Loss of a Friend

On Thursday December 11th, I lost my best friend and side-kick of over six years. Abbi was more than a pet, she was my forever loyal and constant companion.

In November 2002, I was laying on the floor of my apartment in Mississippi. I was flipping through channels, anxiously waiting for my sister to return from a trip back to Houston to visit our family. Normally, I didn't stare at the clock counting the minutes until her arrival. But that time was different. She was bringing something back for me. She was bringing me a puppy - an early Christmas present from my parents. Before laying my eyes on this puppy, I had already named her. Abbi. I remember the apartment door opening and I never once looked up to greet my sister. My eyes instantly locked on this tiny, black and white, runt-looking creature that came trotting through the door. I fell in love as she ran straight for me, like she was waiting to meet me too, not even caring to sniff around her new home. I picked her up to eye level, letting her lick me all over my face. And that was the beginning of our friendship.

As she physically got older, Abbi never seemed to age a single day. She got bigger, yes, but her puppy mentality seemed eternal. Whether we were at home or visiting friends or family, it seemed Abbi's personal mission in life to kiss every single person there. She wouldn't stop until she was satisfied that you had gotten all of the kisses you could stand. I think she may have even converted some non-dog-lovers to her side. Once Kevin and I had moved to Houston and into a house, we still seemed to be learning new things about Abbi. One was that this dog could run. FAST. Once she was out of the apartment and had her own backyard, she never wanted to stay inside. She loved being outside, and if our other Boston Terrier Baxter (who we bought 2 1/2 years after Abbi) was outside with her, she'd run him all over the yard. Almost like she was taunting him, proving to the rest of us that she was the fastest dog in the land. Something else we discovered about Abbi was that she loved to swim. Whether we were at the dog park or at my parents house, Abbi would go barreling into the pool. A few times, I went outside to check on her and she was swimming laps by herself in my parents' pool. She was dubbed "little fish" because she'd jump in, no matter what month of year it was, and occasionally swim under water to make sure everything underneath her was as it should be. Early on in her lifetime, we also discovered that Abbi smiled. Not the kind of smile that a lot of owners claim their pets do where the corners of the mouth turn up and the tongue hangs out while they're panting. No, my baby had a big, toothy grin. I think it started by accident because of her slight underbite, and then she caught on that we responded positively when she did it. So it became a method of endearment for her. When Kevin or I ate, Abbi would sit next to us or on the floor in eye sight with a big grin. Or if one of us wasn't in the best mood or Abbi did something that resulted in scolding, she'd flash a grin like "I'm sorry - does this make it better?" And it always did.

In January 2008, Abbi had her first seizure. I had no idea that's what it was at the time - it was so minimal. I saw the whole thing happen, grabbed her into my arms to see what was wrong, and of course she covered my face in kisses. The fact that this dog's top priority was to show affection, even while suffering a seizure, still amazes me. Once it was over, Abbi was totally fine. Like nothing happened. So I blew off the incident - I had no idea it was the beginning of something awful. Three months later, the same thing happened. The exact same thing. Only a second episode followed about 10 minutes after the first was over. I didn't blow it off this time. We went to the vet. The vet dismissed it - it didn't sound like seizures, she said. No tests, no bloodwork. Maybe it was a reaction to Kevin being gone, she said - he was coincidentally out of town both times it happened. So we went home. It wasn't seizures, thank God. Or at least that's what we were told. Until July 4th weekend when this (see previous post) happened. It solidified my worst fears. They were seizures. Abbi had fluid on her brain causing them. From July to present, Abbi continued a vigorous schedule of medications. They had to be given at certain times to keep her blood levels and brain activity levels stable, otherwise she could enter another episode of seizure activity. Kevin and I had to schedule our days around her medicine times. Did we care? Absolutely not. She was like our child, and there was absolutely no question that we'd do whatever was necessary to keep her healthy. She had a few small seizures in August, but they were minimal and totally manageable. Then nothing until Sunday December 7th. She had a big seizure. Kevin and I were able to stop it with her dog-Valium. All was well again. Monday was perfectly normal. Abbi was extremely affectionate - moreso than usual. And she was antsy. We both noticed it, but wrote it off to her maybe being stressed out from the packing and moving boxes that were collecting in preparation for our big move. Now we think that the affection and antsy behavior was her way of trying to tell us something big was about to happen. Tuesday December 9th I went home from work early. I wasn't feeling well. Something was off - it wrote it off as pregnancy related. So I spent the afternoon napping on the couch with Abbi curled up next to me. It was our last time to just BE. At 8PM she had a small seizure. We gave her Valium which helped, but not as much as it had with her seizure a few days before. So I took her to bed. I fell asleep with my arm around her, so I'd feel if she had another seizure. I just had a bad feeling I would. At 11PM I woke up to her having a severe one. Kevin and I gave her another dose of Valium, which did nothing. So we went to the Animal ER. It was exactly like it happened back in July. They kept her overnight and referred her to her neurologist the next morning. Only this time, Abbi seemed worse. Something wasn't like it was in July. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something wasn't right. Kevin and I discussed the possibility of putting her to sleep with her neurologist. We all decided to give her until Friday the 12th to see if she could snap out of it. I never thought it possible to pray and cry over a pet so much during those days. On Thursday the 11th, her neurologist told me they'd found pneumonia in Abbi's lungs. That in combination with her brain disease was basically shutting down her respiratory system. We made the decision - it was the hardest decision I've ever made in my life. One that I'd never wish on anyone. But I couldn't let her suffer.

Kevin and I were both with her when she passed the afternoon of December 11th. Abbi was sedated, but aware that we were with her. I was at her head, kissing all over her face while her neurologist gave the injection. I know Abbi would have turned the table and kissed all over my face if she'd had the strength. Once it was over and they took Abbi from the room, I felt like they were taking my heart with her.

I know that we made the right decision. There was no way that Abbi would ever be the same, if she even recovered from the pneumonia. Kevin and I knew in our hearts that as much as we wanted to be selfish and keep her with us, we couldn't let her suffer. Now we're trying to figure out how to be without her. All three of us - Kevin, me, and Bax - are trying to adjust. I think the hardest times for me are right before bed and again when I wake up. Those were "our" times. We'd lay in bed and cuddle, usually for hours before Kevin and Baxter would come claim their man-space in bed. And in the mornings, I would wake up face to face with Abbi - under the covers with her head propped up on my pillow, just like me. Every morning, she'd get out of bed with me and lay in the bathroom while I got ready for work. Then we'd get her medicine and I'd put her back in bed with Kevin and Baxter before I left. I still roll over in the mornings expecting her to be right there. I never thought I could miss an animal so much. But a pet becomes such a fixed part of your life, and when they're suddenly gone, it takes time to get used to that seperation.

There's a well-known story in the world of grieving pet owners. I cry every time I read it, but it also brings me comfort. Get your tissues ready if you're a pet-owner:

The Story of Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals that had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent. Her eager body quivers. Suddenly she begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Abbi will be forever missed. There are no better words to say it.

Please Stay Back At Least 4FT

Hormones.

Surging, raging hormones. They have almost completely taken over my actions, my facial expressions, and most unfortunately my speech. The first few months, my hormones remained at bay. Sure, the Chandra monster would raise its ugly little head occasionally. She'd snap at a few people, give the hubby a dirty look, and then go back into hibernation. Totally manageable with quick recovery. Lately, though, HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. Sometimes I feel like pure evil. And admittedly, sometimes I like it. I say things that I've always wanted to say, but never previously had the cahongas to say. Take this morning for example. I was on the phone with a customer service rep for one of my credit cards. I told the woman she was incompetent - seriously, I literally told her she was incompetent. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. God bless her if it was her first day, but she was being obnoxious and not doing her job and I told her just that. For reasons like this occurance, my hubby has done his best to prevent me from interacting with the public. AT ALL POSSIBLE. Apparently, hormonal Chandra feels it is her civic duty to seek out those who cannot do their job at peak performance levels and tell them what a failure they are.

However, as with most things, there are two sides to this sword. Sometimes I feel awful when my mouth or body language reacts without my permission. Most of the time, this involves me snapping at my innocent husband. It's happened more often that I'd ever imagined, and I've learned to do something that I've always dreaded. Swallowing my pride and apologizing. OFTEN. I've never been a fan of such. But evil Chandra makes it impossible to avoid. Too bad we're only about 1/2 way through this roller coaster ride. God love him for sticking with me.

On a completely different note, we move into our new house THIS FRIDAY!!! Over Thanksgiving holiday, we received an offer on our current house that we absolutely could not refuse - they were offering EXACTLY what we had the house listed for (i.e. no obnoxious and stressful price negotiations). There were only 2 catches - they needed our help with the closing costs, and they wanted to close December 12th (which at the time gave us TWO WEEKS). Without hesitation we said DONE and DONE. With some frantic phone calls and a little pressure on our construction manager, we seemed to have pulled it off. Both our current house and our newly constructed house will be closed on Friday. Details are still being worked out with the lenders, and our new home is getting its finishing touches as we speak. So it's not a done deal YET, but we're thisclose. When I tell you that we are excited, it's probably the biggest understatement of the century. To move to a brand new house that Kevin and I designed from the framework up, not to mention the fact that we'll be back in SPRING - just minutes away from my family and our best friends - is such an amazing feeling. I just hope nothing falls through. At this point, I don't think we'd allow anything to fall through. I'll be sure to post pictures once we're in!