In three days it will be six months since Lucy Jo left us. She was almost 14 and we'd had her almost her whole life. She was a beautiful little rat terrier. She had her flaws, though. She hated non-family members and didn't get along with out other dogs, but we loved her just the same. By 2007, she was the only dog left, our other girls having passed on from old age. That opened up a whole new world of spoiling for Lucy, canned food, constant inside time, sleeping in the bed with us. All of the attention she'd had to share before was all hers, and she returned our affections 1000-fold.

Then in 2009 when she was 12, the seizures started. It was terrifying. The vet didn't seem terribly concerned, since there really wasn't anything they could do besides give us medication to control the seizures. No reputable vet would offer to perform brain surgery on an elderly dog, even if she had something that could be resolved surgically - she was just too old. They said it was either from a stroke or a tumor or an artieral-venous malformation (I think that's what they called it). Anyway, the medication worked great. There were no seizures at all for months. When she finally had another, they increased the medicine and everything was fine again. For a while.

Last November she had an attack of necrotizing pancreatitis brought on by too much fat (steak scraps). She was in the hospital a week. They didn't think she would come home, but somehow she recovered, and within two days of being home, it was like nothing had ever happened. She had to eat prescription diet, but she liked it, and she learned quickly that begging wasn't going to get her anywhere anymore. If she got any table food at all, it was peas and carrots, her favorites.

We just carried on as normal, and then in February the seizures came back with a vengeance. Multiple times a day, and she was fully conscious and terrified each time it happened. The vet said to increase her medicine by one pill, and that helped some, but she continued to have partial seizures a few times a week. They only lasted a few seconds and I would just hold her until it was over and then she was fine.

One night in March, my husband was out of town, and I was in my home office working on the computer. I heard what sounded like bad dog behavior in the bedroom and asked my son to go see. He went into my room, and called me to come see what Lu had done. I had a small satin pillow filled with flax seeds called an eye pillow, and Lucy had torn it up, gotten seeds every where and ate most of them. I knew they weren't poisonous and wouldn't hurt her, but they were dry and irritating and she tried to throw them up. They had started to swell, and they were hard to vomit up and she heaved really hard and just keeled over. I pulled the mass of wet seeds out of her throat, and she was breathing fine, but she wouldn't wake up. The vet thinks that the force of the vomiting caused whatever was wrong in her brain to rupture and bleed, basically a massive stroke.

She was breathing normally, but completely limp and in a coma. I held her with my hand on her chest, feeling her heartbeat, and her head on my shoulder. At some point I fell asleep, and when I woke up, nothing had changed. So I just sat there holding her for hours. It was the middle of the night. Eventually her heartbeat became very rapid, and her breathing ragged, but she never moved. Finally there was one last breath. I could feel her heart still beating, and then it stopped. I didn't move, just held my baby. Out of nowhere, there was one more heartbeat, just one, and then it was all over. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to put her down. But when her bodily functions let go, I finally had to put her down and clean myself up, clean up the mess. But I put her on her favorite bed first, and covered her with her blanky.

I'll never forget the feeling that last heartbeat in my palm. We got a new puppy three months later, another female rat terrier, and I love her, but I think it was a mistake to get a dog that looks so much like my Lucy. I keep getting mad at the new puppy because she doesn't act like Lucy or do the things Lucy did. I thought a new puppy would ease the pain, but she looks so much like Lucy, it tears me open every day.

Lucy Jo:

Hi, mmholt, thank you for sharing your and your beloved Lucy Jo's six month angel-versary with us. Losing a beloved companion is never easy regardless of the circumstances or how long we are blessed with the privilege of their company. There is never a "good time" or a "good way" to endure through the very painful hours, moments when we know they are the last ones we will share with them on this side of eternity. Your beloved Lucy Jo was blessed to have you - - her Forever Mom - - holding her, comforting her - - during her transition journey to the angels.

I am so sorry you are having difficulty bonding with your new companion. She feels your stress and unhappiness. One of the hardest challenges in bringing a new companion into our lives after the physical loss of a beloved companion is accepting them for who THEY are, instead of trying to make them behave the way Buddy or Buster or Lady - - or Lucy Jo - - did. Have you thought about trying to find your new puppy another home? How would you feel if she were no longer with you? If you decide to try to find this new puppy another home, this is not a negative reflection you. Rather it will be a positive reflection of your concern for her well being to be in a home where she knows she is loved and wanted.

I thank you, mmholt, for sharing your and your beloved Lucy Jo's 6 month angel-versary with us. They are a challenge sometimes to endure as they are vivid reminders that our beloved companions - - your beloved Lucy Jo - - are no longer physically with us. Please know you and your new puppy are in my thoughts and prayers, and look forward to knowing how things are going for the both of you.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Hi mmholt

First, please let me say how loving and courageous you are for holding beautiful Lucy in your arms - in the safest and most secure place possible - as she went back to her home in the skky, the Perfect World. And how my heart bleeds and my tears fall for you in your sadness and empty arms. I lost my Gretta, the kindest chocolate lab who ever lived) on April 10. Although it was vet-assisted , at a wonderful and caring University vet school, I, too, held her in my arms and heard her very last sigh.

I went through something similar to what you're going through with the new dog. I knew there would never be another Gretta - she is my one special soul-dog in the universe. But my arms felt so empty and my heart had all that love still in it and no place to put it. So after three weeks I just "glanced" at the web site of the rescue group from whom I'd adopted Gretta. There was a big black lab (so they said). 7+ years old, with the most beautiful eyes. I'm only a couple of years from being on a fixed income and worried that in retirement I would never be able to afford the vet bills that I'd had with Gretta - who was 13. So I went on another local site and found that there was an 'emergency' need to at least a foster home for a half-chocolate lab-half chessie - 8-9 years old. Perfect - I thought - since the second most special dog in my life was a chessie. I went to meet her in a big warehouse-type specialty pet food store. I knew right away that she wasn't a lab - her coat was wiry and wavy. I could see the chessie chest, though. Earlier that morning she'd been tried in a foster home but hadn't been able to get along with the resident dog (an 11-year old lab - what's not to get along with with THAT!). Just as she was brough into the store, the owner came in with her very calm and well-behaved boxer and my potential new dog lunged at the boxer starting a defensive dog fight - quickly broken up. My head overruled my heart and I decided that with that dog I couldn't even feel safe in my own home let alone guarantee the safety of other people around her. So I said no.

Then I went back on the first site and something in my heart told me I just HAD to have Rufus, even though he was young, male and BIG. I acted like some kind of manic to be able to adopt him - bypassing adoption event and doing a direct adoption through his foster mom in the adjacent state - sight unseen! When Mr Rufus lumbered out of the foster mom's jeep, my heart dropped. He was NOT 90 pounds - He was well over 100# (Gretta was 65#). And his coat was soft, not coares like a lab. I tell you, his butt looke like Mount Everest! What had I done! But stiff upper lip, I got him into my car and we drove home. I live in a big apartment in an old city. Rufus didn't have a yard to play in but we went on 50block walks daily (not all at one time). After a few days I felt that I had to have a talk with Rufus, to tell him he was loved for himself and that he was NOT just a replacement dog and that I would be his forever mom. Even though I seriously didn't feel like it. I was even more dismayed when I brought him to my wonderful vet and he said he was taking care of a rescue dog that looked just like Gretta and that he'd told the rescue group that he might have a home for her - ME!

A few weeks later, my sister (Bobbie on this site)'s beautiful dog Trevor passed and she was so sad that I went to her city for about 10 days to be with her (we're very close). Rufus's foster mom, who loved him dearly and had had him for 18 months, was delighted to dog-sit him. She lives in the country, has 40 acres for him to play in, has at least one and sometime more big foster dogs for him to play with. She sent me an e-mail about how Rufus ha just moved right back into his old life there. MAXIMUM DOUBT arose in my mind. (That thread is "A heart divided" in the Pet Death and Dying section.

Wonderful Moonbeam (is she real or is she an angel?) and Tom's dad asked me some very hard questions about me and Rufus. Like would I miss him not being here when I came home at night and many others. After taking a hard look at both Rufus and myself, I decided to keep the promise that I'd made to him. But it wasn't easy. The whole time I'm walking him I'm singing a song I wrote about Gretta. And he most definitely is NOT gretta. He's a boy - a BIG boy - it turns out he's actually half newfie!. not a cuddler. Not a velcro dog life gretta. (A darling sleeper, though!). A real animal chaser on walks. Barks occasionally when I don't get up fast enough to take him for a walk. (I only hear Gretta bark once in the whol 3.5 years I had her.) I was HARD - and it still is, although not as hard as it was in the beginning.

Yeah, people all told me that evry dog was different, every dog-human bond is different, and all that that goes to your brain but not your heart. Peggy's Human expressed it this way: that Gretta and my love was instant and overwhelming (she chose me at the first adoption event I ever went to!). with rufus, it's like having a good friend to comfort you during a tough period of your life. Your heart entwine with little tendrils of care and before you know it (although not instantly) you realize that you love him - although not at all in the same way as you loved the missing one and that if you separated your lives you'd have to cut all those tendrils and that would hurt just as much as holding the love-of-your-life in your arms and letting her go.

Those conversations helped me a lot and maybe they would have something to say to you as well. One thing that Moonbeam pointed out to me was that every animal has his or her "right" home and that my home might not be Rufus's right home and that the kindest thing I could do was to help her look for her "right" home.

It must be many times more difficult for you when the new dog looks so much like Lucy and acts so differently. Please let me know how this develops. I care about you, Lucy and the newbie and want the VERY best for all of you.

A fellow doubter

Gretta's mom

P.S. Rufus's story ends happily. After answering all those hard questions from Moonbeam and Tom's dad I decided to keep Rufus and our tendrils of love grow every day. Besides - he's an adorable sleeper!

Take care.