How lucky I am to have had something
that makes saying goodbye so hard.
*Winnie the Pooh*
We said goodbye to our girl on Valentine's Day - and somehow that seemed fitting. Because Kizzie was all heart. Gentle, sweet, loving - that was our girl. She was the epitome of love. 💝
Her name was Kismet because we felt meeting her was meant to be. It was... kismet. That was a rather formal name for such a little dog, so she quickly became Kizzie.
Kizzie wasn't a huge fan of cold and snow and in the later years when I opened the door to snow she would turn right around and go back in the house. However, in warmer weather she loved a nice stroll in the park.
Her name was Kismet because we felt meeting her was meant to be. It was... kismet. That was a rather formal name for such a little dog, so she quickly became Kizzie.
It didn't take long for her to learn that in her new home she would have a camera in her face about 50 times a day. She was known for her Mohawk hair style and her expressive ears. She became quite astute at turning away (or running away) when she saw the lens coming at her. So I learned to snap quickly.
She tolerated dress-up for picture day now and then, especially at Halloween and Christmas time.
Six months with Kizzie and we decided she was such an easy going dog - this was so easy! - that she needed a brother. His name is Koko and he was about the same age as Kizzie - 6 years old. He has a lot of energy...
And he could be a little annoying sometimes.
But all in all, he was a pretty good pal.
They tolerated Christmas photos - complete with costumes.
On March 17, 2017 (St. Patrick's Day - apparently Kizzie had a thing for bad news on holidays) she was diagnosed with an enlarged heart and we were rushed off to Animal Emergency. When the final diagnosis came in we learned she has tricuspid valve dysplasia and severe pulmonary hypertension. In layman's terms - a bad heart and very bad lungs. For the next two years she would undergo countless echocardiograms, ultra sounds, x-rays and twice sported a Holter Monitor. That little vest had electrodes hooked to her chest and for 24 hours everything related to her heart was recorded. It was uncomfortable but she wore it like the trooper that she was.
In fact, she was a trooper thru all of the procedures and endured taking up to 9 medications, three times a day.
In November of 2019 a mass was discovered on her spleen. It would be tricky to do any further procedures. If her spleen were aspirated to learn what was going on with that mass and she started to bleed out, immediate surgery would be required. We felt she could not survive surgery. So being fully informed and with support from her medical team, we chose, other than her daily medications, to not proceed with any further treatment. She had been thru enough.
From there we felt like she was in hospice mode. We saw a decline in her weight, appetite and energy level. I baked chicken for her and wrapped her meds in Velveeta cheese (after trying many, many methods of medication delivery). Her walks became fewer, her little furry face was white with age and she spent a lot of time sleeping. We carried her to bed and she slept with us every night.
I didn't know when I snapped this photo of Kizzie that 24 hours later she would be gone. I think she knew, though. That day, February 13, she followed me everywhere - up and down the stairs, from one room to another. And when I sat still her eyes were always on me. I recall even asking her, "Kizzie, what are you trying to tell me?"
Fast forward to the next morning - the morning I found her stuck in a corner not knowing how to get out - that I started suspecting this could be a bad day. She wasn't interested in breakfast or taking her meds. This had happened before and usually if I waited for her to act in her own time she would eventually eat.
As the day progressed, however, I realized this wasn't going to be one of those times. She was unsteady on her feet, she kept getting stuck in corners. My heart sank now knowing what she had been telling me. She wanted to let go. She needed me to tell her it was ok to go.
I swooped her up and lay on the couch with her for a better part of the afternoon, her little limp head resting on my shoulder. We both dozed off. By the time Charlie came home and spent an hour with her, we both agreed - she's not going to make it thru the night.
Cradled in my arms, wrapped in the "goodbye blanket," surrounded by so many who loved her, Kizzie quietly and gently drew her last breath.
How blessed we were to have known her. What an honor to have been chosen to be her caretakers. She will always be a part of us.
Her name was Kismet. And she was ours.
I carry your heart with me.
I carry your heart in my heart.
*ee cummings*
