Whenever I can't sleep I count down to zero from one-hundred. It focuses my mind on the next number, rather than what's keeping me awake. Tonight, my mind is acknowledging a sad reality -- Bailey, our miniature schnauzer is dying.
The doctor informed us yesterday that her kidneys are failing, and we had agreed that the best thing to do was to put her down -- the long sleep, he had called it -- Saturday morning. It's the fear all pet owners dread, hitting you in the pit of your stomach like a body blow from Mike Tyson. Your mind struggles to comprehend life without the daily intrusions that remind you to slow down and appreciate the little things that really matter in life. A greeting at the door, a lap to rest one's head on, and watchful eyes that never wander when you are feeling ill.
A struggle with a minor stomach issue delayed her arrival to our house until May, when she showed up at the bottom of our front steps. Her little ears barely reached the first step, but with a little help, she mounted those steps and into our house and more importantly into our lives.
We had decided on naming her Bailey, after discussing it at length with the family. Picking a name was something new. We had bought our first schnauzer from a family who could no longer keep her, so she came to us four years old with a name intact. I don't remember why we chose the name, but it seems today like it was a good name for a fun, excitable and caring pet.
"75, 74, 73, 72 ... 71"
I am struggling to maintain my count, as my mind refuses to slow down. I had agreed to sleep in a neighboring bedroom so Bailey could sleep with Liz one last time. From the bed, I could hear Bailey's labored breathing, slow but steady. In a selfish moment, I wished for Bailey to die next to Liz, where she would feel safe and loved. Later, I found out the Liz was wishing the same. But her breathing continued. She always slept noisily, perhaps from the long, bearded foreface and muzzle, bred through the generations to locate rats and vermin on family farms.
The name schnauzer comes from the German word muzzle. The breed features a unique mustache and beard, with big bushy eyebrows. We always joked about Bailey's beard the first time we saw her. It looked like a firecracker had exploded in her face because the beard hadn't fully grown out yet. So the short hairs would grow out to the sides, up and down. Today, those long hairs are perfectly layered, but tinged with a mature silver and grey.
As a rule, schnauzers are not fighters, but they will stand up for themselves if needed. The female is stubborn, will dominate smaller dogs and fiercely stand her ground. During World War I, they were used to carry dispatches and aid red cross workers. They were also used in Germany for police work. They are seldom addicted to wandering, they love their family and home and are very good as a guard dog alarm.
Bailey was true to her breed as she always seemed most comfortable in the back yard or in the house, lying on the couch watching and waiting. Her barking was incessant -- unbreakable by training or punishment. Ask any young child walking to school, or couple walking their dog who made the innocent mistake of wandering within her view or hearing. Her curiosity was on display during our daily walks when she would stick her nose into bushes or long grass, hoping to find some unsuspecting animal or candy wrapper.
"50, 49, 48, 47 ... 46."
Of course, it's not the same -- she's not the center of the universe, she doesn't think I am responsible for her happiness nor is she a drama queen. I know those are such stereotypical traits of teenage daughters, but I have to believe there is some truth to them. Liz may think she plays favorite to me -- she insists on sitting on my lap -- but I think it is because I have spent more time walking her, feeding her during lunch and staying up later in the evening with her. Nothing more.
It is impossible at a time like this not to let memories flood through your system. There are reminders everywhere. Her toy box near the piano. A picture in the bathroom for schnauzer candy bars. Her dog dishes in the kitchen. Her cushion in our bedroom. Her wool walking jacket hanging by the front door and her favorite resting spot beneath my feet when I'm writing my blog.
Liz and I laugh when we think of her younger years. Her aptitude to find a discarded pair of socks and run with them throughout the house. Her (temporary) like for Liz's brand new shoes and sandals which were quickly destroyed by her sharp tiny teeth. She would charge the back yard fence whenever someone would walk by. Her "ferocious" bark and jumping on the fence surely put the fear of God into those who didn't know how small and harmless she was.
When I first met Bailey I told her that she was the luckiest dog in the neighborhood. I told her she was lucky because she was going to get lots of walks. An earlier post, "My Mornings With Bailey," shows how true that was. I had estimated Baily and I would walk over 400 miles each year. In dog steps I figured it was 3,360,000 steps on Bailey's short little legs. I will miss out stops to bark at Willie and the Big Boys down the street.
I will never forget her rotational spin during our walks, trying to fool me so she could reach a tree on my side of the sidewalk. I never let her know she could just walk up to the tree if she wanted. But then again, if I let her stop at every tree on our walk I never would have accomplished anything else during my day. That earlier post mentioned how our walks around the neighborhood helped me discover our neighbors and the neighborhood in general. Like all pets, they enrich our lives and allow us to explore unknown places with the confidence of a trusty companion.
During her early years, our breeder wasn't happy with how her ears folded, so I remember going to a horse barn at the West Salem Fairgrounds to apply glue to her ear flaps. From what I can tell it helped one ear, but the other was stubborn and refused to lay flat. To this day, her left ear will flap in the wind, rotating like a radar dish, searching for whatever sound she can find.
Liz and I will always remember our times on the river. She was not a water dog. I leave those august claims for owners of American Water Spaniels and Labrador retrievers. But she did enjoy her time on the pontoon boat cruising the Mississippi River, resting her head on our legs, with the breeze blowing her beard and ears back.
Her exploits in the kitchen are legendary. At least to us. There was not a food that existed that she would eat. Her favorites were bananas and eggs. Until the end, she could have eaten one or more a day. It wasn't until she turned her nose to eggs in her food that we began to suspect something was wrong. And for the first time ever, she refused a piece of banana today. All of her eating didn't make her fat -- she was a muscular dog with legs that enjoyed pulling on a sock or her Ellie and George toys. Liz often referred to her having the build of a wart hog, as in the Lion King.
I am in tears when I think of how much weight she has lost, and her legs are barely strong enough to hold her upright when standing. She was unable to finish her last walk on Thursday, so we carried her home. But this is not a story of tears, but smiles, so enough of that.
"24, 23, 22, 21 ...20"
Our last night with Bailey came on a beautiful day, with the temperatures in the low seventies. A gentle breeze keeps us cool, but not cold. A good friend was retiring from La Crosse County and we had originally made plans to be "hanging up the spurs" with him and friends, but the morning's sad news meant we would have to reschedule our celebration for the following night. Instead, we went for a ride in the boat -- stopped at a sandbar upriver near the locks and dam near Dresbach, MN.
What better sendoff could there be?
There were boats coming and going, and sounds of people laughing (happy for the end of Wisconsin's state lockdown). The riverside parks were filled with cars and people waving. We watched eagles soar through the pale blue skies and discovered their nests perched amongst trees lining the river. The celebration of life, it's ebbs and flows, was on display everywhere we looked.
Through it all Bailey rested.
I notice the light coming from outside my bedroom window has lightened. There are touches of light filtering its way onto the trees lining the street. I can hear a mourning dove singing its sad song, announcing the start of another day. A day when the house will be quiet and missing daddy's little girl. I think, what are we going to do without you? Will the neighbors notice anything different? Will the mailman miss your barking? And the most painful question of all -- who will greet us at the end of the day by the back door?
With a final determination at sleep, I toss in bed to another position, and lay my head down as another tear runs down my cheek. Closing my eyes, I make a final countdown, hoping for a restful sleep that will not come.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1...."
