On Sunday, Brownie started a rapid decline. She started having seizures. One around 1pm and another around 5:30pm, that lasted somewhere in the 5-10 minute range. She was in a daze for a long while after, wandering around the house, running into walls, slipping, going into the splits. Her body was exhausted but couldn’t let go. During the wee hours of the night/morning, she kept waking and trying to wander. In those moments, we had “the moment.” The moment that those who have gone through the final stages of a pet’s journey on the earth talk about, when their companion let’s them know they are ready to go, but their body just won’t let them. She let me know, loud and clear, she was ready but she needed assistance.

After that she fell back to sleep. In the morning, she barely moved, and we took it easy because neither one of us slept much that night. Then again, around 2pm she had another seizure. When she came out of it and was ready to move her body, we helped her with a makeshift harness to safely wander as much as her body told her she needed. When she was ready, she guided us back to the stairs to help her go inside. I told Joey it was time to call the vet. Joey took the call on speaker so he and I could both talk to her, Brownie in Joey’s arms. They would come right away.

After he hung up, Brownie instantly clamored into my lap and I just felt her release. I held her like a baby and told her it was time and that I love her so very much. She sank in. Head heavy, releasing the weight of trying to hold on for us.

We let the kids know what would be happening. I told them I would like to set Brownie up outside and make it a special for her. That they were welcome to be a part of any of it or none of it, depending on what felt right for them. Through tears, they got to work making a beautiful area for her. Lit candles, special painted rocks, pixie dust, flowers surrounding her bed. We set up under one of the giant maple trees in our yard. It was perfect and devastating all at once.

When the vet arrived, Andy, our other dog, from inside the house let out a bark/cry that I had never heard from her before. The vet came and gently explained to all of us what would happen. Leena went inside for this part but Penelope remained. When I moved aside so they could get started, Brownie stayed perfectly calm, ready. She sat up just a bit when the vet tech came in, but sunk into her presence as well. When they took out the clippers to shave a part of her fur to give her the sedative shot, she did not even stir. The dog who at any other time when she would hear clippers would instantly get uncomfortable and try to escape, she sat again, ready.

At about 4pm on August 31st, we said goodbye to our first baby.

One moment she was here. The next she was not and just as soon as the vet came, they left, quietly.

The next hour was spent cleaning her up. Cutting all the little mats in her fur that accumulated over the past several months that she wouldn’t let me clip. Brush out all the little tangles that the process of her body getting ready to cross over left in her fur. Combing out all the pesky fleas that she had because we didn’t want to tax her already failing liver with medicine for them. Using leave in shampoo to clean off the last bits of dirt and bodily fluids that remained on her from her her body shutting down. Joey coming back from digging her final resting place and joining in on the cleansing. All the while surrounded by Leena and her cat, and Penelope and hers. Which normally when outside on leashes want to explore but instead sat quietly with us and next to Brownie.

Once she was ready, I took her inside so that Midna and Andy could have one final goodbye. Andy jumped up on the bed, where I had brought Brownie to show Midna. When she got close, Andy put her nose to Brownie and instantly looked at Joey, heartbroken.

It was time.

I took her back out to the bed we cleaned her on and tucked a butterfly that friends brought at the beginning of summer on one of Brownie’s worst days, the butterfly that left this plane that day. I thought it only fitting it see her through to the next part of her journey. I wrapped her in butterfly fabric, the same fabric we used to help stabilize her only hours early for her long walk throughout the yard, that had been given to me by a dear friend years and years ago. Then as a family, we walked her to her grave and lowered her in. The kids took turns putting in flowers and crystals to lay on top of her body. I remembered I had a special crystal and one of the bracelets from a pair that Natasha sent me sitting in my pocket. I leaned into her grave and made sure to tuck it into her wrapping gently.

We covered her with handfuls of dirt till she was safe. Then Penelope and Joey worked with shovels to fill the rest. Once all the dirt was mounded, we covered it all with rocks and flowers. I turned to the fire pit at one moment and saw the biggest heart shaped rock and knew that Natasha was with us too.

My baby is gone. And I’m just so, broken.

I took a photo before they began because I wanted to remember their kindness.

This. This broke me entirely. I went inside to get the supplies to clean her up after her passing. On my way out when I looked out the dining room window, I caught a glimpse of him, holding his baby in his arms.

This image was from when I went out the next day. It instantly struck me how this Lady’s Mantle leaf that Penelope placed behind some heather wrapped around it like how I envisioned Brownie wrapped in a leaf in my dream of her passing last week.

I love you, Brownie.