I’m a person of some faith – and many friends – so the “walk alone” in this title of this post isn’t meant metaphorically, but in this case more tangibly.
I wrote about “women’s best friend” a few years ago on this blog. I’ve had the same canine companion since 2006. Since then, there have been endless long walks together. Along suburban streets, through local forests and ravines and across frozen lakes. We’ve scrambled down banks and jumped across streams more times than I can count. All you had to do was say, “walk” and she would come running.
But my Maggie has been slowing down in recent years. This past summer, she was reluctant to go for a walk of any distance. My enthusiastic puppy who would eagerly bounce along beside me for hours, had been reduced to reluctantly taking five minute strolls. Arthritis had set in, and she found stairs difficult enough that some nights she decided to sleep on the landing, rather than coming all the way up to the bedrooms. In people years, she was north of 105, so I suppose that was to be expected.
With the coming of fall this year, our daily short strolls began to hold even less interest for her. Occasionally, she stumbled, and her legs didn’t work as well as they used to. Her hearing had long since deserted her and while her vision was OK, if that rabbit wasn’t running right in front of her, it might as well have been a stone. And even then, Bugs was simply something to perk ears up at, not something to chase.
Last week, we hit a new stage. Leaving for our after-walk promenade, we got to the end of our street, and Maggie stopped and let me know in no uncertain terms that this was as far as she was going. She retreated to a quiet spot behind the couch in my living room.
I knew what that meant.
It meant that the day I had known was on the horizon was closing in. It was suddenly barreling down our street far faster than Maggie could walk it. And so with a heavy heart, I summoned up my courage and made the call I knew I had to make. My vet was kind and compassionate, and even then, it was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.
So today, while I like to think of Maggie once again bounding alongside streams in multi-coloured forests with pure abandon, it means that when I return home at the end of the day, my house is now really and truly empty. And without that friendly furry face to greet me, I’ll truly be learning to walk alone.
RIP Maggie….
