Sylvia's Journal

Over the last few weeks we have had many conversations with our daughter about her very old dog, Oona, who is our grand dog. A large dog like Oona, at 16 years, is very old, older than us. It is one of her two dog ‘babies.’ Since we are all off to Sweden next week for a vacation to celebrate Axel’s 80th (also old, but not as old), what to do about Oona has weighed heavily on our minds for some time now. We would sit around Oona, stroke her thick fur and look into her eyes. It did not seem as if she was ready to go. There are always two sides to any conversation about dying: the perspective of the one that is going and the perspective of the ones who are staying behind. These are views from different windows; longings, wishes, needs and hopes that may not be compatible.

I couldn’t help but think about us, when we get to a point where, like Oona, we can no longer climb stairs, get onto a high bed, hop in the back of the car, and even have difficulty walking, and, oh gosh I hate think, those bowels. May be then our kids would have a similar conversation. I hope that we will still be able to say what we want instead of having our kids and spouse do the guess work that we now do with pets. Our daughter has been trying to guess what her dog wants by looking at her eyes, or her tail. When the eyes are sad and the tail wags, it is easy to conclude that she is not ready to go.

This morning Oona was put to sleep. Those staying behind said their farewells to Oona at her home. Apparently a huge gust of wind came right as she passed. May be that was the Spirit, whisking this lovely grand dog of ours to a place without pain and daily reminders of what she could no longer do. And I’d like to fantasize that, wherever her spirit went, it is now reunited with her sister, our first grand dog Chicha, who also left a big hole several years ago.