Hello friends,
I planned to write something different this week, but then my dog died. After thirteen years, my beloved Mattie left for the Rainbow Bridge. She was old, and I knew she was in her final years, but I didn't expect her to go so quickly.
On Tuesday, Mattie was fine. She had arthritis, poor hearing, cloudy eyes, and fatty cysts all over, but she was relatively healthy. On Wednesday, she peed in the house twice, which she hadn't done since she was a puppy. She couldn't get up to let me know she needed to go out. I thought her arthritis was finally getting the better of her, but nothing more. By that evening, though, I wasn't sure how much time she had left. I hugged her long and hard and said goodnight.
By Thursday morning, I knew. Mattie made it through the night, but she didn't even try to get up and go outside that day. She pooped right there, lying on the living room floor. She moved her tail out of the way, but nothing more. I cleaned up the mess. Then I tried to help her up, supporting her back legs, but she couldn't put any weight on them. She collapsed back down to the ground. Mattie looked at me, barely moving, breathing heavily, and I felt the tears start to come.
I sat there on the floor with Mattie's head in my lap, and I cried. I petted her and told her it was going to be ok. She stretched out once, took a few more gasping breaths, and went still. I didn't expect the force with which the sobs came out of me then. But when I heard her final breath and saw how she deflated, I lost it. I didn't want to look at her lifeless body, but I also couldn't bear to leave her alone. So I sat with her and sobbed.
I was a junior in high school when we brought Mattie home. My dad took my brother and me to a few different shelters, but he saved Mattie for last. I think he always knew she was the dog for him. She was the gangliest labradoodle puppy you've ever seen. Her legs looked two sizes too big, and she had a bony bump on top of her head that, in combination, made her look like a baby goat. Dad named her Mattie because her fur matted up at every opportunity, even as a puppy. It started as a joke, but it stuck.
As soon as we got Mattie to the house, we took her outside. We have a porch that leads to a backyard, but one end of the pool is quite close to the screen door. Mattie, in all her excitement, did not make the corner and ran directly into the pool. To this day, I believe that moment gave her PTSD because she hated water more than any dog I've ever met. It took years for her to realize we weren't trying to murder her when we bathed her. And even at thirteen, she would not go near the pool. Sometimes, when my dad and I sat on the porch, she brought us her ball to play fetch. Every time we threw the ball, Mattie waited to run after it until she was sure it wasn't going in the pool. I laughed every time.
When Mattie died, I called my dad. He picked up, heard me crying, and said, "Oh no, don't tell me." I didn't want to tell him, but I did. He said he'd be home soon and told me to call the vet. I sobbed for another ten or fifteen minutes. Then I called the vet, who told me to bring Mattie's body to their office. They'd handle her cremation.
When my dad got home, he went straight to Mattie, lay down next to her on the floor, and pet her one last time. I could hear him murmuring "my poor baby" into her fur. Together, we carried her body to the back of my car. Sixty pounds feels heavier when it's all that's left of someone you loved.
Dad and I didn't talk on the way to the vet. He stared out the window, and I cried. I drove like I did when I first got my license and was afraid to go even one mile over the speeding limit. I took every corner slowly. I recently had a thirty-five-pound bag of potting soil in my trunk, and it slid around if I turned too quickly. I didn't want Mattie sliding around like that. While we drove, I played José González's new album, Local Valley. The second song, Visions, felt like a gut punch. "No, we can't know for sure what's next," he sings. "But that we're in this together. We are here together."
This past Thursday, I said goodbye to one of my best friends. She saw me graduate high school and college. She video chatted with me when I lived in Israel. She was there for me even when I felt like no one else was. Mattie was a goofy ball of fluff, sometimes so intelligent and other times completely idiotic. She loved to talk, and you could hold a decent conversation with her by mimicking her noises. She made me laugh, and she comforted me when I cried. I'll get another dog soon, but for now, I'm just sad. Goodbye, Mattie. I'll love you forever.
Until next time,
Yardena
P.S. If you have pet stories to share, please do so in the comments.
Sorry for your loss, Yardena. Losing a dog is the worst. I lost my pug Ella just over a year ago and my other pug Bootsy a few years before that. RIP Mattie.
I am so sorry to hear about the loss of Mattie, Yardena. I lost my dog Flora—who had similar symptoms and issues at the end of her life—this time last year. There are no words. I think it’s notable that Mattie felt safe enough to leave in your arms. May she be painless and free. ❤️