It's been more than 2 days now since my beloved Westie died and tonight is the 3rd night. Today wasn't as bad as yesterday and hopefully tomorrow won't be as bad as today, but for some reason the nights are equally horrible. During the day I can talk to friends and family and remember all the funny, silly things Charlie used to do. But at night I see the corner of the sofa where Charlie used to take his naps, see the pillow he used to tuck between his paws with his little white snout resting on top, and when I go to bed I still expect to see him lying on top of the blankets, waiting for the liver treats I always gave him and my Sheltie, Belle, before they went to sleep. Charlie always slept on my bed. Belle prefers a bed of her own, placed near mine, but she never liked to sleep up high and would rather curl up in a dog bed on the floor. For the past couple of nights, just as I'm falling asleep, I've automatically reached out to stroke the little ball of fur that for almost 9 years was always next to me and it's a fresh wrench each time I don't find it there.

I feel so wretched at night that there are times I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up again until the worst of the bad feelings were gone. Either that or I think about taking the pills I'm supposed to take anyway for my heart condition but rarely do because they make me feel so groggy and I don't believe they do a darned thing to help my heart. For the past three nights, however, I've taken them because they make me feel as if nothing really matters. Even so, I wonder if I'm making a mistake by pushing those feelings aside. My sister says I should let myself feel and that I'll get over it faster if I do. My brother says take the pills, in fact, take whatever I have to take to make it bearable. I don't know which of them is right. All I know is that I've never felt as terrible as I do right now, and that's quite a statement, considering some of the things I've been through. Nevertheless, I've never grieved as deeply as I am for my little lost Westie, not even when my grandfather, whom I adored, passed away, or I lost my cousin in a tragic car accident, or when one of my oldest, dearest friends died of a congenital heart ailment at an impossibly young age. I want my Charlie back. I want him here beside me as he always was whenever I felt bad, seeming to know instinctively whenever he was needed most and appearing as if by magic at the critical moment. It is a puzzle and a conundrum that the one and only thing that always made me feel better is the one and only thing I can no longer have.

However, as Scarlett O'Hara once observed, tomorrow is another day. When I wake up in the morning the sun will be - hopefully - shining and my night terrors will have gone. But then there is another night to get through and another after that. When does it get better, I wonder. How long will it take before I no longer dread the night?

Dear Charlie's Mom--

I am so very very sorry for your loss of Charlie. He was obviously your heart and soul, and your grieving process, although horrible for you, sounds "normal" to me. The wee hours of the night can be the loneliest time for all of us, no matter what our circumstances, so I'm not surprised to hear that your grieving intensifies at night. During the day, you can be out and about, doing things and talking to people, but at night...that's when life seems most haunting--to me too, anyway. Again, I am so sorry for your loss of your beloved. Three days is nothing in the overall scheme of grieving. so be very gentle with yourself.

There's no right or wrong about your heart meds. Probably you should be taking them anyway, so there's no "harm" in taking them now. I say, if they help you to get through the nights more easily, go for it. I lost my Poppers dog right before Christmas, and now my Ladywolf is dying slowly of cancer, and I have an Rx for tranquilizers and I take them. (I have a lot of other major stressers in my life too, and have for some time.) You need your sleep--there's plenty of time for grieving.

It DOES get better with time, hard as it is to believe. I've had ten dogs now, in three "cycles," (I'm an old crone of 59), and I'm no longer grieving over any of them--just Ladywolf. When I look back at dogs past, I only feel pleasure with maybe a twinge of pain. I no longer fixate on the ways that they died--just that I was lucky enough to HAVE them all and to enjoy them and they me. But it's been years with some of my dogs, and months with Poppers now, before I could arrive at that point.

I don't have time to write a lot today, and I apologize. I just wanted to be sure that your got a response fairly quickly. This board has been very very quiet lately--a lot of "old-timers" haven't been around much--so don't feel slighted if you don't get a ton of replies. Our hearts are with you in this very difficult painful time.

Big Hugs--

Margi and Ladywolf

Thank you so much, Margi (my name is Barbara, by the way, though I'm known in my neighborhood, particularly among the children, as 'Charlie & Belle's Mom'). I am so sorry about Poppers and Ladywolf. How terrible to have one beloved pet die, only to have to face the death of another just a few months later! I did lose my Charlie, but I still have my Belle who, except for an underactive thyroid, is still relatively healthy. At the moment, however, I'm a little concerned about her as she taking the loss of her 'big brother' very hard. Yesterday afternoon we went to the animal hospital to return some of Charlie's unused meds for a refund and while we were there, a woman walked by with a Westie on a leash. Belle's face just lit up and she lunged after that dog with such hopeful expectation that it absolutely broke my heart.

Like you, I've faced the loss of many pets (being an old lady of 53 myself!) but none has hit me quite as hard as losing Charlie. He was that rare, once in a lifetime dog who was a true soulmate. I think the pain we feel at the loss of a pet is directly in proportion to the joy they brought us. Charlie was pure joy, from the moment I first saw him as a three day old puppy and I can't regret a single moment I spent with him, even with all the pain his passing has caused. My brother said something to me yesterday that really hit home in reminding me of the lyrics to Garth Brooks' The Dance: "Our lives are better left to chance/I could have missed the pain/But I'd have had to miss the dance." It was very appropriate, I thought, as Charlie danced his way through his all-too-brief life, spreading sunshine and laughter wherever he went. I only hope he knew how very much he was loved. He was truly one in a million and I know I'll never see his like again.

At any rate, thanks again for your kind words, Margi. I know what you mean about the boards being silent. Forums like these seem to go in cycles. Sometimes they're super busy, other times it's like a crypt. I do appreciate you taking the time to respond to my post and hope to hear from you again.

Barbara

P.S. Below is a picture of my darling boy, tiptoeing through the tulips in a happier springtime.

Charlie's Mom,

I am so sorry to hear of your loss. With it being so recent I know you must feel like the pain will never go away, and I understand how you are feeling, but as Ladywolf said...it will get better with time. Keep doing what you are doing; talking about the memories you have of Charlie, your memories are special and important because they will be with you forever, so do cherish them. Nights are difficult, as is anytime you have nothing to keep you busy. The quiet of the night is a time I use to talk to Maggie...I concentrate on her image in my mind and then express with thoughts what I want her to know, mostly how much I miss her, and what a good girl she was. I look at the darkness and quiet as my personal and private time with her, it helps a bit. I do hope you are ok today, please take care of yourself, Charlie would want that, and give yourself all the time you need to grieve.

*hugs*

BullyMama

Thank you, Bully Mama. And yes, I am okay today, most of the time. It seems to come and go in waves. One minute I'm smiling at the memory of some silly, funny thing Charlie did and the next I'm in agony thinking of his last days, when he was so thin and frail, and the utter wretchedness of knowing I'll never see him again. Your idea of 'talking' to your dog at such moments is a good one. I may try that the next time the wave crashes into me and maybe, eventually, the tide will go out peacefully, carrying the worst of it away.

Thanks especially for reminding me that Charlie would want me to be happy. He was such a happy little soul himself and he always wanted those around him to be happy. Like many sensitive, loving dogs, he had an uncanny knack of knowing just when he was needed most and would appear at once to offer his silly ears for fondling or his neck for scratching. Funny how the simple act of burying my fingers in that thick, rough coat could bring peace to the worst moments. Belle is just the opposite. She tends to shy away from negative emotions which is why she's been avoiding me ever since Charlie died. She's suffering in her own way too. Charlie was her champion, her true knight almost from the day she was born. Now her protector and companion is gone and she doesn't seem to know what to do with herself. I wish she'd let me comfort her but she seems to prefer to go off by herself. I certainly don't want to force her, but it's very hard to see her looking so sad.

Thanks again for responding to my post. It helps a lot to share feelings with those who know the pain of such a loss.

Barbara

Charlie's Mom,

Ah the waves...know them well, and the lows are the worst. You will see Charlie again but you have to be patient, until then he is in your heart and all your memories.

Poor Belle, give her as much (or little) as she needs and wants. Since it sounds like she depended on Charlie maybe try taking her to a doggie play group. Check with your local doggie day care facilities, many have play groups where you can bring Belle for short periods of time, 1/2 hour to an hour, or more. If she enjoys it, that kind of outing for her may be something to help her through loosing Charlie.



BullyMama

What a BEAUTIFUL picture of Charlie!!! I just know you remember when that was taken...... I have pictures of my Flossie that bring back such wonderful memories.

I think Charlie & Flossie must be alike in some ways. She was an absolute soulmate to me for over 17 years. A special connection the two of us had. She was such a happy energetic dog the first 3-1/2 years so her back injury really kicked the legs out from under us. Probably me more than her as she almost seemed to be unaware she was crippled once she healed.

Like you I have lost pets before but she was different. I knew it would be tough and it still is some days even though it has been 16+ months. I have a wonderful cat who is really a great buddy in a much different way but he makes me laugh and snuggles right on my pillow every night. We also have a dog who adopted us about 4 months before Flossie left us and is such a happy, happy dog. These two have made things bearable for me. I think I would have had a very difficult time without them. She is really my husband's dog while Flossie was my dog. I think now he understands the bond I had with her.

Again, Charlie's picture is so wonderful....... Looks like a prize winning picture to me!!! Easy to understand how you feel without him. I know Belle is missing Charlie too. Thinking of both of you today.

Flossie's Mom

Hi Barbara
I am so very sorry about the loss of Charlie -- we put our 11 year old Westie, Sammy to sleep on Dec 7th. It was 14 weeks today and I still miss her terribly. I had a hard time again this weekend. She was my very first dog. I miss her so. I know what you mean about them wanting to be by you all the time. That was Sammy -- she wasn't a lap dog, but wanted to be near and in the same room all the time. I never thought it would be this difficult to lose a pet nor did I ever dream the depth of emotions or the love I could have for one. Sometimes I think I hear her walking on the bed towards me -- she always slept on top of the covers at our feet. But towards morning she would move up and sleep between my husband and I. I'm starting to have better days when I can think about the happy times. I guess I'm relying on the advice and opinions of everyone on this site who have been so very helpful and believing that they know as they've been through this once or more times. I hold onto the belief that I will see Sammy again someday and that as time passes only the good memories will remain. Ladywolf, Jan and so many others have been so very helpful to me. Please keep coming back and posting as often as you need. This is a great place to let all your feelings out -- no one will judge you or belittle you.
Take care - again I'm sorry about your beautiful Charlie.
Sharon -- aka Westiesam (Sammy's mom)

Thank you so much, Flossie's Mom. Charlie was indeed a beautiful boy and he radiated sunshine everywhere he went. Actually, that photo was taken on his birthday several years ago, March 20 to be exact, the first day of spring. His 9th birthday would have been next Saturday and my family, bless them, have arranged to hold an old fashioned Irish "wake" in Charlie's honor. We're going to have a cake, with special treats for all the dogs, and drink toasts to Charlie with blueberry brandy (blueberries were one of his favorite foods!) I've been astonished at the depth of emotion Charlie's passing has generated, not just for me but virtually everywhere his cold, wet nose touched. My mother, who was with me when Charlie passed, has been an absolute basket case the past few days, and the expressions of sympathy I've received have been overwhelming. I'm very lucky to come from a family who, and be friends with, a great many people who are all unapolgetic dog lovers and Charlie was a favorite with every last one of them.

Sharon, I always love to compare notes with other Westie fanciers. Like Sammy, Charlie wasn't a fluffy little lap dog either, but he loved a good snuggle, especially when it was on his own terms. Those sweet little white faces really do haunt the memory, and they grab hold of our hearts the way they grab hold of a toy, shaking it hard and claiming it for their own. I'm glad to hear you've reached a point where you can think more of the happy times with Sammy and I completely agree with you about one day seeing our beloved dogs again. I know there are people who believe dogs have no souls (which strikes me as a pretty soulless statement right there!) but if dogs don't go to heaven, sign me up for wherever it is they go! After all, it wouldn't be heaven for us without them, would it? It certainly wouldn't be for me.

Hiya Barbara,

Your doggie Charlie was SOOOOOOOOOO cute! Oh my he was a heartbreaker just to look at, and that picture is adorable! I am so sad to read your post but your sadness is still new. I too lost my doggie, but he had had a full life, not that it made it easier, but I think knowing he lived a full life helped in my grieving process. Nobody, however, could have prepared me for how heartbreaking it is, as Storm was my first dog and was always with us.

Anyway, just wanted to say hi and I hope you are doing okay, I know how terrible it feels to lose your sweetheart (don't think I'd have been as devastated if it was my husband!!!! Ha ha!) because they are ALWAYS there for us and they are so innocent. It really is a horrible time, but it will get easier.

Take care,

Moira

Thanks, Moira. I agree that Charlie was a beautiful boy, but then I am a bit prejudiced. Westies, however, really do have more than their fair share of 'cuteness.' It's why you see them so often in ads for dog food and other products (Target even uses them now if I'm not mistaken). Unfortunately, a lot of people are fooled by those sweet faces into believing they're fluffy little lap dogs, which they absolutely are not. They are tough, stubborn terriers with a fiercely independent nature, though that's what I admire so much about them. Charlie once took on a Rottweiller who had gone after Belle (my Sheltie) and, believe or not, got the better of the Rottie. He grabbed hold of it by the throat and hung on like a Bulldog. The Rottie finally managed to shake him loose (I felt a bit sorry for the poor dog, to be honest) and you should have seen the way Charlie strutted around after that! If he could have spoken, he would have said, "My bad!" or words to that effect. At the age of only 10 weeks he had the audacity to steal a rawhide bone from a Mastiff and then had the nerve to growl when the Mastiff came to retrieve his rightful property. Fortunately the Mastiff was a good-natured sort or Charlie might have been toast. He never really did seem to get that he was a little dog.

You're right, it's never easy to lose a beloved pet, but I think it is a bit easier when the pet has lived a long, happy life. When my poodle-mix died 9 years ago, I was devastated, but it helped a lot that he was 16 when he died and had already beaten the odds by the time he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. With Charlie, who was not only one of the great loves of my life but also the most terrific dog I'd ever known, it's much, much harder because he was only 8 years old. We should have had years left together and it really does seem hideously unfair that he had to leave us so soon. Still, I have SO many happy memories and I wouldn't trade those for anything. He enriched my life so much. I only hope I was able to give half as much to him.

Hi Barbara
I love your picture of Charlie by the tree - was he after a squirrel?. Sammy loved to chase squirrels -- she never knew she didn't have a chance to get one -- every time she saw one she gave it her all -- thinking this is the time I'll get it. She could sit as still as a statue for hours when a squirrel was up the tree in the yard. The patience of a Saint!!! I hope you're having better days -- I think the wake for Charlie is a great idea. Next time I have a glass of wine I'll give a toast to Charlie myself.
Sharon

Yes, Charlie was after a squirrel. And that's his fur-sister, Belle (Sheltie), peeking round the corner to herd it back to him in case it was stupid enough to come down out of the tree and permit itself to be chased! Charlie, too, would sit for ages at the base of a tree once he'd chased a squirrel up there, but the only time he ever caught one (though only with Belle's help - it's nice to have a sheepdog around when you're trying to catch something!) he let it go. But there was an incredibly puzzled look on his face as it scampered away. His instinct told him he was supposed to chase and even capture the little varmints, but killing, I think, went against his basic pacifist nature, so he always released anything he caught. Still, there was always that puzzled look, as if he had been defrauded somehow but couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly.

The pain is gradually getting infintismally more bearable. I spent most of yesterday organizing all my pictures of Charlie which I'm going to turn into a DVD with Phil Collins' "You'll Be In My Heart" in the background. That song was still on the radio quite a lot when Charlie was a puppy and whenever he fussed I would sing it to him, especially the opening bars: "Stop your crying, it'll be all right/ Just take my hand, hold it tight/I will protect you from all around you/I will be here, don't you cry." Now, of course, that song has a very special poignancy. But Charlis is in my heart and will be, always.

Charlie would appreciate the toast, and so do I. Thanks, Sharon.

Hi Sharon--

I love that you have such detailed, pleasurable, amusing memories of Charlie, and I'm glad that you are, as you put it--infinitesemally (I can't spell that this morning!)--beginning to heal. That's all we can hope for, I think, is healing in baby steps. Charlie was SUCH a sweet little boy, and that tulip picture is marvelous.

Re/hunting, I have a somewhat similar story. My Great Dane, Diva, never killed anything either. One night I came home to find her with a baby rabbit hanging from her mouth, immobilized. I thought with horror, "Oh, NO, Diva has gotten into a rabbit's nest and killed one!" But she very slowly and carefully ambled over to me, gentle placed the baby on the ground, and looked up at me as if to say, "Mommy, DO something." The bunny was unhurt--just in a kind of shock. Later I found out that another dog had gotten into the nest, a neighbor's dog, and while she hadn't killed any of the rabbits either, she had scattered them and Diva had found one. We rounded them up, Diva and I, and got them all back into the nest, their mama came back, they were never bothered again, and they DID survive!

These kinds of memories can help to sustain us through the darkest times, I think...

A wake is a great idea. When the preeminent Ladywolf finally passes, I plan to have a hell of a party with all of her close friends! I did the same when my father died, who not my soulmate?

Keep the faith, the pain will ease, and thank you for joining us here. I've been absent a lot lately, but my heart is with you and all of the new and old posters...

Margi and the Wolf

I have enough pleasurable memories of Charlie to fill a book. In fact, I've thought about writing one. I even have the perfect title: White Dogs Can't Jump. This comes from Charlie's Canine Good Citizen Test which, as you may know, includes the ability to sit quietly while greeting a friendly stranger.
Well, sitting quietly was never one of Charlie's strong suits and I was always at pains to prevent him from jumping up on people in his eagerness to show how delighted he was to see them. On every other test critieria he was letter perfect, but that one, I knew, would be tricky. Fortunately, inspiration struck at the last minute. The Tester's eyes were glued on Charlie throughout the test but when the 'friendly stranger' approached and I felt him quivering in anticipation of his usual wild greeting, I gave a quick, sharp tug on the leash and said, "White dogs can't jump!" The Tester took her eyes off Charlie long enough to laugh, and somehow we got away with it. He passed with flying colors, but I never really did break him of that particular habit. *Woe*

Loved your story of the baby rabbit, by the way. How sweet is that? What a tender-hearted dog!

Barbara

Oh Barbara --that story - White Dogs Can't jump is too, too funny!. We have a shop here in town where you can go and mix up your own batch of wine and after it's done 10 weeks later you go and bottle it yourself and everything. As our label - we took that year's Christmas card picture of Sammy by the tree and named our wine "White Dog Wine". Everyone loved getting a bottle of it for Christmas that year. I kept one bottle and that is one that I will probably never open! I sure hope the memories of our dogs start to bring more joy to us -- right now -- for me -- they mostly bring tears.
Have a good night.
Sharon

White dog wine? I think there's probably a market for that somewhere! I know I'd buy it.

I just finished the DVD I mentioned in a previous post. It was wonderful therapy, as most of the pictures I have of Charlie (and I have a lot!) show him as the bouncy, happy, goofball he was. His life was much, much too short. He should have lived to be a crotchety little old man, but the brief time he had on this earth was happy and I thank God that I had a hand in making it so. He was deeply loved, but he loved so much in return and I think he touched more lives in his scant 8 years than most people do in 80. It's virtually impossible to think of him without a smile, even through tears, for while the pain of losinig him is great, I wouldn't have missed knowing him, not for the world, and I know he wouldn't have wanted me to be sad forever. Charlie hated for anyone to be sad. He would practically turn himself inside out to cheer people up when they seemed down, so for his sake I will try to remember the good times, which isn't that hard, really, as there were so many of them. I do miss him, though. I miss him a lot and I think I always will.

Barbara

What great stories from all of you.

Barbara, the White Dogs Can't Jump was pretty quick thinking and looks like it worked! I wouldn't open that White Dog Wine either Sharon. And a Dane named Diva rescuing a bunny is something I'd loved to have seen, Margi.

Our current dog WeeBee was with us out in the front area of our farmstead as we were cleaning up last spring and I noticed she was acting strange with something she seemed to have in her mouth. She started sort of a low whining and I got closer to her and she dropped a tiny mouse or mole (hard to tell as it was pink, no hair etc.) on the grass & picked it back up. She walked around with it in her mouth so gently acting so worried, whining & seemed to not know what to do with it. Having no idea where the nest was & it was doubtful it would survive anyway we just let her carry it around. When we were ready to go for a ride with our 2X2 motorcycle she tried to run along side as she always does but couldn't run & breathe right with it in her mouth so had to drop it but seeemed distressed at having to leave it behind. Now, mind you she does kill the moles & mice but somehow she seemed to know that this was a BABY.

I had forgotten about this until I read these "doggie tails". Thanks for sharing such great memories of your babies. Helps think of better times with our special pals that may no longer be with us in body but in our minds & hearts forever.

Ginger

Ginger & Margi, the stories of your dogs protecting those tiny creatures are just amazing! I mean, dogs are predators and their natural instinct ought to be to destroy bunnies and mice (or whatever that little pink thing was). Just goes to show animals are capable of a greater range of feeling than most people give them credit for. Which probably wouldn't surprise anyone here, but common wisdom claims they're just dumb animals without the capacity for finer emotions. Of course I've always preferred animals to humans, at least most humans (let's face it, our species can be pretty horrible) but sometimes they can surprise even those of us who think we know them well.

Everyone- I love all the stories about your dogs protecting the babies they find. Sammy never caught anything so I don't know how she would have reacted to it. Barbara I think that's wonderful that you've put together a dvd of all your pictures of Charlie. I am gathering Sammy's pictures together and plan on making a scrapbook of them -- I, too, feel it will be a healing experience. And you're also right about them not wanting us to be sad. Sammy HATED when I was sad. I have to remember that and honor her memory by making a much better effort to become happy again. I'm so happy that all of us here had the pleasure of knowing and loving our pets the way we did. We are the blessed for having had them in our lives for whatever time frame we did. I know you miss Charlie alot and I have to agree with you --you probably always will. But I think that's okay too - they were such a huge part of our lives -- they may have had small paws -- but the pawprints they left on our hearts were HUGE! Take care everyone and have a good day.
Sharon

Barbara, I hope you are feeling better today. When you wrote "I've automatically reached out to stroke the little ball of fur that for almost 9 years was always next to me and it's a fresh wrench each time I don't find it there", I felt that familiar pang in my stomach. Night time is probably the worst. Last night I watched the clock from 1 until 3 and then fell asleep only to dream of having 2 Niles - one sick and skinny one and one healthy one who jumped up and meowed when I walked in the room. It's weird how the very things that can comfort you later on, also torture you in the beginning which is memories. All over the house, everywhere I look, there are memories of Frasier and Niles. And just when you're having an o.k. day, you find an old toy under a piece of furniture and to the floor you go.
I know exactly what you mean about the waves. They're horrendous! Many times over the last few months I've told my husband that I don't feel like I've made any progress at all in grieving over Frasier. It's those darned waves. When one hits, it's like the first day all over again.
Anyway, I feel for you as you miss and grieve your soulmate. Although I loved Frasier with every fiber of my being, Niles was always more my soulmate. (It hurts to say that because I loved Frasier so very much) But I know how you feel as my soulmate slips away from me in the other room at this very moment. And with respect to whether you should take your medication or not, I think you have to consider your health first. But after that, if it takes a little of the pain away, do it. I hate medicine and don't like putting chemicals in my body, but I know the depth of your pain. Sometimes we need a little help. You're gonna feel the full emotions whether you take the meds or not because grieving Charlie will be a long process. I've often wished I could slip into a coma at night just so I wouldn't wake up in the middle and be attacked by emptiness.
Take a deep breath. I know I need to.
-Donna