Goodbye Clyde

I've spent the past four hours, which seem like an absolute eternity, trying to find a comfortable place in my mind for Clyde's death.

Its not as if we haven't lost pets before, or lost fosters before. But in each case in the past, I felt I could make some sense of it all, or I found that somehow, the death had a place in the universe. A runt kitten we fostered last spring died as a sad, but normal part of nature's way of balancing the litter.  Our senior greyhound who passed last year served as a beautiful breed ambassador, living well into his twelfth year before he passed peacefully while we hugged him and said goodbye.

I can't find that place for Clyde's death, and this lack of sense of rightness leaves me with a rollicking, nauseating emotion that feels a little bit like a hangover and a lot like motion sickness.

Clyde's death was violent, sudden, tragic, and wholly unjust. Just four days after his first heartworm treatment, Clyde stood up to get a drink, stumbled into his water bowl, fell over, urinated, and went glassy-eyed and stiff. My husband and I stood momentarily in shock over him lying on our living room floor, and then in a fit of panic rolled him onto his gurney blanket. He gasped once or twice while carried his large body to our car, and sped off to APA, knowing the terrible reality even before we dialed the phone and spoke with the nurse. Clyde's breath, heavy and raspy for months, was suddenly silent. His heart, which had beat so madly just to keep his ravaged body alive, had stopped. I drove like a maniac, horn-blaring, barreling through red lights. Danny sat silently, tearfully over Clyde's body. We  arrived at APA and be greeted with hugs, and tears, from so many other volunteers who also loved this gentle giant who now lay so very still in the back of our car.

Clyde died not because he had lived a long, great, life, or because of nature's culling, but because his former owner was unable or unwilling  to give him monthly heartworm preventative that costs about what you might pay for lunch, and unable or unwilling to provide him necessary medical care when he had severe pneumonia. Clyde died despite our best efforts to feed and comfort him, despite APA's ongoing medical care, and despite all the love we and so many other APA volunteers showered on him.  He died because everything he got was simply too late.

He stole my heart the moment I saw his head poking out of run number seven, and he was the best valentine's day present ever. I am forever changed by him. I hope if nothing else, his curtailed life serves to help educate others that the rather inexpensive heartworm preventative you can get from your vet is worth its weight in gold.

In loving memory of Clyde (the Dude) Poohbear Rottie