Champion Arty Come Lately
April 24, 1994 - April 2, 2009

After Abracadabra died Mid-November, Ladybug seemed to skip over grief and never turned back to miss her sister. She hung out contentedly with Arty--through his failing health, as he visibly weakened daily from not eating. She didn't seem to notice when he couldn't walk anymore.

Earlier that day I had called the veterinarian to bring Arty in to put him down to sleep. "You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning at 7:45", met my request. I knew, with only a Mother's knowing, that the time was NOW and tomorrow would be too late. As it turned out it was not only too late but too long.

Mid-afternoon, I came around the corner of the bedroom and found Arty sprawled on the floor with each of his feet going in one of the four directions. He had taken his last steps. I gently lifted him and laid him in his dog bed. Shortly after, as I lay on the floor, rolled on my side petting him, he had his first convulsion.

I immediately jumped into "HELP" mode, totally ignoring my feelings of inadequacy and my ignorance of what to do. The convulsions were mild at first, although I didn't know that at the time. It was only later, after I had stayed up with him all night, I realized that those early ones had been mild.

Arty had my heart. He was the "most beautiful dog I have ever seen", my sister would say. I leaned that way in my own biased thinking. He had been my dear friend from the moment I first laid eyes on him and our friendship grew stronger each year of the twelve we spent together. We understood and respected each others' need for unconditional love. I don't feel he was ever once disappointed in my humanness and I felt deep pride in watching him become more and more of a dog. In his later years, he actually became a full-fledged canine and he was happy.

I can still see him running full-out across the wide green expanse of the park we frequented in our early years together. He was a picture of Grace. Balance. Joy. Even then, Hobbit's vision blurred and Arty stepped right in to guide her, even on their park runs. After a long-enough run he gently brought her back to me. He was by her side day and night and when she died, he sank into a deep grief that lasted a good four years. Her absence broke his heart.

It was when we moved across the country that he began come out of himself and notice his Tibbie sisters and me. The introverted perspective gave way to the world again and he began to enjoy life again. Like the sunshine part of the country we now call "home" he warmed up from the inside out. It was like having the old Arty back, new and better than ever.

I wonder, even now, if it was our strong attachment to each other that created our last awful night together so we could let go? It made the break clean. Necessary. Final. We acted out our entire relationship in that one last precious, tedious, nightmare night.

Ladybug, who I believe always thought wanted to be an only dog, mirrors my grieving now. I see it in her eyes and in her wandering aimlessly through the house looking for something that is no longer here. Arty's absence is more difficult that his death was, for me. So, we wait for our hearts to heal, knowing another Tibetan Spaniel is waiting for us to be swooped up into our lives. Into our hearts. Into our forever home.