The last few days I could clearly see that Frida’s health was deteriorating quickly. On Wednesday she barely ate some pieces of scrambled eggs, I knew we were in trouble. That evening, when Mark came home, we talked about helping her to cross the Rainbow Bridge, and we agreed we would have to do it over the weekend. At this point, I still had some doubts about it being the right time. I had not seen the famous “look” that people talked about, or felt that it was the right moment. But that night, when Mark and Frida picked me up at work, when I opened the door to get into the car, she didn’t move from the seat, she didn’t jump back and forth, and she just sniffed my hands, she didn’t react to me! I squeezed into the front seat with her, and she moved to my lap, something that she would never do, and she rested her head on my arms. She wasn’t feeling well, she was not herself. We came home, Mark carried her, but we put her on the ground in case she wanted to pee. She did, and she started walking home, so slowly, she seemed an old, old dog. She didn’t sleep well that night and the diarrhea kicked in at 1 am in the morning, and then again at 4 am. Mark went to work, and at 8:15 I got a call back from the vet’s office, we tried to schedule something as our wished were to have it done at home. Frida spent all morning like in a kind of limbo, sleeping on the sofa. She wasn’t feeling well, she had stopped eating, drinking, and I knew that this was the time.
As usual, I had everything organized beforehand, and in my mind I had created what I thought was best for us to manage her departure from this world. I wanted her ashes returned to us on the same day, and I didn’t want her to be kept in any freezer, bag, or anything like that. And it was possible, as I had already inquired about all this, but I never counted on the timing. It happened that to match Frida’s current situation, the in-home service with our vet, the crematorium services and transporting Frida by ourselves to their facility, became a nightmare. Every phone call was just a hurdle along the way. Finally everything seemed to be as I had thought, and everything was scheduled for Friday morning. Then I took Frida for a short walk, and she didn’t pee and the diarrhea was worst. I knew that we were not going to make it through the night, or we would, but with Frida in very poor conditions, or maybe having to end up in an emergency clinic. I didn’t want that for her, she deserved to go with dignity, surrounded by the people she loved, as the wonderful dog she had been. I went home, and at that moment I realized that I had to let go my plans, and just take everything as it was coming. It was so hard for me to subjugate my original, ideal plan, to the reality we were facing at that moment. But I had to, and I realized once again, that I had to let it go. I realized that it was easier in terms of time to have it done at the vet office, where they have a beautiful room for that purpose, and use the cremation services company that they usually work with. They would pick her up there on Friday, but she wouldn’t be left in a bag, or freezer. They have a cold room, where she would “sleep”. So I called Mark, he agreed totally and came back home. I made the eleventh call to the vet, and they made all the arrangements for the evening.
After that everything went smoothly. Mark came home, we spent time with Frida, we talked, we cried, we told her how much we loved her. We left home. It was so hard to leave knowing that she wasn’t coming back with us. We were already in the car when our good friend Doug was just stepping outside, and he was able to say goodbye to her. She jumped to him, and licked his face through the window. More tears. On the way she started shivering, but I prayed and sang, asking God to bring peace, to take away our fear. And it worked. When we arrived to the vet the three of us were all calmed, at peace. I made arrangements to arrive by the back door, so Frida wouldn’t recognize the place and get nervous. She was OK; she walked confidently, following us. They walked us in, to the cozy “living room” they have for these moments. It was warm, nice. I put her favourite, red blanket on the sofa, and she was ready to join me there. We helped her as she couldn’t jump. All the staff was so warm, compassionate, accommodating, loving, and so professional. They did all the right things for us, they explained everything, and they granted all our wishes. Inserting the catheter was the hard part, especially because of my needle phobia. But Frida didn’t move, or even looked. She was looking at Mark’s eyes, just in front of him. She was surrounded by me, and by some of her favourite people at the vet: Jen and Allison. They administered a sedative, and Frida started to relax in my arms. She still wanted to keep her head up, but I managed to gently push her towards me, and she finally gave up, and rested her head on my arms. We were left with her for some time, and then dear Doctor Kates came. She was going to perform the procedure. We were ready. The medication went in, and petting her, telling her how much we loved her, and singing to her “You are my sunshine” she slipped into an eternal sleep. The doctor checked her heart, it had stopped. The doctor held my hand, she cried with me, she told us how good we had been with her, and how this had been the perfect decision, the perfect moment. She was genuinely crying with us. We stayed there with Frida in my arms, for around an hour. My dear friend Edith showed up to support us, and to say her goodbyes to her beloved Frida. Heinz her husband arrived too. Around 6:30 we were ready to go. We left Frida there, on the sofa. I had brought a blouse of mine so she would feel my scent and be calmed. I covered her body with it, she would spend the night there, but her body would have something that came from her home, from her humans. Her ashes will be returned to us hopefully by Monday. We shared again hugs and tears with the staff. I will never be able to thank them enough for what they did for us.
We left, it was already dark outside, without our Frida, but at peace. And we weren’t alone. We went home with our friends, and Frida’s friends: Doug, Chris, Edith and Heinz. When I arrived home I displayed an improvised memorial over the fireplace mantel, with the professional pictures we had taken some months ago. Her collar, some candles. We had wine, pizza, we talked about her, we cried. Chris played for us the flute, a special tune in honour of Frida. We made several toasts for her, for us, and for the great gift that Frida had been in our lives.
Today the house feels so quiet. Mark is here, we are crying, and talking, and laughing; and then we cry again. Her stuff is all around. It will take time. We will have our good and bad days. Frida is happy, running free. She was always a loving, gentle soul, full of life and energy. She couldn’t be trapped anymore in that sick body. I gave her instructions upon arrival to Heaven: look for my mom, she will take care of you, she knows who you are, just don’t lick her face, she doesn’t like that. Juan my brother, he will throw the ball so you can play your favourite game. We will be fine. And please, come and visit me sometime.
Until we meet again my Frida!
A journey with Frida, our Schnauzer 