Huey's Passing

Today's column is the story of an important event in my life. Eight years ago today, my dog, Huey, passed away on the bluff at Discovery Park, overlooking Puget Sound, surrounded by friends.

*********

I woke up late the morning of Thursday, July 25, 2002 around 10 a.m. Looking down near my feet I saw my little white fluff of a dog, Huey, lying with his head on his pillow and my black and white cat, Boombalati, curled in a ball next to him. My heart sank. I knew this was the last morning that Huey would be there to greet me.

The weather that week had been very hot for Seattle, up in the 90’s; it was difficult for his old body to take. But that morning, I rolled off the right side of the bed, pulled the blinds apart and peeked through to see overcast skies.

How perfect, I thought. Overcast skies for my overcast mood.

I leaned over the bed and wrapped my arms around Huey, who had been my friend and companion for the past 17 years.

“Good morning, Huey,” I greeted him, kissing his little brown nose and petting his feather-soft fur. He had been at the groomer only a week or so before and looked as clean and white as a cotton ball.

Oh God, I thought. I didn’t keep any of his hair, and now it’s so short. Why didn’t I think before! Why? Why? Why?!!! I know why, because I thought he’d be here longer. I always thought he’d be here. Why didn’t I think.

I gave Boombalati a little scratch behind the ears, then headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Adrian, my husband, greeted me in the hallway with a cup of tea. We just looked at each other and then both cried as we hugged.

“Oh, Adrian, I can’t believe it’s today. I can’t believe it,” I cried into his shoulder with my tears and nose running into his white undershirt. “I know, Annie.” he said. “I know.”

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when the phone rang.“Hello,” Adrian answered it, then after a moment he continued, “Yes, hello Dr. Coffin.” It was the veterinarian.

I sat on the couch listening, almost in a daze, with my eyes full of tears and my breath short and jerky. I felt like I was in a heavy fog as I listened to Adrian explain that Huey still wasn’t eating and confirm that the doctor could put him down today. It was surreal. Just a few weeks ago he was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but getting by.

After all these years. He was so healthy. I can’t believe it! Nooooooo!!! I felt like screaming at someone. Somehow, if I felt enough pain, it would change. Huey would be okay again.

“He says for us to meet him at 5:30 at his office,” Adrian had finished the call and was giving me the details. “He’s pretty sure they can do the catheter right away, then follow us right to the park.”

“Okay,” I said blankly, thinking: Seven hours! That’s all the time I have left with my sweet little boy is seven hours. Then he’ll be gone. Oh, God!!! This can’t be true.

I needed to scream, scream at anything or anyone. Scream to somehow make the pain go away. I ran to my bed, buried my head under my pillow and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Noooo!!!! Nooooo!!!! Noooo!!!! Oh, Huey!!” I sobbed and sobbed, coming up for breaths between heart wrenching, agonizing wails. My stomach muscles contracted painfully as I curled in a tight sobbing ball. It was like my body was trying to wring out the pain, squeezing every cell and every feeling in me until there was nothing left, only exhaustion.

“No, no, no.” I quieted down after awhile, whimpering more than crying. I lay in the fetal position, one arm stretched out petting Huey, and looking at him. I looked and looked, trying to memorize his face. After awhile, I don’t know how long, I felt still, almost numb, and I stood up to go on with the day.

It’ll be as good as I can make it for him, I thought. I picked up his three pillows from the floor and shoved them under my arms, and then grabbed the corners of his two quilts in my fists and dragged the big bunch of bedding into the living room. Two things Huey loved were a really cushy bed and to be where I was; today he would have both!

I arranged his bed just so, then walked into the bedroom, slid my arms under his frail body and lifted him up. It was like lifting a sleeping child. He stayed relaxed as I walked to the living room and laid him down among his blankets with his head propped up on his pillow, just the way he liked.

The day progressed with many of the usual activities. Huey fell asleep, so I took a shower and ate breakfast and Adrian went out for a bike ride. My sister, Janie, who lived with Huey and me for many, many years, took the day off to come be with us. We watched the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice and lay with Huey, brushing and petting him and every so often breaking into tears over our beloved friend.

He had stopped eating over the past few days and I had been coaxing him with treats—like real chicken—but today he hadn’t eaten anything, although he did drink some water. But then Janie lay down on the floor to pet him and was eating some string cheese and that definitely interested him! She pulled off little pieces while he lay on his pillow like a spoiled centurion being fed grapes at a Roman feast.

“Look at that. Isn’t he sweet,” I said. “And I’m so glad he’s eating. I didn’t want him to be hungry.”
Janie just looked up and nodded. We both knew this would be his last food.

*****

Adrian came home, and Janie and I left to give him some alone time with Huey. It felt weird. Here, this most precious spirit who had been with me nearly every day of my life for the past 17 years was about to die, and I leave to buy toilet paper.

As I drove to the supermarket, I thought of all the rough patches, the hard times in my life that Huey had been there to see me through. So often, I had hugged him close and cried into his fur—when I had a fight with a boyfriend, when I got in trouble at work, when both of my grandmothers died in the same year—he was always there for me.

We were back within a half-hour and it was about four o’clock. We would need to leave shortly after five. I don't remember if that hour sped by in a flash or crawled slowly. I only remember looking at the clock.

5:15. Time to go.

“It’s time,” I said to Adrian and Janie. “I’ll get Huey.”

There was a little activity and discussion about who needed to grab what. We needed a blanket to wrap Huey's body. I wanted his pillow, the flowers that a friend had sent that day, and some lunch meat.

I picked him up, walked him to the door, and was standing partly in the hallway, when I realized I had forgotten something very important. I brought him back inside so that he could say goodbye.
I walked to the living room. “Huey, say goodbye to the living room.” I turned in a slow circle so he could see everything.

I walked to the bedroom. “Say goodbye to the bedroom.” Then Boombalati came out from behind the bed. “Boombalati, Huey’s leaving. You two need to say goodbye.” I got down low and the cat walked right over to Huey, sniffed him on the nose, and gave him a little nuzzle.

“Oh, look at that. I think Boombalati knows he’s saying goodbye,” I said to Adrian who was standing nearby as tears once again filled my eyes.

“Okay, Huey says goodbye Boombalati,” I said through the tears and stood.

I walked Huey through the rest of our small apartment and let him say goodbye to the rest of the space that had been his home for the last three years. I cried burying my face in his body.

I went outside and stood in the courtyard of our apartment building while I waited for Adrian and Janie to catch up.

“Okay Huey, now everything is going to be okay,” I said to him. “Don’t be scared, because nothing will hurt and I’ll be there with you. Just look for Otti. She’ll be holding her arms out just waiting to greet you. Okay? You just go to Otti. And don’t worry about me. I’m sad because I’ll miss you, but we’ll see each other again, so don’t give me a second thought. Just go to Otti and she’ll take care of you.” I hugged him to me, crying into his fur.

“And Otti,” I looked up at the overcast sky. “Be there waiting for Huey. Okay? Put out both your arms and he’ll know it’s you. Okay? Please, Otti, be there,” I emplored my grandmother. When Huey joined our family, the two of them had taken to each other instantly and had a very special bond. Otti passed away in 1994.

I’ll be there, child. Don’t worry. I heard her say in my thoughts.

Adrian and Janie came through the courtyard door and we headed out to our cars.

“We’ll meet you at the vet’s,” I said.

“Okay, see you there,” she replied.

*****

I was in a fog of disbelief. Huey wasn’t in any pain when he was lying down or when I held him like I was doing in the car. How can this be? How can it be that it’s his time? I had to remind myself of his arthritis. He had become increasing stiff over the past years, but, suddenly, in the last week, he could only walk in left-hand circles. The vet thought maybe a nerve had been damaged in his back left leg. And, then he had virtually stopped eating and was incontinent. A friend helped me understand that it was his time to go, and I knew she was right. But it still felt unbelievable. I had always thought he'd live to be at least 18 or 20 years old. I should have at least one more year with him.

As I held him in my arms on the drive to the vet’s office, he was relaxed and quiet.

*****

We arrived at the Interbay Animal Hospital shortly after 5:30 p.m. This small veterinary practice is located in a little, converted house with a big shade tree protecting the front door.

Adrian parked, walked to my side of the car, opened the door, and helped me and Huey out of the car. Janie arrived at the same time and we all went up the eight concrete stairs, then past the flower boxes and little wooden bench to the front door.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. I heard the familiar high-pitched, quick double doorbell that sounded every time I walked in.

“Oh, right this way.” The receptionist recognized us immediately and showed us into an exam room. Moments later, Veronica, the veterinary assistant walked in with paper work.

“I know this is hard, but. . .” and I cut her off.

“I know, Dr. Coffin explained that I’d need to sign,” I said, handing Huey over to Adrian.

I looked at the white sheet of paper and, through my tears, saw fuzzy black words. I couldn’t read it, but I knew what it was—“consent to euthanize.” I blinked my eyes to help the tears falls out. I could then make out the signature line and I took the pen and wrote my name. Above “date,” I wrote, July 25, 2002. Veronica, with a look of sympathy, took the paper and pen and said, “I’ll be right back to take Huey.”

She took him in back where they would put the catheter in his leg. I chose the back left leg, since we thought it might be numb anyway and would hurt less. The catheter is important to have inserted ahead of time, because at the park, the doctor didn’t want to risk difficulty with the injection and cause Huey any extra pain or distress.

Adrian, Janie and I waited in silence. After a few minutes the door opened and Dr. Coffin came into the room with Huey in his arms. He had a light blue bandage on his back left leg with a small, royal blue heart cut out and attached to it.

We had a brief conversation about keeping the catheter in place and then about logistics as to how to find the park. Dr. Coffin said Veronica would join us in case he needed help.

While Dr. Coffin and Veronica got their things together, Adrian, Janie, Huey and I waited on the wooden bench out front. Birds were singing and I noticed the mild temperature. It was a blessing, and I think a sign from God, that this day was the first in a week with comfortable temperatures. The overcast skies also meant the sun wouldn’t be beating down on Huey, or us. It was really a perfect day.

When the doctor and Veronica were ready, we all got in our cars and caravaned to the park. Our friends, Carol and Thor, met us there, and the seven of us and Huey walked a stretch that Huey and I had walked a hundred times before. I stopped at a favorite spot of his to let him sniff and I cried for my loss.

Discovery Park has a beautiful bluff overlooking Puget Sound. There is a tree at the edge with a patch of grass underneath it, just the right size for a picnic. It was there, under that tree, that Adrian proposed to me on a mild, winter morning a year-and-a-half earlier with Huey by my side.

Since “our” tree wasn't special only for us, we expected that someone else would have already claimed the space, and I planned to have us gather in a grassy area next to a little old church that overlooks the bluff.

To my surprise and delight, there turned out to be a fairly large group of people up by the church, which was a rarity, and no one down by the tree on the bluff. It was meant to be.

We still had quite a long walk across the bluff, but we were in no rush. We carried Huey part of the time, would set him down to take a sniff, then pick him up again. We told stories about when he got into trouble, like the time when he jumped into Drumheller Fountain at the University of Washington or when he caught a duck at Greenlake—which luckily I was able to pry, unharmed, from his mouth. He had been so full of life, so full of vigor. It was good to be reminded of how it used to be for him. Tonight was the right night for him to go.

We came upon a couple with an energetic dog at least three times as big as Huey. We talked with them briefly and Adrian picked up Huey to let him sniff the other dog, something Huey hadn’t had much chance to do in the last year, because the other dogs moved too quickly. But this one stood still and Huey got one last good sniff of a new canine acquaintance, another of his favorite things.

God was certainly directing that evening, because as we reached the area under the tree, there was virtually no one around, except a couple enjoying the evening sky from a bench 20 yards down the path.

I set Huey down and let him take a few last steps and sniffs, while we laid out the thick, wool blanket that Janie had thought to bring. Adrian fed him a piece of meat, tearing off little pieces, which he ate.

I sat on the blanket with my legs apart. We put his pillow against my right leg, placed another blanket between my legs and across the pillow, then laid him down. I think it couldn’t have been any better—at his very favorite place, the park, with people he loved and his head propped up.

We talked and told more Huey stories. I tore off another piece of meat and held it up to his mouth, but he didn’t want it. I knew the time was near.

“Okay Huey, I’m here with you. We’re all here with you,” I kissed his little brown nose. He’d stretch up and look around, then lay back down. “I love you Huey. Thank you for always being there for me.”

Adrian was behind me to my right, crying. I motioned Janie who was sitting on a log barrier to come and pet him and say goodbye. We cried and talked to him and I told him, again, to look for Otti.

“Annie, is it time?” Carol asked very softly.

“No, not yet.” I looked up not knowing how I’d even know, but it wasn’t that moment. I kept petting him and kissing him and talking to him.

Then, suddenly, I noticed the sun. The clouds parted just a crack and the sun shone down through the limbs and leaves of the tree illuminating only our little patch.

I knew. I knew it was time. God was calling him and those rays of sunshine were Otti’s arms reaching out to him.

“It’s time.” I said and looked at the doctor through my tears.

Thor and Carol, who had also been sitting on the log, came and sat close. Veronica kneeled nearby and Dr. Coffin nodded at me with a gentle look that asked, “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“I’m first going to flush the catheter,” he said quietly. I nodded. I just kept stroking my little dog.

“Huey, you might feel a little something, but it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here,” I said to him.

The doctor then brought out the syringe with the sleeping drug in it. He said it was like an overdose of anesthetic and Huey might breathe fast, maybe even bark, but that would just be his body, he wouldn’t feel anything.

Dr. Coffin put the needle into the catheter.

“Goodbye Huey. I love you.” I bent and kissed him on the nose.

I saw the brownish-orange liquid go in and I kept stroking Huey. “It’s okay Huey, let go. Go to Otti. Go to Otti, Huey.”

He looked up once, then lay back down. I felt his spirit leave. His body relaxed completely. I knew he was gone. His going was so peaceful.

My hand was on his heart and it fluttered quickly, but that was just his body winding down after 17½ years of life.

The doctor reached down with his stethoscope. “He might still move,” he said gently and I nodded again, but I knew he wouldn’t. Huey was ready to go. He knew it was his time and he passed easily from his earthly body to go be with Otti.

I sat holding him. Sobbing. Wishing him well on his way and feeling his soft fur for the last time.

*****

I took the purple and white flowers that we had brought with us and arranged them next to him. They looked lovely against his beautiful white fur. Then I pulled the blanket from all sides covering him up, just like I had done so many times tucking him into bed. He loved to be snuggled and tucked in. I gave him one last kiss on the nose then drew the blanket over his head. I reached under him, stood and handed him gently to Dr. Coffin.

“Bye, Huey. I love you.” I said, putting my hand on the blanket and feeling his body for the last time.

Dr. Coffin and Veronica said good bye to everyone then turned and walked the path that Huey had run along and enjoyed so many times.

*********

Seventeen years earlier, just after graduating high school, I came home and gleefully announced, “Mom, I’m getting a dog and I’m going to name him, “Huey!”

He was my most special friend.


If you would like to be notified by e-mail when I post to this blog, please write me at anniescolumn@gmail.com and I will add you to the notification distribution list.