Saying farewell to Bama

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It is 5:45 pm, Tuesday, August 2, 2011. My heart is broken.

It’s the end of the line for my Bama. I thought we were at this point in late February but–on the eve of our vet appointment for euthanasia–she made a miraculous turnaround. This time, it’s for certain and it’s for real. And it hurts so bad.

It doesn’t hurt any less knowing it’s the right thing, the necessary thing.

IMG_1166I will miss her with every ounce of my being. She’s been my companion and friend for 6 years and 9 months. Until the past year or so, I took her practically everywhere, from Shakespeare festivals in the park to a trip from Oklahoma to Colorado for an academic conference. I took her to the Community Christmas Sing-a-long in Tuscaloosa and the Beauty Pageant/Talent Show at OSU/Stillwater, where Bama modeled a red beret and her basic black ensemble.

I had wanted this post to be about our wonderful life together, to remember all the good times. But I can’t write about those yet. I will write about those in the days to come as a way to cope with her absence. I already dread tomorrow night when I walk in my door for the first time after she’s gone and I know that she won’t be there to greet me.

IMG_0939The downward spiral started in earnest last Friday evening. Mornings were better, evenings were bad. Yesterday (Monday, August 1) I left her at 1 pm in good spirits and able to walk. I returned home at 3:30 to find she’d crawled off her rug and couldn’t get up. Her rear legs wouldn’t, couldn’t hold her up. She hasn’t been up again. When I realized there would be no reprieve, I made my decision. The little voice inside had whispered to me over the weekend, “It’s time.” I heard it again on Monday and knew what I had to do. But it was too late to do anything last night.

I scheduled her shot for today (Tuesday) at 3:20 pm, to allow me enough time to find someone to help me load her into the crate and drive to the Shoals. Alas, her pain was so intense today that we couldn’t get her in the crate, even with the help of a doggie sedative provided by my neighbors (who have a storm-frightened dog). That dosage just wasn’t enough. House calls weren’t an option. I found a vet that could do a house call but not before Wednesday. Rather than risk anyone getting bitten, and further agitating Bama, I called her Birmingham vet for advice. We settled on a sufficient dose of a sedative that will completely tranquilize her. But it was too late in the afternoon to get her sufficiently sedated in time to make it to an appointment tonight.


So now, as the clock ticks past 6 pm, we’re waiting for the dawn. I’m exhausted from no sleep last night and the emotional drain of the day (as well as for other reasons that I won’t go into in this post). And Bama, poor Bama, she’s lying helplessly. The single dose of sedative I gave her at 3:30 has kicked in. She looks at me, eyes almost vacant. I know she must be hurting. It definitely hurts to move her rear legs or touch the area just below her shoulders. Although there’s no diagnosis of cancer or a tumor, I’m fairly certain there’s a strong possibility of that, based on how she winces and flinches when I touch certain spots, especially where glands or lymph nodes would be. The Auburn vet specialist who did her biopsies and cultures last week for the skin problem said this morning that it’s very possible something internal has triggered the problems that have now led to the autoimmune skin disease. Her blood work, chemistry was perfect in January and again in May. I tried every avenue to get a diagnosis of something that we could treat. But nothing helped overall. She just has too many problems, something systemic or the combination of an immune system that’s crashed and the problems that come with old age.

Bama is embarrassed that she can’t walk. Over the weekend, as she would look at me helplessly when her legs would give out, I knew that it was a matter of two, three, four, five days, not weeks. But when she would recover each afternoon, the life was back in her eyes. Until yesterday.

Today, she wanted to get in her crate so badly. She’s always loved it. I wish that I’d allowed it to stay inside, like I did in Oklahoma. But everywhere I’ve lived since then has been quite small. There’s been no room for a crate in any room that I’d spend measurable time in.  And Bama has always wanted to be wherever I am.

If I’m in the kitchen, Bama wants to be at the entrance. If I’m in the bedroom, Bama is on her bed (not mine) in the bedroom. If I’m in the bathroom, Bama sits by the door on a rug. If I’m working in my home office room, she’s there. If I’m at the dining table, she’s at or near my feet, even though I never slipped her table scraps. If I’m reading in the den area (which is the same room as the dining area), she moves over to her bed to be closest to me.

Last night, Bama tried her best to slide over to where I sat reading. I didn’t want to go to bed early and leave in the living room alone. When I finally did go to bed, I gave her another dose of the neighbor’s dog’s sedative. For two hours I listened to Bama struggle with everything she had to get up and come to the bedroom. I was afraid she would have a heart attack. I guess the two small doses finally combined to sedate her enough to calm her down. Shortly after midnight I dozed off and woke again at 3:40. I got up for water but left the lights off and didn’t enter the living room. I heard nothing. I went back to bed but couldn’t sleep, thinking of how to go about getting a 90-pound dog into my car, even with help.


Bumble spent the night in the chair next to Bama. They love each other as much as I love each of them. Bumble knows something’s happening. This morning, while sharing what I thought would be my final, private half hour with Bama, Bumble came over and sat by me. She walked back and forth rubbing against me and then lay quietly, with her back touching my left leg. Bama lay on my right side and would nudge me with her nose or paw if I moved my hand away.

IMG_2345This afternoon I spent a few more quiet interludes petting Bama, talking quietly to her, assuring her, apologizing for the delay. In a few minutes I will return to my station at her side for a while before I begin my final evening preparations. Then I’ll return to her side before bedtime and we will comfort one another for a little while longer.

It will be our final evening together.

And my heart is wrenching into shattered pieces, once again.

6:40 p.m., August 2, 2011

Related Posts

Saying Farewell, Part 2

From Kosoma to Bama: Happy Forever Home Day

Bama: 1999? – August 3, 2011

Remembering Sparky



About Sheree

Change Catalyst, Idea Explorer, Dot-Connector, Square Peg


  1. Sheree, I am so, so sorry to read this. Bama is truly a special dog, and she knows how much she’s cared for. You’ve given her an amazing life, and she’s responded with the unconditional love that a canine companion can give. They teach us so much. My heart aches for you this morning, and I’m sending many prayers and hugs. I’m here for anything you need and will check on you in a bit. Erin

  2. I am so sad to read this for you Sheree. My heart aches for you as my two pups are like my children. It seemed certainly that Bama has had an amazing life and has given you so much love. As Erin says, they do teach you so much. My thoughts and my heart is with you today.


    • Thanks so much, Christy. You’re very kind. I’ve really experienced the love and kindness of so many, thanks to Bama.

      I hope that you and your two pups have many beautiful years ahead. I know you love them as much as I love Bama.

  3. So very sad to read this, Sheree. I have a nearly 20-year-old cat who is declining, but who follows me around as Bama followed you. I expect to be where you are very soon. I heard a beautiful quote on NPR that reminds us why the death of a pet is so profound, “the death of anything shows us the death of everything, and our own deaths.” Hang in there. Donna

    • Thanks so much, Donna. As you know, it’s hard to watch them fade away slowly but easier, in some ways, because at least there’s time to prepare and say goodbye properly.

      I’ll be thinking of you in the days, weeks and months to come.

      I hope your cat continues to bring you as much joy as I shared with Bama. She made every day special, even during the last six months when it became obvious this day was coming sooner, than later.

  4. My condolences. Bama was lucky to be loved and cared for by you and Bumble.

  5. Anne Mancer says:

    Dear Lord, please open your gates
    and call St. Francis
    to come escort this beloved companion
    across the Rainbow Bridge.

    Assign him to a place of honor,
    for he has been a faithful servant
    and has always done his best to please me.

    Bless the hands that send him to you,
    for they are doing so in love and compassion,
    freeing him from pain and suffering.

    Grant Sheree the strength not to dwell on her loss.
    Help her remember the details of Bama’s life
    with the love he has shown her.
    And grant her the courage to honor him
    by sharing those memories with others.

    Let him remember Sheree as well
    and let him know that she will always love him.
    And when it’s my time to pass over into your paradise,
    please allow him to accompany those
    who will bring her home.

    Thank you, Lord,
    for the gift of his companionship
    and for the time they’ve had together.

    And thank you, Lord,
    for granting Sheree the strength
    to give him to you now.


    • Thanks so much, Anne. That is a beautiful poem. I read it yesterday via my phone, shortly after I’d buried Bama, and again this afternoon. It brought be great comfort yesterday (and again today).

      You are one of the many kind people to take the time to share condolences, sympathies and thoughtful words. In Bama’s life and death, I’ve experienced the love of many people, friends, acquaintances and strangers.

      Thank you.

  6. Sharon W says:

    Today, my husband and I said goodbye to our 11 year old white lab, Lilly. She had cancer and other health issues which had been developing over the years. I will definitely read your stories when my eyes will let me read without tears. My cousin, Melanie Martin, gave me you page to read to help us through this time. I hope your days ahead become a little more easier for you, as you deal with your loss of Bama. Thank you.

  7. Andrea Huxford says:

    I am so sorry about Bama, but know she is in a better place.

    I have a question. I live in Tuscaloosa, and will soon have to have my baby put to sleep. I cannot bear the idea of him having to spend his last minutes at the vet’s office, which he is terrified of. You mentioned a doctor in town that will perform euthanasia at home. Can you (or anyone else), let me know what vet that is?

    Thank you,

    • Hi Andrea,

      I’m so sorry to hear that you will soon be losing your best friend.

      I don’t live in Tuscaloosa now so the vet that I found was in another city (and I didn’t have to use him, after all).

      What I did was look in the phone book and found one vet that mentioned in his yellow-pages ad that he made housecalls. Not the best approach, but the only one I had time for under the circumstances. If you don’t find one that way, I’d call the regular vet you’ve used, explain the situation and ask if they would make a special housecall. If they say no, then ask if they know any vet who does.

      You might also find a couple of Facebook pages for Tuscaloosa vets and post your question there. Canant Animal Hospital seems to do wonderful work for homeless and injuredpets in Tuscaloosa (as well as for their regular patients), and they have an Facebook page:

      Best to you. I hope that your baby finds the peace that I know Bama has.

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