My Dog Elizabeth: A Eulogy

Yesterday was the kind of day you wish you never had to live.

Growing, up more than anything, I wanted a dog. My mom and dad didn’t. There was never a puppy under the Christmas tree. So, before the ink was dry on the mortgage documents after my husband Dave and I bought our own place, I was out out the door in search of a puppy. Not just any puppy, my childhood dream. When I was four, I saw Lady and the Tramp in the theater. From that day on I wanted a blonde cocker spaniel.

I found her in a little pet shop in Grand Rapids. I know pet shops are taboo these days. Back then they were still kosher. They put Elizabeth in my arms, all soft, warm and squirmy. There was no way I was letting her go. We took her home. Dave named her. She just looked like an Elizabeth, he said.

I got finally got my first dog at the age of 24. I used to tell her she was my first puppy love. Yes, I talked to her. We had many deep conversations. It drove Dave nuts. He said he never knew if I was talking to him or the dog.

We were married less than two years when Elizabeth joined our family. So she was there for pretty much all of it. Three moves. Job changes. September 11th. I remember coming home from work that awful day shattered. It felt so good to snuggle something warm and soft.

Babies. She showed no jealousy when we brought the boys home. Just accepted them as part of the pack. She was curious, peeking into the bassinet, following me when they woke in the night, sitting at my feet while I rocked them. I joked that they had two mommies. When the boys grew older she put them to bed with us at night. She’d follow us to their rooms and sit with us while we said prayers, sang lullabies and tucked them in. If the boys spent the night at Grandma’s house, she worriedly checked and rechecked their rooms looking for them.

Elizabeth, Beth, Bethie-beth, Bets, Betty, Fluffy Butt — she had lots of nicknames. She loved to play fetch with the tennis ball. She had so much affection for that ball that when she wasn’t playing with it, she was snuggling with it under the table. She also was very fond of pizza. You brought a pizza home and her nose went into high alert, sniffing, looking, searching for the pepperoni. You didn’t dare leave your slice of pie unattended for a second, because she would inhale it before you knew what happened.

This past winter Beth’s health began steadily declining. We knew we didn’t have much time left with her. She was almost 15 years old. But she still seemed pretty happy, so we waited. Then the last month she took a turn for the worse. She didn’t breathe as well anymore. She slept all day and night. She didn’t want to go outside at all because she’d gone deaf, blind and her legs hurt too much when she walked. She didn’t even give that tennis ball a sniff anymore. She didn’t put the boys to bed. She didn’t want to sit with us if we picked her up and put her on the couch. She couldn’t do her job anymore. She couldn’t be our dog anymore.

As much I wanted Elizabeth with us, it hurt me to see her suffer even more. I knew she was ready to go, and we had to let her go. I made the terrible phone call and arranged things with the vet. Then I called and ordered a pizza. She didn’t have to steal the slice that night.

We had other dogs over the years. We lost one in a tragic accident, and our oldest son still is sad he didn’t get to say goodbye. So I knew we all had to be there at the end. We didn’t tell the boys before school. We didn’t want them worrying. We picked them up at the end of the day and broke the news. They got to spend 30 minutes with her. Then we carried her into the office together.

We all went into the room with the vet. We discussed Elizabeth’s health, and the vet agreed it was time. My husband left after that. He has such a tender heart. He couldn’t stay. Wade went with him, a good thing since he’s so young. I had to stay. I’d been with her all these years, I couldn’t abandoned her in those last few minutes. She couldn’t take her last breath alone. David, our nine-year-old, wanted to stay too. I asked if was sure. He said yes. I know he felt obligated to her also. He has such a big heart and fierce loyalty.

I kissed Elizabeth, and told her I loved her. David patted her on the head one last time. I stayed at her side, my arms around her, petting until the end. It was so peaceful. She really did just go to sleep. The vet was so kind and compassionate. She whispered gentle to things to Elizabeth and caressed her like she was her own, then assured us we did the right thing. David and I were both brave, tears streaming down our faces, but holding in the sobs. I took her collar home. I wanted something to hold in my hand.

If you’ve never had a pet you were really attached to, you might think why so much fuss over just a dog? But they aren’t just a dog. They’re you’re family, and the memories and history and love are just as real with them as they are people.

I’m so glad Elizabeth isn’t in pain anymore. I’m glad we didn’t wait until she was utterly miserable either. I know we made the right decision. Tough as it is, I don’t regret it. It isn’t tragic. She had a good, long life. But I’m sad, because I miss her. I’ve never been alone completely at home until today. She was always there. The house is so quiet and empty right now. I keep looking for her in her favorite spots. She isn’t there.

Last night David told me he wasn’t sure he wanted another dog, because he never wanted to go through that again. I told him that’s the trade-off in this life. When you choose to love, unfortunately you also choose the pain too. BUT we love anyway, because the love is better and greater than the pain. The love never goes away. The pain at least dulls with time.

Yes, yesterday was the kind of day I wish I never had to live. But without yesterday there wouldn’t be any of the beautiful 5,133 days we had with Elizabeth before. I will choose all those good days over the one terrible day every time. And that is why we love and love again in spite of the pain.

‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Tennyson was a wise man.

Deep things to explain to a nine-year-old.

Goodbye, sweet Elizabeth, I miss you.