For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.
For our Bailey, today was a time to die. And for us, today is a time to mourn, to embrace, and to weep.
We let Bailey go today. In her last moments, she did what she loved most: ate treats.
Then, as she died, she seemed at first really peaceful and then finally at rest.
We loved her. I think she knew that.
Bailey was never an easy dog. She was a wild and crazy puppy. And then, in her prime, she developed epilepsy. Her seizure meds really slowed her down, and she got really big for a while as a result. Once we changed her medication dosage, though, she lost weight and acted more like her self. She got old and slow soon afterwards, though.
I’m pretty sure her epilepsy caused some neurological damage. She had some strange and weird ticks that were exacerbated in her last days.
Bailey lived in five cities and eight homes with us. She was there before Mike and I were married, before Logan or the kids joined us. She was tolerant and accepted these changes, but I swear she rolled her eyes at us sometimes.
Bailey used to jump: into water bowls, into people’s arms and laps, into Lake Michigan, and over puppy gates. She lost the ability to jump like that a while ago.
But two things she never stopped doing were eating and cuddling.
Bailey loved to eat. Food motivated her and brought out a drive and fixation in her that was surprising, even in her last moments.
Bailey burrowed under covers and loved to cuddle. Her favorite spot was on your lap, under a blanket. Sometimes, she’d force her way into your lap, knocking over laptops or babies that also happened to be there.
Bailey nurtured the nurturer in me. She (with Mike’s help) taught me about commitment and follow-through. She helped me love better and deeper. And, through her death, she taught me how to let go.
I believe she is finally resting in peace. And being with her transition from life to death was an unexpected comfort.
Rest now, Bailey. Thank you for these last 14 years.