(C) Daily Kos
This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered.
. . . . . . . . . .



Saying good-bye to Princess Sophie [1]

['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.']

Date: 2025-03-30

I have come to the conclusion I have to let go of her and let her go on her way. She no longer seems to be happy. She's 17, pretty much blind and deaf, and she's assuredly been in some degree of pain for awhile, pain being part and parcel of being the equivalent of 93, but until recently she was clearly happy.

I say clearly happy because when I came home from errands or dinners with friends, she'd immediately start yelling at me... as soon as she realized I had returned that is. She'd then follow me around, stand guard at the closet door as I changed, the bathroom door as I washed up, etc. She would pester me when she wanted something like food, to open the porch door so she could use the box to take care of business, a biscuit for having taken care of business, etc. She'd stand on the sofa look down at the steps, then over at me, down at them again, then me, until I finally got off my duff to help her down. She'd do that puggle groan, which is oddly similar to purring, whenever I pet her.

Now, she struggles to stand on the sofa as it gives to her weight and her back legs aren't steady enough to maintain balance. She stares off into space when confronted with a problem, looking at me only when she sees me move. She barely notices when I return home. It takes awhile for it to register when I pet her.

Basically, her awareness seems limited to knowing when she's hungry, and when she needs to take care of business, both of which only pose more challenges. In addition to struggling until she gets her legs back under her, her mental map has deteriorated. She'll wander a bit before she remembers where to go to take care of things.

It used to be when I put her down from the sofa, she'd do one of three things: bee-line to the back bathroom for either food or water, bee-line to the back porch to take care of business, or go for what Italians would call la passeggiata.

She'd stroll through the dining room along the left side of table, down the hall to the guest bathroom at the end where her food and water bowls used to be to sniff around the closed door. She'd then turn around, walk back down the hall, hang a right at the dining room into foyer past the kitchen on the left where she'd sniff about the front door cracks. She'd then walk through the kitchen into the living room passing to the left behind the sofa and onto the back porch where she'd walk around sniffing the air. Finally she'd walk back into the living room passing in front of the sofa stopping at the steps where she'd weigh doing another lap or calling it an evening. If it was the latter, she'd stare me down until I took the hint.

From my work space, I'd see her pass by the sofa every fifteen to twenty minutes or so. The last several evenings, however, it would occur to me that I hadn't seen her pass for an hour or so, nor did I hear her snoring on the sofa. Puggles snore by the way.

I'd panic thinking she had finally given up the ghost, only to find her stuck under a dining room chair, facing a corner, or in some similar jam. She goes off course, takes a wrong turn, forgets which side of the dining room table she's on, etc. She no longer has the leg strength to crouch or walk backwards to extricate herself, so she just stands there helpless. She either doesn't remember or have the energy to yell for help.

The other day I came home to find her in the foyer stuck under a dining room chair she'd evidently carried there on her back. I had left it pulled out from the end towards the hallway. I guess she got turned around coming back from the guest bathroom, hung a left, and when she corrected, walked under the pulled chair. I have no idea how long she was stuck there like that.

Bottom line is she and I have both been happy to put up with the additional burdens of her age related infirmities, and mishaps for years. Now I just don't think she's happy with them anymore, and it would be selfish of me not to let go of her at this point.

She's been a faithful companion with that mysterious dog sense that I imagine inspires books like The Art of Racing in the Rain, and not just for me. As I mentioned in a previous diary, Sophie wasn't always mine. She was mine for several years after I inherited her from my niece. Then she became my mother's for several years. My mother had a series of injuries that gradually stole her mobility and her mind. She fell in love with Sophie long before then, so Sophie moved in with my folks to keep her company.

Whenever she took a shower, Sophie would lie down across the door, head up looking out. When she went to bed, Sophie would lie down across the door, semper paratus. Whenever my mother sat on the couch, Sophie sat on her lap, next to her or on overwatch lounging behind her on the sofa back like she was part cat.

So tomorrow, as absurd as it may seem, I will put Sophie in the little red wagon I've used to take her out for walks as of late, and take her by my mother's grave. Then I will take her to where she and I will go our separate ways.

And the musical coda…

[END]
---
[1] Url: https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2025/3/30/2313472/-Saying-good-bye-to-Sophie?pm_campaign=front_page&pm_source=trending&pm_medium=web

Published and (C) by Daily Kos
Content appears here under this condition or license: Site content may be used for any purpose without permission unless otherwise specified.

via Magical.Fish Gopher News Feeds:
gopher://magical.fish/1/feeds/news/dailykos/