(Edited: The Journey to Joy) Farewell, sweet Ada

If you thought I looked bad in the last post...oh baby, you ain't seen nothing yet. 

Two months have passed between the writing of these two blogs. 

Brad and I were delighted with the addition of our little Ada...the life she brought to our home...the spark that her presence brought to our conversations...our common goal and purpose as Brad and I worked, in partnership, to play with and train our little girl.

We had forgotten that puppies are hard work. Ada honed in on bare toes like they were Buffalo wings. Kennel training did not come easily to a puppy newly separated from her siblings. Brad slept several nights on the floor by her crate to ease her fear. 

New to this breed, we discovered the "spring" in English Springer Spaniel and we would laugh each time she pounced during our laps around the field. She stayed close, tripping me up often as we walked. I looked forward to her soft-furred feet pawing at the wood frame of my bed after her morning potty as she would wait to be picked up for some under-the-cover cuddles. 

We'd had her for six days and were completely in love.

Normally, I would have been obnoxiously broadcasting my news on my blog but I had made a commitment to dog-sit for a friend who would not have wanted to inconvenience us given our new arrival so we kept Ada's presence quiet. Which, oddly, saved me some, in retrospect.

Saved me from having to tell people how we, after six days, lost our dear little friend.

Brad was out mowing the lawn. I was in the living room, in the process of blowing up enough balloons to fill the interior of the car we were going to leave at the airport for the kids who were due in the next day for the 4th of July. Suddenly, Ada began crying out from the bathroom. I rushed to her, seeing that she'd wedged herself behind the back of the toilet and the wall. I carefully dislodged her and carried her outside, setting her on the grass. She wobbled a bit then lunged beneath our lilac tree. I pulled her out again but now she was shrieking. I flagged my husband who immediately leaped off the mower to get to me in my panic. He pulled her from my arms, set her down again carefully, and watched with alarm as she lost her balance. He ran for the keys to the van as I bundled her up.

I had known, while in a much-more rational mind, that our local veterinary clinic no longer accepted emergency cases. The reality of this decision did not hit us until we were rushing an animal in dire straits to them and were re-directed to another clinic an hour away with, what we then realized, a dying puppy. In retrospect, I don't believe our traumatic ending would have changed, and I am still a loyal client to our local clinic that has provided kind, professional, and compassionate service to our family for over 40 years. But I won't lie...I would feel a LOT better if we were closer to an emergency care facility that knows our family.

I will spare you the hour-long ride. It did give me perspective later to give grace for the story behind the interior of each vehicle on the road. New driver. Old driver. Fighting couple. Lost job. Bills piling up. Worries about kids...aging parents. Dying puppy.

I will spare you the vet visit. The staff at the clinic were excellent. I rattled off every toxin in and around my house and they set to work addressing a possible poisoning. But Ada did not respond to this treatment. The staff returned and asked for more details. I mentioned the shrieking. I described how she'd stretched out, extending her neck during the drive. Now they were focusing on seizures. Apparently, Idiopathic epilepsy is common to the breed.

But it was too late.

It was a much slower drive home.

We buried our little girl.

It was a terrible, terrible accident but we were consumed with grief and guilt, certain that we'd caused it, searching the house with a fine-toothed comb. 

Brad was done. Now was not our time for a dog.

I was fueled to somehow "fix" this for him, knowing if we didn't act now, we could go another two years in a grief-fueled, canine-less coma. I alerted the breeder to ask if she could provide one of Ada's siblings as a "replacement" (How ridiculous to think that Ada could be "replaced".). She understandably wanted her vet to consult with the clinic and review the paperwork which I immediately arranged. The vet report had included the list of possible toxins that I had hysterically shared when we arrived at the clinic. Ultimately, the breeder blamed us. I was not interested in a monetary refund. Those six days had been worth every cent we'd paid for the privilege of having Ada in our lives, even for that short a time. I'd failed Ada and failed my husband. 

Our house was empty again. Conversations limited. We were so very sad.

Surreptitiously, after a few weeks, I began to research. Brad immediately called me out...he was not at all interested in a Springer at this moment. But...if I wanted to look at a dachshund...