Saying goodbye to Becky
Barbara Moser
Becky and I took our final walk together on the last beautiful day of Fall. After weeks of watching her health deteriorate, I took her to the vet to ask him if he thought her time had come.
Becky had arthritis, a constricted trachea, an enlarged heart and fluid in her lungs. Breathing heavily, she dragged herself around and would stare at me listlessly as if asking me what to do. She still ate and took slow walks but often paid for the exercise by collapsing. It became harder and harder to get her to take her pills and I worried she would die alone in the middle of the night or when I was at school.
One evening I heard a high-pitched yelping, like a human scream. I found her lying on her side heaving in pain, peeing on herself. She never recovered from that episode. She would wake me up every hour or two with her usual shaking in front of my face and then not remember why. Every night I would go to sleep listening to her laboured breathing at the foot of our bed and wake up to her distressing coughs.
Becky was 15 and had a full and wonderful life. When she came to us at the age of one, a gift from Bill Wilkinson whom many of you will remember as the owner of Patisserie Rendez-Vous on Queen Mary, she was larger than he had let on. He assured me she was (all 18 pounds of her) a purebred chihuahua, but through our 14 years together people would always stop and ask, “What kind of dog is that?” and I would answer, a giant chihuahua.
Becky loved me much more than I loved her and I sure loved her a lot! She would look stricken every time I left the house and when I returned she would run madly up and down the hall in glee, into my bedroom and jump on the bed. She would greet everyone she loved with merriment, especially Amy when she would come home from university.
She was a working dog — of a quirky kind. Every morning she would come down with me to The Senior Times and keep the staff company. When she was younger, she ’d leap onto their desks to bask in the sun as they made their calls. Later in life she tucked herself behind their backs on their chairs, and in her final days, she sprawled on the couch or in her basket.
Becky never ate dog food. I would cook chicken and meat for her, mixing it with rice and some vegetables. She occasionally enjoyed a soup bone on the bathroom rug. She would wait behind our cat, Dimaggio, who loved her more than she loved him, until he had had his fill of canned cat food, and she would quickly polish off the rest.
Becky loved the park, rolling in the grass, smelling every tree, and she loved going for coffee on Sherbrooke with me when the weather allowed. I would sneak little milk containers out for her to lick. She would lick the end of my vanilla cones in the summer. Maison Verte was the only place we could go for coffee in the Winter. She was always welcome and well behaved there. I thank them for giving Becky and me that joy through the long winter months.
Becky loved car travel. When I owned a car, Becky traveled to Maryland, Vermont, Philadelphia, Toronto, and once by plane to Halifax, where she remained with Amy for the summer. She loved our trips to the Laurentians with different family groups.
I miss her terribly. I look for her everywhere. I can’t believe I actually made the decision to let her go.
Dr. Elkin Seto, of the Animal Health Clinic at Sherbrooke and Marcil in NDG, told me that morning that I would be doing her a favor. She had lost her dignity and quality of life. I asked him if we could put her to sleep in the park. The clinic is across the street from Girouard Park. He said “Absolutely.”
He gave her the first injection to calm her in his office. I carried her out and laid her in the grass. The sun was shining on her. She always loved to bask in the sun. I lay down on the grass beside her. I put my face next to hers. I kissed her and said her name many times. I tried to memorize the smell of the fur on her neck and face. We loved each other one last time. Then, peacefully, she was gone, gone from my life forever.
Life will definitely not be the same without Beckaboo! I don’t want another dog because I am too old to start again. There was one dog in my life and she was Becky.
Thank you Dr. Seto and assistant Marie-Hélène Vallée for making it possible for Becky to die on the grass in the park with me lying beside her. Although it hurts me terribly to lose her, I know it was the best way for her to die.
Thank you Bonnie Sandler, for telling me that with animals we have a choice — to let them go peacefully and end their suffering.
Thank you Thelma Gearey for caring for Becky and loving her all these years. Thank you Cecil St. Martin for all of Becky ’s lovely walks over the last few years, when I could no longer walk her.
Thank you Danielle Dubois, Sandra Huss and Albert Cormier for the times you looked after Becky. Becky had many mothers and fathers.
For all of you who have lost a beloved pet, my heart is with you, as I know yours is with me.
So long, my sweetheart!
