This week we said a tearful goodbye to a 119-year-old family member when our old dog Chelsey May left this world for what I pray is a better place. She was 17 in human years, as best we can figure. She was at least one but possibly two years old when we adopted her from the Sunshine Coast SPCA in 1999.
My husband and I had just moved to the Coast from Calgary for me to take the job at Coast Reporter, and while I loved the job and the area, I desperately missed the comfort of my family and friends in Alberta.
Chelsey filled my need for comfort from the moment I connected with her beautiful brown eyes at the shelter. While I would have called myself a cat person up until that point, Chelsey changed my perspective immediately. She had the ability to do that. I have several friends who were scared of dogs, some who were attacked as children, who overcame their fears and even adopted puppies of their own after meeting and falling in love with Chelsey May.
People always asked us what breed she was and my regular response was “an SPCA special” because she was a special mix that didn’t really match any textbook breed. She had the black, white and brown markings of a Bernese mountain dog, but her hair was short and she only stood about knee high.
She could run in her younger years like no dog I’d ever seen, reaching speeds of 40 km an hour on the back logging roads of Sechelt and Roberts Creek. When she’d finally tire out and slow to a trot, her tail would spin like a helicopter and I’d swear she was smiling.
Chelsey was our baby before we ever had kids. I call her our first fur baby and I loved her like a child in many ways, though somewhere along the line she surpassed me in age.
In the end, I was changing her diapers and helping her stand. She couldn’t go a day without her glucosamine or her arthritis would take over. Her eyesight was failing and her hearing was almost gone, although she could still pick out the shake of her kibble in the bag and the word “treat” no matter how casually mentioned.
She had developed an inoperable tumour on her hip that was causing her much discomfort and led to the need for diapers in her last weeks of life. Still, it was hard to let her go. She was my fur baby, my little love, and I couldn’t imagine a day without her.
In the end it seemed selfish to keep her alive and suffering, so I made the agonizing call to the vet and they came to the house to help my Chelsey May pass.
Now I envision her running again in fields and forests and smiling contentedly with her helicopter tail whipping around while she waits for me to join her. Until we meet again, sweet love.
