I lost my sweet Sunny girl on Wed., May 22nd. I posted on Facebook so I know most of my readers already know but I wanted to write a little more in detail about my sweet pup as a tribute to her and our life together.

I adopted Sunny on 1/17/2010 from Furry Friends Rescue. They had her birthdate listed as 1/7/2009 and they were pretty accurate on her age. She was still a pup but full grown. At that time, my dog Angus was 14. I brought both of them to my parents’ place at the Meadows in Napa so my mom got to meet her too. Angus was not doing too well but I wanted to get him to Graniteville one more time. Sunny’s first visit to Graniteville was Angus’ last. I lost him on 5/13/2010. I lost my mom on 6/6/2010.

Bernie and I used to remark about how you could always tell it was Sunny’s first day in Graniteville. She would get so excited and suffused with energy each and every time we brought her.

She knew every trail by heart and would wait always for me at the same exact spot to see which way I planned to go. If I couldn’t find her, I’d know to find her in Norma Stone’s kitchen where she always got a treat. She also loved the Stone’s dog, Beggs, and the three of us made many trips to the swimming hole and on bike rides up Rattlesnake Road.

On her last visit in early May, that “first day in Graniteville” energy came back. We had one, last wonderful hike on the “loop” and I even had her off leash which I hadn’t done in a while because of her deafness. She chomped on snow and napped in the grass. When I went to the basement, she stood at the top of the stairs and waited for her treat, something I taught her to keep her from following me down every time.

This past Monday I loaded up the car and put her in her crate, hoping to take her to Graniteville for what I thought was her last time. Just past Berkeley, she started to cry and whine in what sounded like pain. She’d never done that before. I turned around and brought her home. I had already spoken to the vet about the inevitability of Sunny’s world getting smaller to the point where her quality of life was suffering, and she sent me a list of in-home euthanasia services. I contacted one and made an appointment for Wed.

Tuesday was Sunny’s and my last full day together and I made the most of it. She was able to complete our usual morning walk. Part of her cognitive decline that has gone on for more than a year is that she has been obsessively focused on food, especially between 4-7pm. To the point where she would tear up the garbage and cardboard boxes left on the ground, behaviors she never showed before. Her anxiety was obvious from her panting and circling. I found out from the vet and others that this can happen to older dogs.

But on this, her last day, she got lots of cuddles and kisses and all the treats her heart desired. I opened bags of them and emptied them and she gobbled them all up. We stayed together all day, her mostly snoozing right by my side. I took her outside, just the two of us, for our usual 2pm walk. She took a few steps and looked up at me as if to say, “Not today.” It broke my heart, but I took her back.

That night, after her regular dinner, she got a full New York Steak and then a raw bone filled with marrow. She ate and ate and ate, tail wagging. At bedtime we did our usual ritual where she ran into her crate and got a piece of kibble, and then to her bed in the corner of the office where she laid down and I gave her a handful of kibble. I took off her collar and she got more hugs and kisses. She always slept in the office but that night, her last with me, she came into my room and curled up on the rug at the foot of my bed. I heard her stir in the middle of the night and was so glad she stayed close.

The next morning, Wed., we did our usual morning walk. When we got back, at the bottom of the driveway, she stopped and looked up at me. Joy of joys, I could tell she wanted to play the game that we had done for many years, but we hadn’t done for a while. I unclipped her leash and she waited. I said, “GO!” and she took off like the young dog she once was, racing up the driveway, over the breezeway and up the front door where she met me, wagging her tail with and smiling her doggy grin. I’m writing this through tears, remembering that last time.

Her last moments were peaceful, laying in her bed in the office, eating a few last bites of New York steak. Lots more hugs and kisses and then freedom from pain. It was very peaceful.

Driving up to Graniteville where I am now was hard, the first time without Sunny. I kept looking in the rear view mirror for her crate, but it wasn’t there. Just like with Bernie, all my “firsts” with Sunny are going to be hard. Fifteen years is a good, long life for a dog and Sunny had a good, long life.

This morning, I went down to the basement. Coming up the stairs, I looked up and Chica was standing there, licking her lips and waiting for me. On her one and only trip with Sunny, she learned what I trained Sunny to do. Thank you, Sunny. Good dog.