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The Journey Of Growing Old


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I feel very blessed to have been able to share in the journey of my beloved Macy-Grey-hound-Dog; It has been such an honoring to be with her as she grew old, and how we worked together in this partnership of care; a humbling and beautiful journey, indeed. She was a dog that was so full of love and patience. She radiated love; and with her passing (in-home euthansia) on Tuesday (3/17/15), I feel so empty.

I am riddled with incrediable grief; the house is empty/silent, and my full focus of attending to her and being with her is no longer of need. This was never a burden-to care for her in her old age; being with her was the highlight of my day-ranked as most important in my wanting; it was my push in the rush-hour traffic. I miss her as a puppy, when she could romp and play; as a youthful dog with her zest for exploring, and her beautiful old lady self of these recent years. We have shared 15 years of our lives together-connected companions.

This is my first time losing such a long-time friend and too not having any other pets now in the home. It is just me and an empty-feeling house.

I know my grief is raw; my routine not yet broken. I cannot bear to wipe her drool stains off the floor, or the nose marks from the car window. For once in my life, I wish her shedded hair was rolling across my floor. I've place a bone in her bowl, and a nightlight by her bed. I rationally know that she will not be home, yet my heart is so hopeful when I walk in the door, just maybe I will see her on her bed, her wanting her dinner, and that I will get her sling-help her to her feet and walk her outside. This inability to greet her by calling her name, "Macy, Moogy, Belly Boo", or to reach down and pet her, leaves my heart aching, longing for something, (for my best friend), who is no longer here. Such a raw and painful sadness.post-17255-0-95101100-1426905231_thumb.j

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Such a special dog! I had a Whippet named Lucky, she was the most well behaved, trained dog I've ever had. There is a rescue down the street for greyhounds, they have their own house adjoining their master's, they go interchangeably into both. They are a joy to watch.

I can imagine your grief...it is so hard to get used to the changes that loss brings, to our lives, our routine, just missing them. My heart goes out to you in your sorrow. It's so hard that dogs grow old long before we're ready.

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What a beautiful furbaby. Thank you for sharing your story. There are many of us here who have lost special fur animals. I so understand about the marks on the car window and the hairs around the house.

Your story is full of love. I am so sorry you have this pain right now. Her nickname is just precious ~ "Macy, Moogy, Belly Boo."


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I am so sad that you've lost your Macy. I understand your hurting heart, for we lost our Ashely on 10 October 2014 to kidney disease. She was (hate using "was!") a wee Black and Tan miniature Dachshund, who filled our hearts and home with bouncy, playful joy. I still dread coming upstairs alone, especially late in the day when the evening shadows of the forest move inside the house, and just before its time to turn on the lights. For some reason, this is the worst time of day for me. My heart and arms ache for my baby girl. I want SO badly to hold her, and feel her little body in my arms.

We have another little red sable girl, Calico Rose Doxie, called Callie, who also has kidney disease (Ashely's cousin; KD is genetic). We dread going through the in-home euthanasia scene again, although we feel it's less stressful for our fur babies to have it done at home. We believe we will have Callie for a while yet. She still can chase the laser light for about five minutes a day. We will take that. It's not like fifteen, but we are glad she can still run some. She will be fifteen on June 29. Like most elderly folks, she has good days and not-so-good days. On her not-so-good days, we remember that we are going to lose her, and our hearts become heavy.

Again, I'm so sad for you. I pray you can find some measure of comfort and peace. Please know you are welcome to come here and share as many of your stories about your sweetheart doggie as you'd like, for we are interested in hearing your stories, and we care that you are hurting. You are not alone in your grief. We will stay here with you.


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Hello, Macy's special person,

Your post was so touching, I'm so very sorry for the important loss of your Macy, and I thank you for sharing with everyone some of your story about Macy's and your life together and the pain of your physical parting.

I, too, know how "riddled with incredible grief" it is when you've been so closely bonded and in love with a fur-friend as you sound to have been with your cherished Macy. Certainly, the sheer emptiness and silence is massively hard to become slowly and gradually more accustomed to as time wears on, and I also can truly relate to what you said about suddenly experiencing the loving, dedicated care of a beloved animal being ripped away from you, too.

"...my full focus of attending to her and being with her is no longer of need. This was never a burden-to care for her in her old age; being with her was the highlight of my day-ranked as most important in my wanting..."

For me, that's akin to not having air to breathe anymore, it becomes so deeply intrinsic to one's whole lifestyle, routine and focus. In a word, gut-wrenching, when it's just gone, shaking your whole way of beingness in the world right to the core. I feel SO badly for you, and anyone who goes through such pain.

Hearing you speak of how you remember, obviously honour, and miss every single, treasured stage of Macy's lifetime, takes me right back to how I felt about my own furkids' lives, and afterwards....particularly my Nissa-girl (the grey one in my avatar, who lived to nearly 20), since I had to go "all out" with her care after we lost her brother, Sabin, who was only 13 when we lost him to cancer. (Nissa became very acutely ill from her own, severe grief over his loss, and suddenly developed kidney "insufficiency," and later on, failure) She, too, was my own "last furchild" (officially, legally mine), and she gave me 6.5 additional, wonderful years to dote on her before, like yours, our house became not a "home" anymore, but just a place we lived...and one I HATED having to come back into then. In fact, since I later on refused to be out and away from my girl for more than ~3 hours at a time, it took me about a year or more before that "body clock" started to abate inside....and then I grieved its cellular-memory loss as well.

I won't lie - it was extra-brutal losing my darling girl, and I absolutely wanted to just die myself. So I also understand that feeling of "never mind rationality....just what IF I could come home and they'll magically just BE THERE?!" Therapists are fond of calling this "magical thinking," but I never liked the unemotional-seeming detachment of that phrase, so I simply call it being utterly heartbroken with "longing," as you said. But it's all perfectly understandable and acceptable, however it's labeled.

A possible option I wanted to pass on to you regarding Macy's nose marks on your car, if I may? Perhaps you could place a piece of dark or light cardboard behind them (whichever works best), to highlight them, then take a picture of them, before they disappear? You could frame and place this treasured memento wherever it brings you the most comfort, either now or whenever it feels right for you. What you've done with her bowl and a nightlight is, I think, just beautiful. Whatever helps you out in any way, just do it. And if you can bring yourself to as yet, keep greeting and talking to her, as she IS there. Whether you personally believe her spirit truly is still with you or not, it may help you remain feeling more connected to her, regardless, and that could be a GOOD thing. And as others have said, do keep coming back here, too, if that helps in your grief.

Sending you warm hugs and empathy in your loss of Macy,


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I lost my beautiful Kylie two years ago. Soon after, I made plaster casts of her footprints in the dried mud in the backyard, and her collar is still laying on the kitchen table. I don't know what I'm going to do with either, but I understand the importance of these kinds of things. I am so sorry for your loss.


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Hello Macy's mom,

I am so sorry you lost your precious furbaby. Losing a beloved family member is devastating and pets are family!

I believe I know how you are feeling since I just lost my own precious Kennedy on March 3. She was rescued from a puppy mill, so I only had her for five years. The vet was unsure of her age; the mill said she was 4 when they released her, but it's more likely she was 7 or 8 which means she was 12 or 13 when she passed.

She saw me through several losses over the past few years, and I never felt alone as long as she was with me. I feel that same raw pain and anguish at her loss. When I picked up her bed, several dog treats fell out. They're still there, and I wish so badly that she was there, too.

I hope it helps to know you aren't alone in your grief.


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