Where do I Even Begin . . .?

Laura wrote on the lid to the box (that Brent built) that we buried Calvin in.

Calvin in his little "sheepskin" jacket. This kept him warm when we went for walks on cold days.

The little wooden box that Brent made to bury Calvin. Thanks Brent . . . it meant a lot to me.

Out walking with Calvin the day before he died.

Prince Calvin on his pillow on one of my bedroom chairs.

(For whatever reason, this dumb computer isn't letting me put my photos where I want to in this post so I guess I'll just have to leave most of them up top. )

The last day of January. The big trip to Australia and New Zealand is history, as well as Christmas with my entire family home, helping to get Annie ready for her January 20th entry into the MTC, and the very painful experience of having to put down our beloved dog, Calvin.
I'm looking out my office window as I'm composing this . . . the gray winter sky is darkening as the sun is setting but I can still see the little circle of stones, under our big pine tree, marking the spot where we buried Calvin. Perhaps I'll start there . . .
Last Sunday, it became apparent to me that the time had come to have Calvin put down. He had a variety of health problems including bad kidneys, arthritis, almost total deafness, blindness caused by cataracts and more recently, "doggie dementia". He just seemed to be increasingly detached and confused and having more problems with incontinence, etc. I've known for a long time that this was coming but last Sunday, it was as though someone whispered in my ear "It's time Sandra." This realization started me on a crying jag that lasted all day long. I called my sister, Elaine, who I knew would understand . . . she's loves animals, has owned several, and has had to put down two beloved dogs and a cat. We had conversations on Sunday and Monday and basically she told me that if, after careful consideration, I was resolved that the time had come, that I should move quickly. She said that if I put it off that I would start second guessing myself and that the guilt would just become more intense. I called the vet (I couldn't believe how hard that call was to make) and made the appointment for Tuesday, Jan. 26th at 4:45 pm. I absolutely thought my heart would break in two as I took him for a last walk, fed him forbidden foods that he loved, talked to him, petted him, took pictures of him and held him and just cried and cried. Laura and Scott were both just devastated and really grieved as the time came nearer. For them, it was more than the passing of a beloved little friend . . . it was also the passing of an era, the last vestige of childhood. Calvin was fifteen and figured very prominently in their childhood memories. He was such a perfect little pet for our family . . . small, cuddly and playful with an intuitive ability to know who was hurting or sick. If someone was crying or down with a broken bone or recovering from surgery or just a a bad cold, Calvin would park himself next to that person all day and just "take care of them".

Brent came with me to the appointment. Dr. Folland, at the Parrish Creek Vet Clinic was just wonderful with us . . . compassionate, answered all our questions, explained very carefully what to expect, and in general confirmed for us that we had made the right decision. When he was sure that we were ready (are you ever ready?) he gave Calvin the injection . . . just a few seconds and Calv just seemed to go to sleep. Very peacefully, very quietly and in just a minute Dr. Folland pronounced him "gone". Gone? Fifteen years and just gone? My little shadow . . .

never more then six feet away from me for the last few years. Brent and I cried for a little while and then gathered up our little furball and took him home. We stopped at Home Depot on the way home . . . Brent ran in and bought some lumber and when we got home, he went straight down to his work shop and built a little box to bury him in. I put Calvin's little "sheepskin" jacket on him . . . the one that I put on him when I walked him on a cold day. We lined the box with Calvin's "paw towel", laid him in it and put a couple of his favorite stuffed animals (a little dog from Old Navy and a squeeky hedgehog) in the box with him. Brent and Scott went outside and dug a four foot hole in the side yard by our big pine tree. Even using posthole diggers, picks and shovels, I don't know how they got the hole that deep in our frozen, rocky soil. We set Calvin on the coffee table in our living room (flanked by a couple of pretty bouquets of flowers - one from dear friends and one from Jordan to Laura) and we sat for awhile and shared our best memories of our little furry friend. We laughed and cried and then nailed the lid on the box and Scott carried him outside. As we were standing waiting for Scott to bring the box to the grave, the neighbor's dog, Sawyer, came loping over to see what was going on. Sawyer is big and friendly and really still a puppy. We were glad to see him and called him to us to give him a pat on the head. He came bounding over with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out and promptly fell into the four foot hole! We hauled him out and laughed, happy I think for the moment of comedy relief. We lowered Calvin into the ground, tossed a couple of flowers in after him and Brent and Scott filled in his grave and marked it with a circle of the stones that had come out of the hole as they were digging. There was a 3/4 moon shining high and bright overhead and just off to the southeast, a bright blue star. I looked at that star for a minute (I love star gazing) and something stirred my memory about that star. I ran into the house to get my GPS Sky Scanner (an absolutely brilliant gift that Brent gave me a few years ago . . . it can identify or locate any star or planet in the sky and then tell you all about it). Sure enough, it was Sirius the "dog star". Part of the constellation Canus Major (the big dog). Perfect. Calvin may have been a 10 pound furball but as far as he was concerned he was the big dog, the alpha male, a dog to be reckoned with! And as far as I'm concerned, that star was there just for me . . . a little message that Calvin was already "making his mark" somewhere in dog heaven. It took me a few days to get up the courage to write Annie in the MTC and let her know that Calvin was gone. She knew he wouldn't be there when she got back from her mission, it's just that none of us knew how soon he would have to leave. I knew she'd be very sad (and she was) but on that very joyful day when we first brought that little ball of white fluff home as a puppy, we all knew that we were signing up for this day, also. Well, not really.

No matter where I was in the house, every day, my dog was never more than a few feet away from me, usually curled up and sleeping soundly. My bedroom chair, his doggie "futon" in the laundry/office room, a pillow in the living room, etc. Whatever I'm doing now, I find myself still looking for him and listening for the jingle of his dog tags. I miss you Calvin. Hopefully you've found some birds to terrorize and some bees to chomp on (what was that all about, anyway? You never did get it that yellow and black and buzzy was intense mouth pain waiting to happen, did you?). As Annie said to you the day she went to the MTC "see you in another life little friend".