TW: death of dog, grief

Buzz was put down today. We'd known it was coming for a long time - he'd been rescued from a kill shelter (where he'd been sent for aggression), then lived with a trainer for several months before we adopted him. We knew there was a risk of him reoffending, but saw no sign of it for the first few months. Then he attacked two of our kids' friends, and we started looking for a new home for him.  We found nobody. Then he started guarding me, protecting me from my own kids and Eevee, and it was too dangerous to wait any longer. But we still waited, and he grew more and more aggressive.

This week he really ramped up the guarding and lunging and we knew it was too risky to wait any longer. I spoke with the vet and we decided today would be the day.  I kept the kids home from school so we could have one last glorious truly happy day with him.

We fed him meatballs for breakfast, and Vava and Pascal and I bundled up to take him and Eevee for a walk in their favourite woods. After that, we planned go come home, get the other 2 kids, and take the dogs to the drive thru for puppaccinos, before giving Buzz his chill meds, having one final cuddle, and taking him to the vet.

The woods were so beautiful it hurt. We found a clearing and unleashed the dogs to romp. I took pictures of the kids. The dogs ran in and out of our sight, but stayed nearby.

Then Eevee came back, and Buzz didn't. He kept barking an urgent call, three short loud barks followed by a higher pitched yelp. It didn't sound like pain, exactly, but something was off. I shook the treats in vain - nothing was luring that dog away from wherever he was. 

So we braved the branches and got as close as we could, and saw that he had treed something - something biggish, and trembling - and then we saw Buzz's face.

He hadn't just treed the porcupine, he had taken a bite of it too. He looked like some sort of horror movie monster, forepaw and muzzle all a-snarl with quills.

He did not want to leave his porcupine, but when he saw us coming after him he limped in our direction. I tried to carry him but it just made him overflow with fear. So I called the vet, who told us to bring him in and they would move up his euthanasia.

He did so well, walking to the van. He didn't cry or howl, just wobbled along on three paws and occasionally stopped to paw at the quills.

We video-called Sam and Kachi so they could say goodbye, and then we drove to the vet. The kids stayed in the van with Eevee while I took Buzz in. 

I held him while he received his injections, and he laid his head in my lap while his heartbeat slowed and then stopped. His body remained, but he was gone.

I went outside and asked the kids if they wanted to say goodbye, and they did, and we brought Eevee with us too. We all trooped in and they asked me questions while Eevee walked around the room and sniffed. 

And then we went outside to discover that Pascal had been playing with the van's locks and the keys were locked inside.

The porcupine, the euthanasia, and now the locked van. We cried while we waited for the tow truck.

It was a grey and tearful afternoon.

Tonight, though, when we were going out for groceries, Vava and I ran into her teacher.

"I'm going home to light a candle on my -" he prompted.

"Menorah!" Vava filled in. And she told me about Hanukkah as we loaded the groceries into the van and drove home.

And on this sad and hard day, it was very strengthening to be reminded of the miracle of light: one day's worth of oil that burned for eight days. Hope, and comfort, and God's care. 

I needed that.

I pray for the same for my kids as we grieve. For inexplicable light in the dark, and for God's comfort in sorrow, far beyond what we expect. 

And for you, too - may his light shine in your darkness, for days and days after your own has gone out.

Happy Hanukkah, friends. 

Xo.

PS did you know Jesus celebrated Hanukkah in Jerusalem? Check out John chapter 10, verse 22.