Saying Goodbye to Fenway.
2004 was quite a year.
It was the year I married the love of my life. It’s also the year that my beloved Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in multiple generations. It was the first year I ever saw a game at Fenway Park in Boston, which happened to be Game 2 of the World Series. And it was the year we adopted our dog, Fenway.
My wife and I decided one fall day to go to the Seattle Humane Society and look into getting a dog. I had lots of criteria for this potential dog. I wanted a male cattle dog, preferably a puppy. What we found that day looking at us through the cage with large, sad almond eyes was a one-year old odd brindle mix with legs that looked entirely too short to sustain her frame. (We said later she looked like a sawed-offed German Shepherd.) But something about this dog captured out hearts despite the fact that she was exactly the opposite of what I thought I was looking for. So we took her to the “meet & play area” where we learned quickly about her love of playing fetch and licking you wherever you happened to have exposed skin.
She would roll over, show her belly, & melt into a wiggly mess if she saw people, especially children and would beg to be loved on. After a few moments of interacting with this four-legged snuggle machine we were shocked to discover that she had been adopted out twice before, and twice returned to the shelter. That sealed the deal for us. God had intended for us to be her family. We filled out the paperwork and “Fenway” was our first pet as a married couple.
I had cats before we got married and Ananda had cats before we got married, but Fenway was different. It felt like she was the first serious thing we would have in our life as a family. Though Fenway, who turned out to be a Cardigan Corgi / Plott Hound mix, was incredibly docile and loving we decided it would be best to introduce her to our cats slowly (and honestly to make sure she wouldn’t eat them…). So the first night in our home we decided to put Fenway in our office for the night behind a closed door. It took about 20 minutes of listening to her whine before I grabbed a blanket and my pillow and lay down on the floor of the office with her to sleep and keep her company in her new home. She spooned her body up close to mine and slept like a rock, probably the first good night’s sleep she’d had since before she was in the shelter.
We joked the first year Fenway was with us that “one day we would HAVE to have children for the dog.” Whenever she saw kids it was like her back end would start moving independently of the rest of her as she wiggled her way to them for attention. She may have had issues with other dogs, but never with people. After Tessie was born Fenway decided that since this new creature was the weakest member of her pack it was her job to stick next to her like glue, sleeping every night first next to Tessie’s crib and later next to her bed. When Isabelle was born earlier this year, Fenway quickly realized there was a new baby in the pack and moved from Tessie’s side to sleep next to Isabelle’s crib.
When she wasn’t next to the girls you could find her chasing balls in the backyard that I would throw for her. That is until she decided that the game was over. She would ‘fake me out’ by pretending to drop the ball already in her mouth as I threw the one in my hand. Then she would quickly pick up the one she pretended to drop and go after the one I had thrown as well. All the while I was laughing “Cheater!” at her as she merrily trotted off with both balls in her mouth.
Several weeks ago we noticed that she had a small sore in her mouth. We found out from our vet that it was an osteosarcoma and that there was nothing we could do short of removing most of her lower jaw. And even then, they couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t already spread to other parts of her body. Having recently been through the death of another very dear pet (my 17 year old cat Stipe just last December), we knew there was no way we would allow Fenway to suffer, nor prolong her suffering because of our selfishness. We made the decision to manage her pain as best we could, give her some very happy last few weeks, and when it was time to let her go, we would let her go.
Today was that day.
She had stopped eating and was clearly in pain. Her quality of life had severely begun to suffer. Ananda and I made the decision to say goodbye. We explained to Tessie, now five years old, that Fenway was going to Heaven today and that when she and I left she wouldn’t be coming back to the house. I wasn’t sure how Tessie would react considering her reaction to Stipe dying wasn’t terribly intense. But clearly growing up for five years with a sweet, devoted dog next to your side is very different. Tessie’s eyes filled up with tears and she began sobbing.
“I don’t want Fenway to leave yet,” she cried. “I wish she didn’t have cancer.”
After a few gentle moments of cuddling, scratching, and petting Fenway, Ananda and Tessie walked Fenway and I out to the car and they said goodbye to her. Fenway hopped into the passenger seat excited to travel just like she did whenever we went anywhere together, including the long drive by my side from Seattle to Boise when we moved here. I brought along one of her balls and put it next to her in the passenger seat since she was now having a hard time holding it in her mouth because the tumor had grown so large it filled most of the right side of her lower jaw.
I won’t go into many more details about the experience at the vet because honestly I’m crying as I write this and it hurts to relive it. But in her final moments she did pick up her ball in her sore, bleeding mouth one last time. Then she lay down on the floor of the veterinarian’s office and spooned up next to me just like she did on the first night she came to live with us. And then she was gone.
That was only earlier today and already the silence in the house is deafening and the ache in my heart is huge. I miss her so very, very much. But I believe completely that Jesus is playing fetch with her in Heaven as I write this. (Fenway… you better not cheat while playing with Jesus….) I am blessed that for almost eight years, Fenway was a member of our family. But as Tessie just said to me “when we die, we’ll see her again Daddy.” Yep. Thank God, we certainly will.
