Ashes to ashes...

When I was looking through pictures on my Bess, I was stunned at how brown her head hair was. It is like all of a sudden the gray hair creaped up and I didn't realize it. In the end, her head was gray. She looks so pretty in this picture, but there is still that worry in her eyes. This was shortly before we adopted her.

I am laughing right now because I am thinking about Number One Daughter. When she was five, she thought that Bessie's teats were the noses of puppies that were ready to come out of her tummy. That gives me such a good and cleansing laugh. I have to be careful when I laugh at something Number One Daughter says or does. She has always been sensitive. I explain to her that I laugh because her thoughts are charming and that her actions are adorable. That makes it better.

Today marks one week since we put Bessie down. It was a hard week. On Tuesday, I received a sympathy card from our vet. Tucked inside the card was a mounted inking of Bessie's paw print. It was so unexpected and wonderful. The mounting is very simple, but it is one of the best gifts that I have ever received.

Yesterday afternoon, Greg picked up Bessie's ashes. Now if someone had ever told me that I would have ashes of anything or anyone, I would say that they were crazy. In my lifetime, we have said goodbye to many beloved pets, but they were buried in the yard or a field. If I had gotten ashes from our dog Chocolate Milk, they would have been spread in the river or the Pacific Ocean. He loved to swim. Pogen, a little beagle dachshund cross would have been spread in a field; how she loved to run!

But Bessie just liked to be near me. Always by my side or at the very least, within sight. She didn't act out, but she wanted to be near me. She hung out with the kids and Greg, don't get me wrong. She loved all of us. But when all was said and done, she wanted to be with me.

So we are going to make a shadow box and place her ashes in it with pictures and her paw inking. It just feels right. When Greg brought her ashes home ayer, I cried, but a peace also washed over me. So for me and my Bess, this just feels right. She is home.

Bessie

It is hard to know how to describe my friend. In this picture, she is perhaps ten years old, maybe 11. I adopted her from a rescue in Indiana five years ago. They weren't exactly sure how old she was. I adopted her based on her picture alone. It was a simple headshot, in which she looked beyond sad.

Granted, Basset Hounds as a breed look sad, but my first impression of Bessie was that she had given up on life. As I heard her story, I could see why.

Her original owners abused her unmercifully. She was beaten and left outside to fend for herself in all weather conditions. She escaped from that family several times and thankfully the last time that she escaped, she was found by an animal rescue.

Once at the rescue, a veterinarian healed her physically. Only to have her attacked at the shelter by three other dogs. She required stitches and more healing.

Then, I found her sad face on petfinder. It never occurred to me that she lived three states away from me, but it was too late: It was literally love at first sight! She was delivered to us in the parking lot of a strip mall about two weeks later.

At first, she would cower at the sound of a man's voice. Simply crumble in fear. A raised voice sent her into shivers. She was shy and certain that she was destined to be abused forever.

Armed with lots of cheese, which was her "chocolate", and a husband with the heart of an angel, I knew that we could help ease her pain. Soon she was lying on the floor next to Greg. They took long naps next to each other. She was bowled over by him and she deserved nothing less from a man.

Truth be told, though, she was my dog. She followed me every where like a little puppy who is expecting fun and excitement. She was calm and docile, really, but she was a good guard dog and defended me fearlessly.

She would dig up small moles and toss them around. She found a family of raccoons in our brush pile and went crazy, but mostly, Bessie was just content being where ever I was. At my side. Lying down. Begging for cheese or a pat on the head. Ever present. Deeply loved.

On Thanksgiving Day, we rushed her to a 24/7 emergency animal hospital. Her hindquarters were becoming paralyzed. With a little bit of medicine, she improved and we enjoyed about five weeks of good-healthy Bessie time.

Alas, on Friday, January 2nd, her hindquarters failed her. She lost control of her bodily functions. I was upstairs when it happened. Greg's urgent, "Your dog needs you!" brought immediate tears as I hit the stairs at a dead run. He put her on the bed so that I could pet her and calm her. Those trusting, heavy, deeply soulful eyes fixed on me. I knew that it was time.

I called the vet. An hour later, shortly after 5 p.m. I held her as they shaved her leg. The vet administered the euthanasia. I bawled like a baby as she looked at me. I told her how much I loved her and held her tightly. And then as swiftly as she stole my heart five years ago, she slipped away to Heaven.

To say that I am inconsolable is an understatement. I loved her so much. The love for an animal is beyond any love that I can describe. It is the kind of love that we strive to find in our lives with humans. I mean, the love for my children is the most precious love of all, but the love for an animal is deepened by the animal's intense dependence on us. It is the deepest unconditional love that exists.

There is not much that I wouldn't give to have her lying here next to me this moment. I miss the sound of her tags on her collar. I miss her under my feet as I try to walk ANY where. I miss her leaning against my legs as I sit here crying.

Bessie was my friend. I am beyond honored to have been the recipient of her love and devotion. I wish that I could have one more day with my 12-year-old friend...