If you are on my friend list on any of the social media platforms, you must know Didi – my darling furry German Spitz-Pomeranian mix. Just like you must have known Missy – my crazy black Labrador Retriever. There have been others – but what I am going to share with you today concerns these two pets.
If you didn’t know already, both have passed away. I won’t be surprised if you didn’t, because just like every netizen out there, I try and pretend on social media that my life is awesome – with all the hashtags, emojis, et al. It is difficult to show our raw, exposed selves – it is difficult to ask for sympathy.
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Missy died in March 2015. She was just four-and-a-half years old, a very short life for a dog. She had actually contracted Parvo, and I had tried my best to take care of her. As she got weaker by the day, the sparkle of her eyes dulling to an opaque resignation, I became more desperate. I became familiar with the other pet parents who frequented the veterinary hospital, passing sympathetic nods to each other as our wards received saline drips lying there on wobbly steel beds.
The generous splashes of anti-bacterial liquids used to clean the surfaces could not cover up the stench of diseased poop and other fluids. It is like you are trying to cover up death, but failing miserably. It is a smell no person with a sick or dead pet will ever forget.
Over a fortnight of such trips to the veterinary – supplemented by the visits of friendly old doctors’ assistant to our home in the evening to give Missy more drips, more injections, more medicine – and it finally came to nothing. Missy got sicker by the day, got slightly better, and then became even sicker. Then one afternoon, despite everything, she passed away.
I cried just as any pet parent would – but on retrospect, I tried consoling myself by repeating to myself that I did all I could – leaving no stones unturned, for her. That might be why I could forgive myself for her untimely death.
I cannot say the same for Didi.
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Bear with me while I explain the lineage of our extended and diverse dog family.
Didi is not just another dog I got from a pet shop. She is the granddaughter of the very first dog I have ever had, Timmy. Papa brought Timmy home when I was in the 5th standard – way back in 1997! She went on to have two litters: Candy was the oldest bitch from the first. Candy then went on to have two litters herself; Didi was the only bitch that survived from the first. And she was a healthy 10-year-old when she passed away early this month, pup-less – and thus the last descendant of the madcap Timmy whose lineage passed down 20 long years to 2016.
Pet parents know that every dog has their own unique personality. Didi had hers too. She was extremely gentle and ladylike – almost regal (few strangers may differ on this!); she had body image issues (she was a fat furry thing – and for a long time could not develop the confidence to jump on beds and sofas because she thought she was too heavy, which is why she was highly conscious whenever one of us would pick her up on our laps); and her food choice went on to include quite healthy things such as watermelon, gourd, mung beans, and so on (unlike all of our highly non-vegetarian dogs).
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Pet parents with multiple pets will know that no matter how much you divide your love equally; there will always be one or two pets who command your attention more. When we had brought Missy home, she kind of stole the limelight with her puppy-like adorableness from the rest of the dogs we had then: Didi (who was four years old then) and her niece Spotty (daughter of Babes – Candy’s eldest from her second batch – who also passed away few weeks after Missy). So after Missy died, for the first time I focussed all my attention back on Didi, who had been aging away quietly.
But then life happened. My sister had to leave for university; I had a baby; and my parents, being their usual busy selves, had to relegate the task of taking care of Didi to our young caretaker. In the meanwhile, Papa had brought home a stray called Jheng – and both Didi and Jheng gave each other company while the humans of the family became engrossed in their own lives.
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The inevitable happened. As September rolled in, my husband noticed how Didi had been growing quieter, eating leaves, and sleeping a lot. Pet parents will know how this is the first symptom that there is something wrong with your dog. While I spent my days busy feeding Zoe, changing her diapers, playing with her, and putting her to bed, Didi was being taken to the vet by our caretaker and literally being cared for by him.
She had contracted melena, and the medicines were not helping. Already over 70 in human years, Didi slowly wasted away. The last time I saw her, she reminded me of Missy in her final days – too weak to continue to survive, embracing the imminent death with placid eyes. Her fur was still soft and fluffy though, but she didn’t have the strength to acknowledge my presence when I called out her name and sat by her side, petting her. What irked me most were the flies, hovering over her, in total irreverence of the noble creature counting her last... days? Hours?
That day, I knew she would not last the night, and just as I sat with my parents an hour later – all of us in our own private thought bubbles filled with gloom, remembrance, and desperation, she quietly passed away. And I did not have the time to mourn because I had to play with Zoe, who was up from her nap and restless for playtime.
I was just telling her the other day how I’ll let her play with Didi and Jheng once she’s old enough to walk. How she could pat the gentle creature as it would come lie by her side, in all her sparkling white furry glory. How she could even ride them if the dogs were gracious enough to let her. And now Zoe will never know my fur baby, Didi.
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My parents and I played a cruel game of ‘pass the pillow’ as we decided who should be the one to inform my sister – who was still clueless about the entire sickness period. That was the second hardest thing to do.
The hardest has been assuaging my guilt over not being able to look after Didi myself, after the years of companionship and love she gave us. I wish I could have nursed her myself, like I did Missy, I wish I could have just ‘been there’. A part of me tells me it was less the sickness, more the sudden distancing from us that made her depressed, weakened her constitution, and finally killed her. My mother consoles me saying she was getting old. She tells me Didi has lived a long, fulfilling life.
Since I was not with her for the last couple of months, guess I’ll never know. And since I am a cynical excuse of a human being, I know there is no dog heaven. She is not sitting comfortably amidst fluffy clouds and lolling her pink tongue out, finally back with the rest of her clan – her gentlemanly brother Gogo, her crazy uncles and aunts, and the entire lot. I know she is not looking down at us from above, missing her human family like it does her. I know she is simply gone, except from our hearts and memories for as long as we live. But if there was a possibility I could get a message to the other side, there’s just one word I’ll like to say. Not goodbye, just sorry – for not being there for her, with her, during her last days. Sorry.
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| May 24, 2016: The last photo I took with Didi |
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