Cookie

I found out on Thursday, as I was driving to work, and my parents were driving to Minnesota with grandparents and the dog in the car, that Cookie had a stroke the night before.  They'd taken her to the vet, and her eyes were shifting back and forth, and she couldn't stand or walk.  Vet said stroke.  He said she may or may not recover, and there was nothing we could do.

I haven't even really been able to talk about it.  I've known for quite a while that Cookie was near the end.  I mean, she's turning 17 this October.  

She's not the same dog she used to be, so it's been preparing me for her death.  She's partially blind and about 99% deaf.  She's got a wee bit of palsy, and constantly whines because of arthritis (is my guess).  She doesn't like to play a whole lot anymore, and can't jump up on the couch or the bed without help.  She can't stand on her back feet for hours on end, and she doesn't sleep curled up on my butt anymore.  Slowly, over the last few years, these things have faded away, and I've grieved them one at a time.

But there's a lot of her left, too.  She still doesn't touch her food until she's sure that everyone else has eaten everything they will for the day, and she's not going to get anything better.  She gets so excited when you get out the leash (because she can no longer hear  her favorite expression "do you want to go on a walk?") and spazes out, running in circles, because walking around the neighborhood is the greatest thing on earth.  She still sneezes on command, and pretends to die when you point your finger at her like a gun.  She still goes out with dad every day to check for the mail/newspaper.  She still totally ignores you when you call her home from out in the back yard, but now she has the excuse of actually not being able to hear you.

Part of me knows what I'm going to miss is our history together.  I got Cookie when I first moved to Arkansas, when I was 12.  She was alone, I was alone, neither of us had any friends.  You can see where I'm going with this... 

Part of me knows that every time I see her, it might be the last time.  I always hug her when I leave, I spend time petting her and enjoying her presence while I can... which is in and of itself a little scary.

But you want to know what's really scary?

First, I know that everyone has a tiny bit of clairvoyance.  This is just something I believe.  Example: when I was 12, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, and I knew, I suddenly KNEW that my hamster was dying, even though she'd been fine that morning.  I ran to her cage, and she was lying in her favorite spot, eyes half closed, breathing rapidly (I mean, more rapidly than a hamster normally does) and not responding.  I picked her up, held her, and she died in my hand about 15 minutes later.

My mom frequently gets feelings/has predictions about her family.  Sometimes she's right, sometimes she's wrong.  She had a dream she told me about a week before Cookie's stroke.  She laughed about it, but we were all a little creeped out.  She said she dreamed that Cookies eyes kind of came loose... she said they were kind of like googly eyes, squirling around.  Then she couldn't find Cookie.  Cookie was gone for a week or two, and in that time, all kinds of dogs and kids came in and out of the house, but no Cookie. Mom just watched all of these people and dogs come in and out of the house.  She appeared a week or two later, when everyone was gone, but she was different.  A week after that, she turned into a pile of straw.

So, it's a little odd that the sign that Cookie had a stroke is that her eyes slide back and forth and she can't focus.  It's scary that while my parents are gone the next two weeks, my Aunt Christy is coming to stay at their house.  She's bringing her kids, 4 of her 5 girls.  All the girls have a dog.  My Uncle Matt is coming, too.  What terrifies me is her turning into a pile of straw after they leave.

Will I even get to see her again?  I'm leaving for Europe before my parents return.  Meanwhile, all I talk about on Facebook is the house, because I don't want to think about what I can't alter.  I feel like an audience member at a movie, and have that sinking feeling that I know the last scene of the movie, and it's tragic and sad, but still hoping for a happier ending.