade. I have never
lived in my current home without her. It doesn’t feel right knowing she will no
longer be there. No one could identify what breed of dog she was, but to me it
didn’t matter. She was beautiful. She was a loyal and loving canine companion.
My sweet Canela. May she rest in peace.
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