February 10, 2011

February 10, 2011

There are certain dates in everyone’s life that they will never forget. February 10, 2011 is one of those days for me. On that day, a piece of me died.

The day started like any other day. I woke up and Bailey was already downstairs eating his breakfast. After a quick shower, I took Bailey to Urban Dog for a day of fun with his buddies. Late that afternoon I did something I rarely ever do—I turned my cell phone off so I could give my full attention to a meeting I was attending at a downtown law firm. My cell phone is always on—even in the middle of the night.

At about 5:30 pm the phone rang in the meeting room at the law firm. The lawyer who answered the phone turned to me and said: “Rob, your father is looking for you very urgently.” As I picked up the telephone I heard my father say: “Rob, your dog is very sick.” Tears welled up inside and I began to feel the worst pain I had ever felt in my entire life.

My mother had picked Bailey up from Urban Dog where he had been vomiting and had diarrhea. Melinn and Mom were taking Bailey to the Veterinary Emergency Clinic to meet Dad and I. How could this be the end? He was doing so well.

When I arrived at the clinic, Bailey greeted me with his tail wagging. I looked into his eyes praying that he would tell me if he was ready to go. But there was no sign. To me Bailey looked full of life. We had too many adventures left for this to be the end.

Sometimes our heads tell us things that that the heart wants to hear. The reality was that the tumor had grown and was blocking Bailey’s urethra causing his bladder to fill up. There were a few options but none of them were very good. If we did nothing, Bailey’s bladder would explode (actually giving him some relief) and he would have maybe 12 hours to live. Alternatively, we could have tried a catheter to empty the bladder—but even if that worked his bladder would soon fill up again. And if the catheter punctured the tumor Bailey would have to be put to sleep immediately.

This was really the end and I had just one decision left: Put him at risk and watch him suffer or allow him to go peacefully before any of the serious suffering began. I looked to Melinn and my parents but they knew that the decision had to be mine. And while I could not bear the pain of living without him, the pain of watching him suffer would have been worse. With tears in my eyes I told the vet and my family that we would let him die peacefully that night.

My parents waited at the clinic while Melinn and I drove home to get Elle and Ivy. As I have said before, Bailey belonged to everyone—not just me. Elle and Ivy had known Bailey their entire lives and we wanted to give them the chance to say goodbye.

So on a cold winter evening my Melinn, my parents, Elle, Ivy and I sat in a room saying our goodbyes. We fed Bailey treats, took pictures and told him how much we loved him. When it came time, I asked everyone to leave Bailey and I in the room alone. I just figured that it all started with just him and I—and it should end that way too. I hugged him and kissed him and asked him to wait for me at Rainbow Bridge.

Bailey slowly drifted off to a deep painless sleep…and he was gone.

There are no words in the English language to properly describe the pain I felt or the love I still have for him. He was my best friend and greatest teacher in the most formative years of my life. I hope he is watching over me knowing that he changed my life forever. I hope he is proud of me and what he created. I hope I can live my life in a way that gives honor to his memory.

I love you Bailey and I always will. Rest well.

Belle’s Ace Bailey
December 2, 1997 – February 10, 2011