We said goodbye to Rigby, our faithful companion of nearly a decade, this past Monday. When I came into the kitchen Monday morning, I saw that he’d been terribly sick and appeared to be shaking. Closer examination quickly showed that he’d had a stroke and was having mini seizures. He wasn’t in pain and didn’t appear to be distressed (other than by the sick-up all over the floor, which I quickly told him was okay).
We spent the day loving him up, filling him with the goodness that he shared unstintingly with us for all these years, with the understanding that at the end of the day we would take him to the vet to be put to sleep. We wanted his transition to be marked by love, for him to be so filled up with our love that he could greet whatever comes next with a heart of joy.
Rigby was a friend that I first met at the Midden-Hollands Dierenasiel, the animal shelter I volunteered at in Gouda. Already placed four times in his two years, he’d been abused and also bounced from shelter to shelter. It was expected that he would be euthanized because his Rottweiler looks were so dominant that not only were people reluctant to consider him, but shelter staff also felt he might not be trustworthy. One look at him, though, and I knew otherwise. It took some strong-arming and stubbornness, but we eventually came home with him. Rigby accompanied me to work, took vacations with us, and flew from Holland to Maine to stay with us when we moved.
(To see the blogpost of Rigby’s first official day with us, go here.)