The adage, when it rains it pours, rings true today. In Portland, where heavy drops of rain have pummeled my head all day, it is a literal truth. In life, it seems to follow as well. While my sister was on the phone with her doctor, getting the news of her breast cancer, her elderly English Cocker Spaniel collapsed on the wood floor in a pool of urine. When is enough, enough? She mused, excusing herself from the conversation to scoop Tierney into her arms, clean her off with a towel and set her safely on the carpet.
Approaching fourteen years of age, Tierney suffered from mysterious episodes of collapse and confusion. Seizures, strokes, and minor heart attacks could be neither definitively ruled in or out. Beset by congestive heart failure, her overworked cardiovascular system was helped by a diuretic and cardiac medicine. Another drug for cognitive function, along with good food and antioxidants, kept a spark in Tierney's eyes most days. Still, more and more frequently, Joan – or me or my mom – would find Tierney stuck on the wood floor, swimming all four legs in a losing attempt to regain her footing.
Day before yesterday, I got a call from my sister. "Well," she said, "Tierney has gone missing – just missing." She searched every closet, under every bed, every nook and cranny – no sign at all of Tierney. In her youth,Tierney hiked every mountain trail with the gusto and stamina of a big dog and she exerted power over each of Joan's German Shepherds. But in the last year she had become weak and vulnerable, and the nearness of the coyotes sprang to both our minds immediately; a little old disoriented English Cocker would be little more than a snack. Helpless to do anything useful, I wished Joan good luck and our family here all said a prayer to St. Anthony – the patron saint of lost and stolen articles and travelers.
The next day, a Good Samaritan who had found Tierney confused and stumbling by the side of the road, turned her in to the Missoula Humane Society. By the time Joan was able to get there, the light was fading and the spark was gone from Tierney's eyes.
"It was her time," Joan said bravely.
"I'm glad the coyotes didn't get her, and that you have closure. I know it was her time, still, I'm so sorry for your loss."
Tierney used to lord it over all the big dogs. She had Nicholai watching her out of the corners of his eyes, and cowering under furniture in the initial years of their "cousin-hood." She was never quite an actual dog – more a Princess to be doted on by humans and a Queen to be honored and obeyed by mere mortal dogs.
We all knew Tierney's days were numbered. Still, the aching sadness that comes on the very last day cannot be rationalized away. The Princess is no more, and she will be missed.
Goodnight, sweet Princess.
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