We will miss you. At a time when people all over the world are mourning the loss of family, human family, in this terrible pandemic, I hope I may be excused for writing a few words about this lovable, albeit needy and a bit crazy, red and white Irish setter who accompanied us for a little over nine years.
Maya was my walking companion, thus the name of this pretty much abandoned blog. I always maintained I got a dog for the kids, back when I could still call them kids rather than young women, but truth be told, I let myself be convinced to get a dog so I'd have company on my walks in the beautiful woods that surround us here in southeastern New York state. Maya was a great walker and seemed to live for our afternoon rambles. She would follow me around the house after I got home from work, letting me know I wasn't getting out of her sight until I fulfilled my part of the bargain.
Three weeks ago she got sick and we thought it might be a bladder inflection to which she was prone. Sadly, she had inoperable tumors on her liver. Our vet said she could live days or months, but we'd know when it was time.
Over these weeks she had good days and bad days. We knew by the bad days, when she just lay on the floor breathing heavily with her stomach bloated, that it wouldn't be long. Last Thursday, despite some down days earlier in the week, she seemed to get a burst of energy and enthusiasm and went on a long walk with her four best canine friends at her favorite walking spot, and even waded into the pond. Then she had a terrible Friday and Saturday, so much so that we thought she might slip away on her own. Still, she rallied a little bit yesterday and started following me around the house.
I had to go to the pharmacy, the only place I venture out to these days except to walk Maya, so I put her in the car and took her for a ride. It was raining and I didn't plan on walking her, but after picking up a prescription and driving around for a half an hour with her looking out the widow, I went to the waterfront on the Hudson River. I opened the door to see if she wanted to get out, and to my surprise, she did. Neither of us had our raincoats, but walk we did, in rain along the river shore. She even wanted to run after some geese and I had to grab her leash to keep her from trying to pick her way across the rocks to the floating fowl. It was a walk of less than half a mile and I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she was clearly tuckered out at the end.
This morning, though, if was clear she was suffering more than just the weakness and exhaustion she'd been having, and it seemed selfish to put her through that just to extract a few more days that were getting progressively worse.
I never understood that old adage "a man's best friend"—until now. Goodbye, Maya. I miss you already.
