I didn't know Schatze for long, just the little over two years that I've been here, when she was long past her glory days. I knew a very grand old lady, full of character, a dog whose favorite creature in all the world was a man - almost any man. She was a floozy, and something of a petting-tart, happily sitting at the feet of anyone who would pet her for as long as they were willing to do it, especially if that someone was male.
But in these last weeks she spent more and more time with me. During the day, while I was at work, she'd lie on a comforter and barely move (so Sabrina tells me) but at night, once I was home, she'd come back to life and devote what energy she still had to being with me.
Before Schatze and Bubby I only ever really knew one dog - a little mongrel called Whiskey who died long, long ago, while I was still a small child. I have one abiding memory of her, cuddled up next to me on a sofa bed while my parents on-going war of attrition raged around us both. I think I loved her, but it's so long ago now that I can barely recall her - except for this one memory, of a small black and white body pressed close to me, while things neither of us could understand went on around us.
Schatze and Bubby are the first dogs I've ever truly known, and their loyalty, their love, their unquestioning devotion, has been a revelation.
It was I who made the final decision to send Schatze to wherever she has gone (I have no doubt that even now she's chasing rabbits beneath the bluest of skies, all pain and confusion, all suffering, lost and gone forever). I said my goodbyes last night, while she lay beside my chair in the room that is my den. I knew, in some wordless way, that the time had come. It was painful to watch her confusion, her weakness, to see her stagger and stumble as her back legs almost gave way beneath her. But weak as she was, confused as she was, she was still a dog of character and dignity: she retained, to the last, those things that made her herself.
She had ears that, when she perked them, made her look like the flying nun. Weak as she was, she could still make Bubby surrender any toy she wanted (and she invariably wanted whatever toy he picked up, simply because he had it). Blind and deaf as she was, she would still 'speak' whenever we offered her treat, and hopelessly confused as she often was, she never once failed to recognise us, not refused to struggle to her feet to come and greet us and tell us that she loved us when we came home.
She was a very grand old lady. I loved her and will miss her.
And I'm glad that I could do her this last kindness, and send her on her way.
Bye bye, Sweetheart.