Celebrating the crazy of pet parenthood
Celebrating the crazy of pet parenthood

Letting Go: My Promise to Daisy

I wrote the following in August of 2014, shortly after Daisy dog was diagnosed with a large mast cell tumor on a front paw. It was the first time I’ve been forced to confront the possibility of voluntarily “letting go” one of my own furry kids. It was a tough time. I proceeded to have the lump removed, and while the surgeon didn’t get great margins (it was in a very difficult spot), testing revealed that it was slow growing which of course was absolutely fantastic news. I didn’t know how long it was going to buy me, but 20 months later, I’m happy to report that she continues to be lump free on her paw and the cancer hasn’t yet reared it’s ugly head elsewhere. I read the letter below periodically as a reminder to appreciate my life with her, to continually commit to making her life as comfortable as possible, and to make sure that she is finding happiness in her daily life.  The only thing I missed on the first Joy List was shredding cardboard boxes. Best. Thing. Ever!

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letting go
Photo Credit: Visual Harmony Photography

August, 2014

A dear friend of mine told me a couple of years ago to make a list of all of the things your pet absolutely loves to do, and when they can no longer do them, you’ll know that it’s ‘time”.  Since then, I’ve had a mental list for Daisy (and my other furries), but haven’t managed to actually get it down on paper.  You know how life gets.  With the cancer diagnosis today, I think it’s time to make that list, and with it… a promise.

To my sweet, big-headed, slobbery, neurotic, goofy Daisy,

Since the day I brought you home in 2007, there were a handful of things you have consistently found infinite joy in.  Your zest for some of them have mellowed (and for that the kitties thank you), but in large part, you get helicopter tail just as enthusiastically today as you did then.

Walks.  Oh how you love your walks… you love to protect me from the other dogs and those scary feral cats.

Gutting stuffed animals.  I can’t imagine a day that you don’t free a squeaker from it’s stuffing in <5m.  Any animal, any time.  And eyes too.  Stuffed animal eyes are clearly creepy.

Cheese, hotdogs, and peanut butter.  Need I say more?

Men.  Yes, men.  You can’t help herself can you?  Contractors come to the house and you follow them around from room to room… usually flopping around on your back shamelessly for belly rubs.

And while you don’t chase the kitties as much as you used to, I know you still find joy in bouncing them off from time to time, so I’ll keep an eye out for that too.

So my promise to you my dear, is that when you can no longer do these things, I will accept that it’s time.  I’ll somehow find the strength within me to let you go.  I won’t mistake the love in the slow wag of your tail or the acknowledgement in raised eyebrows when I say your name, for true joy.  You know true joy in the things above.  My heart will break, but I will be strong.  I don’t know what the future holds, or how much time we’ll have, but in the interim, I will get you as much exposure to the things above as humanly possible.  (with the exception of maybe the hot dogs and cheese… cuz really, there needs to be a limit!)  

I promise, I will be strong.

Love,

Mom

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