Remembering Bailey

Someone once said that pets may not be your whole world, but they make your world whole. This is the case for me and it always has been. Since I was little, I’ve felt a connection to animals that runs deep. I find it ironic that I was born in the Chinese Year of the Dog. Astrology might be a bunch of hooey to some but what the Chinese say about people born in the Year of the Dog applies to me in a way that is almost eerie, it’s so accurate. So I think there just might be something to that.

Chinese calendars notwithstanding, I am an animal person through and through. After reading a favorite book of mine called 1,000 White Women in my book club, I challenged my fellow members to come up with Indian names for each other. These were obvious things like “She who is beautiful” or “Walks with a Temper,” etc. Of all the colorful things that might’ve been said, I was dubbed: “She Who Loves Animals.”

And anyone who knows me knows this passion I have for my pets and all pets. So it’s with a sad heart that I write about my Sheltie Bailey and the fact that she has passed away. After 14 years with me, her old bones couldn’t take anymore and it was time to let her go. I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that it was the right thing to do but it certainly didn’t make letting her go any easier.

Bailey was officially—by AKC records—known as “Noel’s Funny Valentine.” She was born in the early morning hours of Christmas Day, 1995 and given to me as a Valentine’s gift seven weeks later. But Bailey was the name she went by.

This sable-colored Sheltie was a mess when she was little. For the first few months, she was a nuisance to this single girl’s sleep schedule. Who the heck gets up at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday? But this was Bailey’s witching hour—when she was sick of her crate and needed out to potty and then to play. There was no returning to the crate after she came out for the morning. That’s when Bailey taught me the benefits of adopting older pets, a lesson appreciated by all of the subsequent pets I or my husband and I adopted (Sheltie Jess at seven months, Beagle Teddy at four years, cats Max and Raven at eight months each).

Bailey loved to play as a puppy—like all puppies do--and would do so tirelessly. I’d come home from work and play with her for an hour, thinking it could then be time to grab a bite to eat, maybe sit down and rest a bit. But Bailey never wanted to be done after only an hour. She eventually learned my cat Roo made a decent enough companion when I couldn’t be persuaded to play longer. Bailey would chase Roo up the hallway into my bedroom and then they’d come tearing back out again, this time Roo chasing Bailey. I could watch them do that for hours; it was hysterical.

Six months after getting Bailey, I adopted my Sheltie Jess so they’d have each other, particularly when I wasn’t home, which worked well. Then three years later, my son Chase arrived, much to Bailey’s dismay. Her place as my second in command of the “pack” was usurped by this little bald guy and she wasn’t the least bit happy about it. Only once did I have to remind her that Chase held a higher rank than she did (barely) and after that, she kept a respectful distance from him as an unsteady toddler that might use a furry tail for balance. When he got older, she adored him, often creeping into his playroom to lie beside him while he watched TV or played, and sleeping at night in his room.

Bailey loved playing tug with a rope and she loved to fetch a ball or Frisbee outside. If one wasn’t available, she’d deliver to me a pine cone she’d happily retrieve as often as I’d throw it. Anything to be active… If people were outside playing with a ball of any kind, she expected—ok, demanded—to be included. If we skipped her turn, she’d come and bark her displeasure at us, lest we forgot she was there and perfectly capable of catching the ball as well. She was a great car rider and I’d often just bring her along to grocery stores or out on quick errands. She’d ride in the back, happy to be along with me for any length of time. When she was younger, I tried saying “You want to go outside?” and “You want to take a ride?” with the exact same inflection in my voice but she always knew when it was the “ride” version and that’s the one she’d jump up and dance around to.

Here we are, a couple years ago:

Throughout her 14 years, she was very close to me and was everything a gal could as for in a loyal pet. Bailey wanted to be wherever I was, always. I couldn’t get up and walk into another room to grab something quickly that she wasn’t already up and following. After her arthritis kicked in and her hearing conked out, I’d first try to sneak away so she wouldn’t realize I was leaving and not bother with trying to stand and follow, since that was no easy move for her bones. Once I saw she knew I was leaving, I’d run to the other room and back so she’d know there was no reason to get up. Once she could no longer climb the stairs, she’d lay at the bottom of them when I’d go up there for something and she’d look up, watching and waiting for me to come back down. At night, I carried her up with us to sleep nearby. When she required a middle of the night potty run, all she had to do was walk to my side of the bed and just stand there looking at me. I sensed her there and I'd carry her out to do her business and then back upstairs again. She lay beside me in my home office every day, often in the way of my wheeled chair, but I’d tip toe around her or work in uncomfortable positions so she could be undisturbed. After all she’d given to my life, the least I could do was keep her comfortable in her old age. Being together so much at the end of her life makes it hard to be without her now, but how wonderful it was to have that much time together and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

I’ve known the days were nearing an end for awhile now. She’s moved slower and slower lately, eating less and less, and becoming more frail, though still as beautiful as ever. I prayed that I would know when the time was right to let her go. And then that time arrived. Super Bowl Sunday was a rough one for my girl. She was unsettled and didn’t want to lie still, yet her old bones didn’t want to carry her where she wanted to go. She ate well that day—chicken breast with broth and scrambled eggs—but I knew she wasn’t doing well and I didn’t want her to suffer. Yesterday morning, Bailey didn’t want to get up at all. She was tired—not from the night but from a long life. I picked her up and Bailey and I took our last car ride together to see the greatest vet on the planet, Dr. Adams. The doc had cared for Bailey for many years and anytime we saw him, he knew what was going on with her just by looking at her. On this day, he told me that her arthritis had moved into her back and there was a suspicion of neurological issues. He said: “You do all you can for them, but there comes a day you can’t do anymore and you have to let them go because it’s the best thing for them. You’ve done all you can do. It’s time.”

I knew he’d say those words and thought I’d be ready. But are you ever ready to let go of something you love so much? Absolutely not. I wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear the entire time so that, hopefully, the last thing she heard and smelled was me and she knew we were together.

Missing her is excruciating now. I know she had a great life and I know letting her go was the right thing to do but it doesn’t change how different life is without my sweet girl nearby. I know one day the tears will be less and the laughter more common when it comes to thinking about Bailey, but through either, I’ll forever treasure her and the happiness she brought me for so long.

If you got all the way to the end of this, thanks for humoring a dog-lover who wanted to share a bit about the fur-ball who made her life whole.

Bailey in my office, one of the rare times she got on her pillow rather than right by my chair: