Sweet Bea

A few weeks ago, we learned some sad news about our beagle.  We had noticed that she wasn't quite catching food when we'd throw it to her and she was acting quite tentative around even familiar surroundings.  After our last trip to the cabin, though, it really started to get bad.  She started running into things or freezing around objects that she couldn't smell.  I took her in to the vet and explained what was going on.  He was able to see that the retinas were detached and doubted that there would be much that we could do to restore sight at that point, but sent us to a specialist, who measured the pressure in her eyes and confirmed that she had glaucoma.

As the specialist started telling me about our options, really only three, and all very extreme, it hit me that I was not prepared for this experience.  It was an emotional day.  I called TEC at work.  We cried some.  I longed to talk to my mom, who I knew would be able to relate to tough decisions about pets.  She was out of town at the time, but I was able to talk to her eventually and it did help.  I wondered why we do this--why we allow animals into our homes and hearts when we know that ultimately, we have to see them as just that: the pet.  How a creature can be part of our family, and yet, stand behind some imaginary line defining what we can realistically do for them.  And at the same time, I was comforted as I thought about how animals teach us to slow down and take time for simple yet still important things.  They help our hearts learn how to hold on to something and how to let go when we need to--in a way that we can't learn in our human relationships.  They remind us about the cycle of life, even as it hurts a bit.

We have since had the chance to give a treatment a try that may reduce the pressure in Bea's eyes, hopefully to a point that would make her comfortable.  She's also been on some medication for pain.  It's hard to know how things are going; we take her in tomorrow to see if the treatment is doing what it's supposed to.  She's pretty mellow these days.  She's still managed to sneak out of the yard a couple of times these past couple of weeks, which has always been her thing, and wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't blind.  Most of the time, she sleeps.  She comes when we call her--usually to get her "peanut butter" (medicine)--and lets us scratch her ears and pet her.  The kids, SCC and CAC mostly, sing to her some.  She's always in our prayers.

TEC's dad gave me some comfort when he reminded us, back when we thought some options were more imminent than others, that Bea has been lucky to be a part our family; she's lived out some great dog adventures in her life.  We've talked a lot about what would make Bea's list of favorites from her life.  Somewhere at the top would definitely be running around with the sledders and snowmobiles up at the cabin.  We're glad we were able to get her up there this Christmas--she had a blast, even if she wasn't seeing it all.

She got to live in Texas with us.  Even back then, she loved to get out of the yard.

She's been on some good runs with me.  Most of the time it was Bea setting the pace and pulling me up the hill.

She's seen three kids join our family and she's been super gentle with all of them.

She's had some great play dates with her cousins Belle and, more recently, Bentley.

She's made instant friends with anyone who is willing to pet her.

She's developed the ability to sense when any person with the last name Cundick is coming to pay us a visit.

She's gotten away with extra meals--both from food we've forgotten on the table and from when more than one of us has filled her food bowl for the day without knowing.

She's explored the entire neighborhood of Canyon Rim, maybe beyond.  Our neighbors may not know our names, but they all know Beatrice.