Stella's Last Good Swim, August, 2012.
Today is Stella's last day on this Planet she called home for over 12 years. It is going to be one of the most difficult days of my life ... And so yesterday, I took her home again. Back one last time to visit our old house in Bolinas, to walk down through the yard and onto "Jack's Path," to meander over the stone bridges, past the wooden benches and wild flowers and around the bend to Agate Beach ...
Stella never was the same after the death last August of her best buddy Macaroni. At first, for months and months and months, we treated her symptoms (separation anxiety and horrific anxiety attacks which escalated at night, characterized by excessive panting, pacing, and often an inability to find any comfort until daybreak) as if they were signs of grief. But early this summer, we changed vets and Cushing's was confirmed.
The 'thinking' bench just before beach along Jack's Path. Agate Beach, Bolinas, CA. 9/16.
None of the treatments worked. And continuing to administer a toxic med to kill off layers of her Adrenal glands was just inhumane. I tried until she told me in no uncertain terms Friday night, her eyes closed, her white muzzle resting in the palms of my hands: ENOUGH.
Imagine growing up in paradise? There is no place like home. We walked this path, played on this path, so often the environs are infused with memories. Alive, unchanged. Throbbing with emotion and timelessness.
So I stopped all treatment and she spent her last two days peacefully. Saying goodbye to friends. And places. And going home.
Bridge to the "Enchanted Forest." Behind our house. Agate Beach, Bolinas, Ca. September 16, 2012
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Yesterday, we take our last trip together back to West Marin, her first and only true home. And, as usual, the moment we make the turn onto Panoramic Highway, she sits up and sticks her nose out the window. The nose knows.
Stella heading down from the porch of our old house to walk through the yard and onto the enchanted path leading to Agate Beach. September 16, 2012.
We reach Stinson and the tennis ball is already in her mouth, her tail wagging, as we head out to her favorite slip of sand for a few last sets of fetch. A younger dog runs away with her ball after just a few fetches, heading delighted down to the public and crowded section of the beach.
"Bet that's not what you had in mind," says a woman passing by. And, admittedly, I feel robbed. To have driven so far. To have her cheated out of her last game. To have been humiliated on her own turf, something that NEVER would have happened when Stella was in her prime.
I try to push these negative thoughts from my mind and soon enough, as if on autopilot, Stella turns and heads back towards the Calles where her best old buddy Vinnie once lived. She turns into his house's entryway as if it were yesterday. A handyman, standing near the trashcans in front, says he remembers Vinnie and he pets Stella's nose.
Then a voice behind me: "Hey, here's that ball." It is the woman from the beach. She had found the dog, retrieved the ball and returned it to us.
Our old home in Bolinas. It's brown now and a story taller than when we lived there. Today's 'owners' can actually see the beach from their bedroom.
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We head back onto Highway 1 to Bolinas, to visit her home, to walk down the path beneath our old home to Agate Beach. The folks who bought the house from us are NEVER there. It's just a vacation home for them.
Walking along the path to Agate Beach. September 16, 2012.
But this is where the souls of all my family remain forever -- my daughter, my ex-husband and the bodies of three of our pets whose ashes are buried beneath the trees alongside Bobo's decaying dog house.
Passing over one of the bridges along path from house to Agate Beach. September 16, 2012.