Jenna's Ashes

We spread Jenna's ashes at her favourite dog park tonight. She's with Harlem now, out under the sun where she belongs. She always loved the change in the weather in the fall, so we thought this was the best time to do it.

It's amazing how the hole they left is still so painful. It has been almost 5 months since we've become dogless, and sometimes we still go to the dog park just because we miss being there. But it's not time yet. We aren't ready for a new dog, because we still spend too much time remembering our old ones. The tendency to make comparisons would be too strong, and a new puppy has to be allowed to be a different dog, if that makes sense. But we'll get there, eventually.

Chemo Week #22

Whew! Have I been negligent! I just changed jobs, and in all that hubbub, I ignored Jenna's blog. First thing's first: Jenna the Tank is still bashing through chemo without slowing down. Since I last blogged, she's had 2 treatments and continues to have no adverse effects. We have 2 more treatments left, and then as long as she stays in remission, we only have to go to the vet for monthly checkups. Going to the vet once a month feels like an outlandish fantasy right now, but with things going the way they are, it just might come true.

I guess we must be starting to look tattered and gaunt, because the vet charged us $12 for chemo this week. Thus, hubby took our car to a mechanic today, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that it doesn't need as much work as we thought it did. (Well, he thought it did. I don't fix cars. I just drive them until the wheels fall off. But still, yay!)

February 4th was the 1-year anniversary of Harlem's death. I can't believe a year has gone by already. I don't think I miss him any less; I guess it's just that the edges aren't as jagged and raw anymore. Mostly I can think of him without crying, as long as I don't think too hard. But I miss him all the time. I think about him every day, and I still talk about him a lot. I can't remember the smell on the side of his nose exactly, but I remember the exact feeling of his silky ears and the weight of him leaning on my legs, and the way he would hop on the spot with his toes spread out when you asked him if he wanted to go for a walk.

I think I will always miss him, but I'm glad to know that my memories of him won't fade with time. And as silly as it probably is, I do feel like he's out there, at the dog park where I spread his ashes - in the grass that will come up in spring, and the trees that will bud, and the wildflowers that will grow by the riverbank. We're all made of the same recycled, billion year old carbon, right?

Remembering Harlem

Although this blog is Jenna's, I want to write a post about my Labrador, Harlem, because I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I got Har when I was 16 years old. We grew up together. I took him with me when I went to university and moved out on my own, so we were together for his whole life.

Harlem was one of those dogs who you find once in a lifetime. He was a sweetheart and a gentleman, but he seemed to know when to pretend he wasn't. He was a tall, rangy, solid black, 95-pound gigantor of a dog, and he had an enormous, booming bark that he only rarely employed.

My big dog was well behaved, well adjusted, sweet, cuddly, intelligent, and eager to please. He loved cats. He loved to swim. He loved the sunshine. He brought a lot of sunshine to my life, especially in the darkest times. He was a leaner and a hugger and a magnificent bed-hog. I loved him like a son.

He died of cancer on February 4th, 2008, just 2 months before his 10th birthday. He had histiocytic sarcoma - a rare type of cancer. It spread through his body with incredible speed. It was less than a month from diagnosis to the end of his life. I didn't do chemo for him. The vets did not have very positive things to say about the treatability of this type of cancer. Reported survival times, even with chemo, were still poor. At the time, I decided that putting him through chemo wasn't worth the suffering it would cause him for the off chance that it might buy him a month or two. But now that I see how great Jenna's doing, how the chemo has basically given her back her health, I wonder if I made the right decision with Harlem. Even if it didn't buy him much time, what if chemo would've made him feel better, as it has for Jenna? Back then, I envisioned vomiting, lethargy, and anorexia. I didn't know it could be like this.

These are self-torturing thoughts, of course, and they won't do me any good. And I feel guilty about being sad about this when Jenna is doing so wonderfully. But I can't make these thoughts vanish, and in quiet moments, they sneak up on me even though I am trying to ignore them.