Last of the Golden Girls

She hadn't been the same since her twin brother died last Thanksgiving day. Frankly, his death, coming so suddenly and unexpectedly, had affected the entire family. He was always the stronger of the two of them. A big burly one, whereas she was smaller and slighter. He hadn't been sick until the last couple of days prior to his passing, while she had been diagnosed with a cancerous mass on her spleen about a year and a half before he departed this life. The entire family felt she would pass on before he did, but, as is often the case, fate surprises us.

Her grieving for her brother began immediately after leaving him at the hospital. While I and my wife cried, she was unable to express her grief in this manner. She just moped around. For more than a month. And, as I referenced above, she has not been the same since he died. Until his death, they had never been separated, and his departure took a physical toll on her that was visible to all. She lost almost a third of her weight in the year since he passed and grew significantly grayer.

"She" is Lexus, our last remaining Golden Retriever. "He" was Beemer, her brother and, of course, litter mate, whom we had to put to sleep last Thanksgiving day.

Today, Lexus, our last Golden girl was put to sleep while my bride and I held her and petted her. We cried so hard that our vet, Dr. Barbara Miller, cried with us as we all said goodbye to our beloved family member.

Lexus finally lost the will to live. She stopped eating on Sunday. She couldn't poop anymore, and she couldn't even get into the car this morning to go to the vet. We had to lift her up and in to the back seat. While she did manage to look out the window, she didn't even poke her nose out the lowered window. We knew last night after cooking her her own hamburger, which she turned her nose up at, and attempting to give her milk bones, which she usually wolfed down looking for more, that today would probably be it for our girl. But we hoped maybe she would rebound, or the vet would diagnose something and be able to prescribe a medicine to make her feel better.

We knew better though, and after explaining what was going on with Lexus to Dr. Miller, who has cared for Lexus for almost 11 years, I asked her what she thought. She teared up a bit, and confirmed what we already knew by saying: "It's time." As my bride and I couldn't hold back our tears anymore, Dr. Miller, took the Kleenex box, grabbed one herself, and handed it to us. Dr. Miller left the room to get some Valium to give to Lexus.

I think Lexus suspected what was going on, but didn't care. As she walked over to us to be petted, she did so slowly, but her tail never wagged. She had a look in her eyes that almost said, "It's okay, I'm sick, and I know it's time." At least I'm telling myself that now, as I continue to cry, missing my dog, Lexus.

After Lexus received the shot of Valium from Dr. Miller (who then left us alone to say our goodbyes)it took awhile to kick in, but finally our girl lay down, and was resting. Her tongue came out of her mouth and she kept trying to lick her nose, as she was falling asleep. All the while, my bride and I kept petting and kissing her telling her how much we loved her and what a good girl she was. She never moved.

When Dr. Miller came back in to the room with another needle, we knew it would be over soon. My wife and I told Lexus again what a good girl she was, how much we loved her, and held her as the Dr. administered the shot that would ease her pain and take her life.

She went silently, unlike how she entered our lives. Lexus was the runt of the litter, and when we first got her she was hyperactive. So much so that we decided to get her brother, Beemer at the same time because he was so laid back and calmed her down a bit. At first, I couldn't stand Lexus. In fact, at times during the first few months, I was ready to get rid of her because she was so wild. Fortunately, my better half ignored my rantings.

As the months and years went by, she became such a joy to me. She, like her brother Beemer, followed me everywhere. Lexus would chase a tennis ball with me throwing it until she would nearly drop. One of the main reasons I got surgery on my right shoulder this past summer is because I couldn't throw the ball anymore without it hurting. And, as recently as last week, she kept chasing a ball until I stopped throwing it for fear she'd have a heart attack.

As anyone who has ever had a pet knows, losing one is awful. They are not JUST pets - or dogs. They are family members.

My Golden Girl is gone. And I feel terrible. Now I have to let the rest of my family members know. It won't be easy. I'll probably cry with each one of them.