Goodbye, Indica

She had a long life but it wasn't the easiest. She was repeatedly beaten, neglected and mentally abused. I did my best to change that, and some days it turns my stomach to think I didn't do enough. All I could do was try.  

She came to me during the winter of a year I've tried to forget. She'd just birthed five puppies and was barely a year old. She didn't know how to be a mother to those pups, nor did I understand what it meant for me to be a mother to her. We both had to learn the hard way.

The man who brought her into my life was a horrible excuse for a human being and always will be. In many ways, Indica and I both endured the same pain... except that I eventually had to accept responsibility for putting myself in a shitty situation. She never had a choice. She was just “here” and didn't have the option of walking away. She stayed by my side for 15 years. I gain solace in the knowledge that MOST of those years were as comfortable as I could possibly make them for her.

She was the toughest bitch I've ever met and I loved her with all my heart. Although I was legally an adult when she came to me, I still feel like we grew up together. She was the protector of our domain; she took to no strangers and kept friends in check, as well as making sure there was never an abundance of free-roaming cats anywhere near my yard. I'll never forget the smiles it brought to her face when she caught one. Or the mess I had to clean up afterward.

I was out of town this past October when she started losing control of her bodily functions. It took multiple visits to the vet and a string of medicinal experiments to figure out what was required to keep her balanced. It was during this time she was eventually diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and I was told she'd be on medication for the rest of her life. I was willing to deal with that.

This became her morning dose of medication, followed by round 2 in the evenings:

It was close to the end of November when she picked Beau to be the newest member of our pack. Because of her arthritis, she didn't really want to play with him. I started noticing how easily she tired. Her days were beginning to fill with frustration and, I feared, a slight resentment. She wasn't getting 100% of my attention anymore. Although, until I got him neutered, she sure as hell had 100% of Beau's attention. All he cared about was her vagina, and that well had dried up long ago. She spent a significant portion of her time telling him to fuck off. I thought it showed how much she liked him by the fact that she hadn't drawn any blood on him... turns out, she probably didn't have enough teeth left to get the job done.

On the evening of December 23, my friend, Jena, came to visit. She brought early Christmas toys for Beau, none of which Indica paid any concern – she just wanted to rest. After a while, Jena had the smarts to put Beau in his kennel to let Indica have some peace. As I watched her lie on her self-designated section of the couch, the weight of her reality started to kick in. It was heavy on my sternum like a steel-toed boot tied to cinder blocks. I began to sob.

I kept thinking, “But she's still happy sometimes. She smiles and wags...” And then I considered how much effort it took her to give me those smiles and wags and realized how random they'd become. She never wanted me to know she was in pain and she hid it well. She also had a heart murmur, growing lymph nodes, and a constantly irritating growth on her snout she'd break open every day but it couldn't be removed because of its close proximity to her eye.

She was tired. So very, very tired. I forced myself to come to the realization that it was just plain selfish of me to demand she endure this. As much as I hated it, I knew what I needed to do.

I had Jena pick me up the morning of Christmas Eve because I knew I wouldn't be able to make the drive by myself. The vet was only available for an hour that day and it didn't make him very happy to see me under the circumstances.

As we walked down the hall to the back of the clinic, Indica spotted a cat and perked up momentarily. She had no desire to chase or mangle it. My hart sank a little more. I looked at the doctor who had become all too familiar with us in the past 15 years and said, “I don't WANT it to be time, but it's time.” He asked if I was sure. Tears began to flood my steaming, red face. He said, “Shea, at her age, you can't make the wrong decision.”

Jena had the forethought that she didn't want Indica's last moments to be cold or uncomfortable so she brought a soft, fuzzy blanket that she laid upon the “exam” table. As we hoisted Indica to her spot I tried to stay strong for her. “Momma's here, it's gonna be ok.” I switched positions with the administering vet techs to make sure I could hold her. I watched them inject her and held on tighter.

“I'm right here, momma dog... I've got you. I love you SO much...” She didn't fight it at all. She went peacefully limp in my arms. I didn't want to let go. The tech came back within a minute to check her heart-beat. She didn't have to tell me – I knew – she was gone. I stayed with her a little bit longer, to get one more hug and give her one more kiss on her head... until I felt the last puff of air in her lungs escape with a gentle cough.

I have to know I made the right choice. Although I was devastated, it would have been much worse had I returned home one day to find her gone and had missed out on the opportunity of holding her while she passed.

My gift to Indica was to relieve her suffering. Her gift to me was not returning to an empty house. I had Beau's bouncing, smiley face to greet me upon my arrival. I believe she put him here to help heal my heart. He's curled up on my feet under the desk as I type this. It's painfully adorable; and by that, I mean it's cute but I'm losing circulation. 

A few days later I was called to go pick up her ashes. That day was almost as hard for me. We had one last car ride home, then she was laid to rest upon a shelf over my bed, next to her boyfriend, Darwin. 

I like to think they're together now, chasing rainbows and butterflies. It's more likely that they're slaughtering little angel kittens... but either way, I know they're happy now. And so am I, knowing I have my furry guardian angels watching over me.