Sweet Jezebel

It's been nearly two years since we took Jezebel to the vet for a "routine" biopsy and they lost her on the table.  What a horrible day.  Technically, they "brought her back" but by the wee hours of the 26th, we let her go.  She was too far gone, too much damage.  She wasn't coming back.  I sent in a vibrant, happy dog, full of life although at the last minute, she resisted and didn't want to go with the vet.  I insisted.  I sent her in there, casually, thoughtlessly.  Maybe she knew something I didn't but I didn't listen to her. 

 Jezebel was a good traveler:

The next time I saw her, she was lying on her side on that slab of a table, utterly still, hooked up to every kind of tube and wire, surrounded by silent vets and techs.  I stood and looked down at her.  She looked dead.  The spark was completely gone.   I asked the vet if they've brought me back there to say goodbye to her and they hemmed and hawed and then said sometimes dogs will respond to their owner but only 1 ot 2% come back.  So I called to her and before long, she responded.  The staff went wild - thrilled that we'd reached her, that she'd heard us.  Her heart began, her temperature began to rise, she began breathing on her own.  We thought we were going to bring her home the next day - that we'd seen a miracle. 

But we hadn't.  We left her to stay at the vet overnight, fully expecting that she would come home the next day - even though she'd not regained consciousness by the time we left.  Looking back, I'm sure they knew the odds were that she wouldn't recover but no one told us that.  We thought she was going to be okay which made the decisions we made thereafter all the more painful. 

They called us around 3:00 in the morning asking for permission to let her go because she was not getting better.  They'd put her on pain meds but couldn't control her fever - it was all over the place.  She was still unconscious.  Her vitals were unstable.  Her brain was sputtering out.   In shock, we gave permission and she died without her family there to comfort her or say our last goodbyes or kiss her beloved snout one last time - and it just kills me. 

Husband says she never really came back and I believe he's right.  When I looked down at her on that table, Jezebel really was dead - at least the part that was Jezebel was gone.  At some primitive area of her brain, she heard me calling her and that jump started her system.  But she wasn't really back. 

We could have had them wait for us to get there to put her down but we were hours away and she was unconscious and in a bad way.  Chances are she wouldn't have lasted until we got there and there was no point in risking her suffering for our sakes.  I didn't want to risk her suffering a single second.   But it still kills me. 

So I was looking through old photos, this morning, crying.  Pearl was across the room and I saw her watching me, alarmed.  She came over, reared up and covered me with kisses.  She's very attune to how we feel.  Jezebel was that way, too. 

Here are some photos taken of Jezebel and my mother, just days before Mom passed away from cancer.  Mom was not a dog person and Jezebel didn't know her before she came to stay with us those last weeks.  But she immediately attached herself to mom and appointed herself mom's caregiver.  Jezebel was a complete angel and brought mom a lot of comfort.  I honestly believe she helped mom deal with pain.

 Jezebel wouldn't leave her.

When Mom's mental faculties had eroded, Jezebel stayed right with her "herding her" to keep her away from unsafe areas.  On the night she became bedridden, Mom made one last wander down the hallway, lost.  Jezebel came and got me, thank god. 

 What a darling, she was.   She loved her sister, Sapphire (that's Jezebel on the right):

 Jezebel didn't consider this to be "Evelyn's" chair.  She claimed it and Evelyn could just deal with it!

 Jezebel was a squirrel hunter:

 Jezebel (left) - Evelyn (right):

Husband came by, in a good mood, then saw my tears and told me to stop - to quit torturing myself.  He hates to see me sad and he fights his own grief.  Jezebel was like our little girl.

I continued to look through old photos but started to feel a little better, especially seeing lovely Ms. Evelyn as a cute puppy and an awkward adolescent. 

Jezebel and Evelyn as a pup:

 Jezebel in the middle.  Check out Evelyn's puppy ears!:

 The girls (Sapphire, Evelyn and Jezebel):

Evelyn adored old Sapphire.  She'd bring her toys because Sapphire was too crippled up to go get them, herself.  Sapphire didn't care that much about toys but she'd indulge Evelyn with games of tug of war:

 Taken when Jezebel first met Evelyn:

 Baby Evelyn:

 Evelyn and Jezebel were good friends:

 That topknot!:

I love this Christmas photo because it shows why Husband used to lovingly call Jezebel his "slick headed dog:"

 Evelyn (left), Jezebel (right):

Jezebel would just be nine, nearly ten, if she had lived. We'd still likely have a few more years with her. It hurts so much to think about her not being here. I still have a lot of tears left to shed over my baby but not everyday and only for small periods of time.

This was taken the week we learned she had cancer (which she beat).  Jezebel (left), Evelyn (right):

Happy Quilting, Penny, Evelyn and Pearl