Caution: This might be hard to read. I had to tell the story though. Proceed with caution, this is a tear jerker.

“You did a good job Stormy; you did a good job.”

I kept saying this over and over again. Taylor, Rose and Mercy had left the room. It was just the vet, me, and the vet’s technician. I held stormy’s paw, rubbed her head and her soft ears, and just kept saying “you did a good job.” For 13 years she did. She was shaking, and had blankets over her. She was on a stretcher for a dog, and I was on the floor of the vet’s office, right by her side. I don’t know if she was shaking from the pain, or the cold- and I don’t want to know.
She had an IV in her. And a catheter, under the blanket. She was a bit tired from the medicine, but alert. I was crying, and the vet explained what each of the shots in her hand were: one to numb her, one to send her home. Tears dripped down my nose and hit the tile floor. We already made the decision. The papers were signed. The vet tech had to turn her head to keep from crying herself, as I rubbed stormy’s neck, and the shaking calmed down. The vet pulled out her stethoscope, checked for vitals. The shaking stopped. The vet said some kind words, said I could take all the time I needed to say goodbye; Stormy’s eyes stopped moving. I hugged the vet; I hugged the vet’s technician, told them I couldn’t manage to be there as she grew cold, I had to leave.
For the first time in an hour, I went outside; it was a thick, heavy rain, and I sobbed. 

Earlier that Friday morning, when I let stormy out I noticed she was walking a little weird- almost as though she was trying to grip the wood floors with her paws. We got the kids ready, and stormy was just laying on the floor; she was healthy the day before and walked to school with Rosie and I- but Taylor and I both noticed she seemed a little lethargic. I called the vet before 8, and fortunately they could see Stormy at 9:30. It wasn’t an emergency: Stormy at dinner the night before, she wasn’t throwing up, didn’t have diarrhea, but I wanted to see what the Doc thought regardless. 

After Taylor got back from the gym and stormy hadn’t moved, we knew something was bad. 

“Wanna go for a walk?” She stood, and took a few steps, then stopped. I managed to prop the door open, already had the trunk open, carried her to the car, and drove stormy in to the vet.

She wasn’t an angel. But she did have an important job: when Taylor and I were first married, we were trying to figure things out. How to be nice to each other, how to live together, and do the chores. How to do finances. How to cook dinners, and how to clean up after dinners. 
We argued. I wouldn’t say a ton, but there were some challenges, and we had been entertaining the idea of getting a dog. I suppose God saw our situation, and said “They have enough issues to deal with, I’ll give them Stormy.” Stormy’s job was to help us stop being selfish, and be a little kinder to one another. And she did a great job. 

Not only did Taylor and I start getting along better, but Stormy went on to keep doing her job with the countless guests who have visited our house over the past 13 years. Even with the rowdy kids, Stormy knew how to win them over: she would come sit beside me, and allow the children to poke her, rub her, lean on her, and lightly abuse her in all sorts of ways, knowing I would protect her. If that wasn’t an option, Stormy would just politely leave the room and go be an introvert. 

But that was the exception instead of the rule. Stormy always wanted to be with the family, because Stormy was a part of the family. She didn’t want to be the center of attention, but she wanted us to know she was still around. 

She was my buddy. She was a bookend to my day: the first words of my morning were to stormy, along with a pat on the head. Often she would come downstairs right after me in the morning; even on the days when Taylor woke up first. 

At night, she was often the last one I spoke to, followed by another pat on the head and reassuring her how much she was loved. 

Her favorite thing to do was watch me do yard work: raking leaves, cutting off branches, mowing the lawn, playing with the kids, sharpening lawnmower blades, cleaning the grill. If I was outside, she was outside. If I had to go inside to get some scissors, she had to come inside too, even if it was for less than 90 seconds. 

A few times she stayed at Taylor’s parent’s house while we were out of town. Their dog, Jager, was stormy’s best friend. One of those trips, Taylor and I were in Mexico, and got a call from an unknown number; they got Taylor phone number from Stormy’s collar and said they found our dog. We didn’t learn until we got home that Stormy got out of the Register’s yard, and went into the neighbors car while they were unloading the groceries, and at the chicken wings out of the car. Uncooked chicken wings. 

During those visits she went and ate fertilizer, a leather boot, golf gloves, and rat poison. Other times she ate a bag of chocolate, on three separate occasions. 

She was mischievous, in every way. Just last month, the babysitter was over, and outside jumping on the trampoline with Rosie and Mercy while Taylor and I were on a date. Stormy ate 3/4 of a pizza off the counter, and had some of the worst gas you could imagine that night. I was kinda bummed there wasn’t any leftover pizza for lunch the next day. 

Food not only had to be on the counter, but moved all the way back to the wall to make sure the dog wouldn’t snatch it. I spanked her- for about 5 years. Then realized, she really doesn’t care: she would rather eat the food, or get in the garbage and get spanked, than not get in the food. 

She wasn’t the smartest either. She would listen-sometimes. For example, she would stay if she wanted to. Or until something else caught her attention. She didnt do a ton of tricks. She was ok when walking on the leash. But perfect or not, that’s what made her part of the family; I’m glad my family keeps me around, despite not being the smartest:)

Stormy was there when we had our first ultrasound with Rosie. She was there when Mercy came home from the hospital. She let Rosie dress her up in outfits a lot during the covid years. 

When I was down, stormy knew it and she sat close; she never licked, but would sit close; or just lean on my leg. Or, she would lay down and press the top of her head into me. 

She walked Rosie to school every single day; the highlight of my day. 

When Taylor arrived at the Vet, the doctor came in and explained things. Stormy had a tumor on her spleen that ruptured. Chances are, it was a cancer, and the tumor ruptured and healed in smaller ways several times by now; this would explain why stormy was crying for the past month every night around 8pm; I dismissed it though because Stormy was wagging her tail while she did so. 

Finally, this tumor ruptured. There was a chance that emergency surgery could “buy us some more time”, but there was also a chance that the surgery would reveal that the cancer had spread pretty far. Taylor cried. This was the kind of thing that cost the vet her own dog the year before. 

Should we get the girls from school to have a chance to say goodbye? Stormy was stable. Would that be traumatic? Would it be less traumatic than if Rosie came home from school, and never got a chance to say goodbye? Should Mercy have a chance to say goodbye as well, or is she too young?

We had to get both girls. They had to have a chance to say goodbye, and they did. Right there in the vet’s floor, while stormy was on the dog stretcher, under a blanket. We took turns sitting closest to her. When it was time, they left, and the Vet and I were alone with Stormy that last time. 

When we got home, Rosie wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t watching tv. She was in Stormy’s bed, with a blanket on top of her, and a pillow under her head, holding Stormy’s collar, crying. 

The next day, I asked Mercy: “Do you think Stormy is in heaven eating as much trash as she can (since Stormy LOVED getting in the trash can)?”
Mercy replied “What if Jesus says ‘no’”? 

Touché mercy. Touché. There isn’t enough theology in the world to answer that question. 

Now, it is three days later, and I can’t sleep. I keep thinking, “did I do the right thing? Did I miss something? Was there another way to get a year or two from an otherwise healthy dog?” I know the answer is no, but that last scene keeps playing in my mind. 

At the same time, this was the best way it could have possibly played out. It would have been even more challenging to watch her grow much older, and lose the strength to make it up the stairs. Also, we are glad this happened on a weekday, when the vet was opened. And while we were in town- there are a few trips coming up, and it would have been even worse if it happened while we were away. So I am glad she went out with a bang: healthy the day before, and over the rainbow bridge the day after. 

Stormy did a good job. She did a great job. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for us. And now, I am ready to get another dog. Since stormy set the bar pretty high, I’m pretty confident our next dog will just be a jerk. Stay tuned.