Yesterday we said goodbye to one of our family members.  It was a sad, sad day. Diego became my dog through marriage.  I had dogs as a child, but not one I was responsible for. I have two cats. They are affectionate and easy.  Getting a stepdog seemed like a challenge at first. He was a 75 pound, 10 year old, rottweiler and shepherd mix with Cushings disease.  He needed to be walked often since we lived in an apartment and his disease made him pee a lot – and he needed medication on and off.  What I thought would be difficult, turned out to be great actually – and then it turned difficult. That’s where my guilt comes in.

My husband and Diego had a special relationship. Their friendship got my husband through some tough times before we met.  I can’t think of my husband and not think about Diego.  They were a pair.  I met my husband’s sidekick on our second date when we went for a hike.  Poor Diego got a bit overheated (mixed with balancing medications) and vomited in the backseat of his brand new customized Mustang GT just before we reached my apartment.  What endeared my husband to me, was how he handled it.  He did not get upset about his car. He took care of his dog.  We got to my place and I brought down rags and paper towels and we grabbed the hose and cleaned up the mess.  We got Diego some water and gave him a good scratch on the head.  Diego then proceeded to sit by our feet, like Pongo from 101 Dalmatians, encouraging us to exchange our first kiss.  A man who put his dog above his car was a man for me.

Since then, Diego has shared many moments in our lives. He sat patiently in the forest behind my in-law’s house in Washington while my husband proposed to me.  He was beside my husband on our wedding day as he put on his suit and tie, he traveled with us on our trips out of town and he went with us on hikes, often.  He slept in our bed, sharing as much space as possible with two cats. Sometimes he chose to sleep beside our bed, moving from my side to my husband’s side and back again. Doing this dance all night long.  He was also beside my birthing tub as I labored and then right there on the floor next to the sofa bed when I gave birth to our son.  He was in our pack.  He had a job to do – to protect us and be with us. Sharing life.

After our baby was born it became evident that we could not spend as much time with Diego. I know this happens to just about everyone with pets when a baby comes. (This time think Lady and the Tramp.)  Signs had to be placed on the door for people not to knock for fear of the dog barking and waking the baby.  We moved to a house with a yard, so we didn’t have to walk Diego.  He started eating his poop.  None of the remedies helped.  This was another reason he wasn’t getting loved on and played with as much. His breath was plain stinky.  We were so focused on our baby, that Diego took a backseat.  And he was stoic.  He accepted the new sleeping arrangement at the end of the hall. No more warm nights on our bed or even next to the bed, since we co-slept.  He was too noisy and passed too much gas.

Then we moved to northern california.  Big house.  Special dog door so he could come and go as he pleased.  Two stories – so he slept all the way downstairs now.  More and more separation between us.  But our son loved him.  We loved him, but life blinded us a little.  Our son doesn’t say “woof woof” when you ask him what a dog says.  Instead he pants.  That’s what Diego was famous for – his heavy panting.  We played a game after dinner almost every night, as I picked up our toddler from the booster chair, he would grip me with his legs and say “Diego, Diego”.  And Diego would chase us and I would say “don’t get us, don’t get us”.  It was our game – and our son loved it.   He did it last night, but there was no Diego.  Through held back tears I substituted Gramma – and she chased us.  Our son hasn’t really noticed anything. He’s only 22 months old.  He cried yesterday for no reason when he saw me cry though.

We had scheduled Diego’s surgery a month ago.  It was just to have his teeth cleaned and one growth removed. His labs didn’t reveal too much else that we should have been worried about.  But, in that one month from his labs to getting him on the table, tumors grew.  He had them on his tonsils and all over his body.  His face and head had bony prominences that were very abnormal.  He was 14 years old and he was dying. We had to let him go.  My husband made the decision and drove back to the animal hospital to be with him.  He was already anesthetized, so I really couldn’t say goodbye.  I regret not giving him one last pat on the head before they scurried off yesterday morning.  Our son was waking and I was about to go in and nurse him.  Again, our baby came first.  And, of course, I expected to see Diego later that afternoon.

I felt it immediately. The loss of a vibrant energy in the house.  Even though Diego was diagnosed with several tumors and was given only a couple of weeks to live, he had bright eyes and was a huge presence in our home.  We feel the void. It’s palpable.  His food and water bowls are gone.  His dog bed is gone.  And, my husband just took down the electronic dog door.  I miss that sound – zzhhh, zzhhh.  I miss the thunk of his head on the floor and the sound of heavy panting. I miss opening the front door and having to wait for him to move to enter because he was waiting for me to return home – to be together as a pack again. I only knew him for 4 short years. But in that short time he became so much to me.  He was a good dog. The best.  And I am a better person for caring for him and sharing his wonderful life.