Passing of Darcy.

Copyright © 2021 Mark Kelly

I don't know how to title this post. Whatever I've considered just doesn't do it justice. To be honest, I've struggled immensely to sit down and write this, as I'm grieving so hard right now, as is my darling wife, but I don't want to leave it go any longer.

Our beautiful, gentle, loving girl, Darcy slipped away peacefully at home at 1430hrs on Monday 23rd August, with help from the vet. My wife cupped Darcy's head, giving her kisses and telling her how much we loved her and would miss her, as I stroked her neck and back.

The previous day she had been slow walking due to the arthritis in her back legs, but come Sunday night, Darcy kept pacing, panting and looked miserable, so Vanessa and I took her to the Emergency Animal Hospital in our area. This was around 2330hrs Sunday 22nd August.

The vet asked us to provide a sample of her urine, so we took her outside on the grass, as she was still able to walk, and a veterinary nurse collected a sample as Darcy squatted and passed water.
Some minutes later the vet confirmed she had a urine infection and was running a temp of 40 deg. She was given penicillin, antibiotics and an opioid injection under the skin.

Darcy walked out to us, a small red bandage on her leg, and a little bit spaced out, but that was all. They told us to call them if she got worse. We gently lifted Darcy into our car and drove home. It was some time after 0200hrs Monday morning.
Lifting her out of the car at home, Darcy walked into the house but couldn't make it up the stairs to bed, so my wife slept on the settee next to Darcy in the living room.

It was around 0700 the following when my wife shook me away, asking me to help her with Darcy. I could tell by the look in her eyes something wasn't right.
I got downstairs and Darcy had wet herself and needed lifting for us to change the puppy pad under her. As I deposited the soiled pad in the bin, Vanessa called me somewhat urgently. Darcy was gasping for breath, panting severely, her tongue lolling from her mouth, eyes glazed and making an awful sound. It was terrible to see her go through this. That's when I looked at my crying wife who said, "She's dying!"

I didn't want to believe my wife, but she'd worked many years as a nurse in Intensive Care and having witnessed many people die, she was all-too-familiar with the signs leading to the eventual passing away of a life. I felt the gut drop out of me, my sinking heart, following it. 
We did our very best to comfort Darcy, reassuring her, desperately trying to ease any panic she might be feeling. She was now refusing food, and we managed to help her drink. But even holding up her head was proving to be a massive issue.

Darcy was messing on herself, almost uncontrollably, so I slipped into my nursing role, using baby wipes to clean her as best I could and together we kept her on clean Puppy Pads each time. But it was heart-breaking to see. To think, not even 24 hours previous to this moment, she was walking and toileting herself without much difficulty.

After much frantic calling of numerous vets, we finally tracked one down who was willing and able to make a home visit. These wonderful vets are called MobiVets, based in Bridgend.

Before the vet arrived, Tilly our cat, came and lay next to Darcy's paw. That was heart-breaking to see, as Tilly had seen Darcy grow from the beautiful pup, to the cheeky, gentle, fun-loving and gentle loving dog she was, and also the companion that Darcy had become for Tilly when both were home alone, as they shared the same room to sleep in, sometimes the same rug, until our return home from work. Tilly returned to her bed with the arrival of the vet.

When the gentleman arrived, he sadly confirmed what Vanessa knew - Darcy was indeed dying.
After much discussion, he left us alone with our baby. My wife was totally crushed beyond words, and at the very thought of letting Darcy go, made me, for the first time in my life, want to vomit. I didn't.
I did, however, call in our dear neighbour, so he could say his farewell to Darcy, as she loved him and he loved her. He was equally as upset as we were, but offered us a reassuring perspective on what we were about to do was indeed, the correct thing for our baby girl.

By now Darcy was slipping into a deeper state of sleep, not really registering anything or anyone around her. The vet prepped her vein, and administered the injection. As he withdrew the needle I grabbed a paper towel to press on her leg to stem any bleeding.

Copyright © 2021 Mark Kelly.

A minute later, maybe less, Darcy was gone. 

With all the formalities taken care of, the vet left. I called our neighbour once more, as they have a beautiful little dog, Josie, who bonded with Darcy the moment they met, and we thought it was important that Josie see Darcy for the final time.

Our next task was to take Darcy to the animal crematorium, near Magor, just outside of Newport.
Darcy was wrapped in her bed blanket, and how peaceful she looked, as if enjoying a cwtch with her mum and sleeping in the process. Every now and then when traffic flow dictated a stop, I would reach behind and gentle rub her ear. It was hard to accept that she wasn't going to do her usual, sleepy-eye opening, and looking at me as if to say, "I was sleeping, do you mind."

Finally at the crematorium, Darcy was taken to the Chapel of Rest and we were given time on our own to say our final farewell. This moment broke us both. That was a hard thing to do, lay Darcy down and walk away, knowing that would be the very last time you were going to be in her presence, be able to reach out and stroke her fur, cuddle her face and hold her as our little girl.

Darcy was, and still is, a very much loved dog, not only by my wife and I, but by many others who have come into contact with her. As a testimony to her loving, gentle nature, Darcy had qualified as a 'Pets As Therapy' dog when younger. We were so proud of her.

Copyright © 2021 Mark Kelly.

Darcy loved the beach, especially digging for her ball in the sand, barking at us repeatedly to re-bury it for her. She went on all our trips around the UK, and had an obsession with ice cream in a cone, so we always bought three. Darcy loved the sea, and many a river. She loved to chase squirrels, though she wouldn't harm them. And she loved to be chased. If she had a weakness, it had to be pizza. Darcy would do anything for a piece of pizza. A girl of taste.

There are so many other things I could list, but I won't. We miss her with a pain so big, I never knew it was possible. I look at her collars and leads, the body warmers for her winter walks and her favourite ball and I want her back - we want her back, so badly, but just have to contend with looking out at a garden once full of laughter and barking, now silent and empty.

I'll leave with a piece taken from a post I wrote on the passing of Eve, our lovely cat, and Darcy's best friend. Once more, so fitting.

"I believe that when you lose someone, be they family, friend or a beloved animal companion, a small part of you dies with them. That part may be no bigger than a grain of sand, but when taken from your heart and soul you feel that loss as if replaced by something greater and far heavier. That passes with time, and the part of you that went with them is their keepsake, for them to remember you by and take comfort from, and who knows, maybe creates a bond that allows them to visit us from time-to-time?

I hope so."