And one for the Fuzzalump...

That was one of my pet names for her. Fuzzalump, Fuzzy Bumpkin, Bailey-Bay. She went by lots of names. She answered to just about anything that either had the word "food" in the call or if she saw you holding something edible.

She's gone tonight. Gone to a better place.

It started probably about a week ago. She's twelve and change, and her hips have been bothering her. A few weeks ago I took her to the vet for incontinence and a urinary tract infection (UTI). The usual course of medication and something new for the incontinence, and that seemed to do. But she wasn't the same. Tuesday and Wednesday night she fell going upstairs and needed to be carried; she stopped liking her food and having an appetite maybe a week ago. Tried three different kinds of food and dousing it in turkey broth to soften it up. Not so much.

In retrospect, I missed one of the most important "passing of the torch" signs. She's always been the alpha dog. Cassidy could jostle with her, but Bailey would always growl and put her jaws around Cassidy's neck. Playfully to some degree, but with the not-so-veiled undertone, "Don't forget who the f*ck is in charge here, sister."

And Cassidy never did.

That growl hasn't been present for weeks. Can't remember the last time she asserted herself, now that I think about it.

And this morning, after she fell again last night and urinated on the steps, I made the tough call to the vet and made an appointment for tonight. I took today to work at home. She was never alone. She couldn't walk around much. She didn't have any interest in a peanut butter filled bone. I guess that was really the penultimate sign. The opportunist with the prodigious appetite had none. Her run was coming to an end.

It was a 6:00 appointment; Kelly's mom took Makenna and Rylan for ice cream before we left. We told Makenna that she was old and sick and was going to doggie heaven where she could run and play and do all the things she used to. Makenna seemed cool with that. They left, we picked her up and put her in the car. We were running late, and as I made the last right turn to travel the four or so miles down Royce Road to the vet, Kelly cried from the backseat that she was going.

By the time I got us there, she was gone.

She did it on her terms. Folks said their goodbyes today and made sure she was attended to. Like I said, precipitous doesn't describe how fast it happened. We were running late. I think she passed at 6:04; that was Kelly's guess.

The folks at VCA Bolingbrook could NOT have been more understanding or compassionate. They get it; they love their patients and grieve with their owners when the inevitable comes to pass. If you're a local and you read this and are looking for a great place to take your pets, think about them. Basically 53 and Royce Rd. If you're semi-local, it's worth the trip. Unquestionably.

They took her and she'll be cremated and her ashes spread at an animal cemetery in Hinsdale. But the most important part is, she's in a better place. The last week has been arduous for her, probably the last couple of weeks have been laborious. She knew and had better sense than we. Well, our sense came at the last possible moment and was fortunately aligned with hers.

My first meeting with Bailey (and Cassidy) was at the door of 974 Portsmith Lane, our old address. I rang the doorbell to pick Kelly up for our second date and the cacophony of barking ensued. They were better than any alarm you could purchase. Kelly told me that if I hadn't made it through them, I never would've gotten a third date and we certainly wouldn't be where they are now. Bailey was four and Cassidy was two. Both young and full of spunk. Bailey's repertoire of tricks included balancing a treat on her nose and then eating it. She was proficient at "fetch"; better than her sister who would take off running with very little inclination to run off without you.

But even early on, Bailey was an Old Soul. It's a great phrase and I capitalised it because it's applied here as a proper name. My mom, who is DEATHLY afraid of dogs, was comfortable around Bailey. We had a party at the old place (Mom Jayhan's 50th or a housewarming, I forget which), and my mom got a bloody nose and had to lay on the floor. Bailey laid on the floor with her, head on her stomach, the entire time.

That was her. That was what she did. That was how she loved. She had to be attached to you at every waking moment. I was raised without pets. Well, I had fish, but they're only partial credit. So as I transitioned into becoming a pet owner, I had to get over several qualms, including realising that, occasionally, there'd be more than just me in the can and not to get stage fright over it. Food on the edges of tables and islands would need to be guarded. Sometimes I wondered at the old place where we left them to roam the house during the day how food disappeared from tucked back against the walls. I thought that she and Cassidy were like circus acrobats; one standing on the back of the other like some variant of the Flying Karamazovs. Loaves of bread disappeared without a trace and in seconds if we made a tactical error. But that was part of her charm.

You could not have asked for a more wonderful companion for Makenna in her first three years on the planet and for Rylan in his first nine months. I lament that she'll only be in pictures for them as they grow up and mature and ask questions about the dog in the photos. When we brought Makenna home, she could not have been more nuturing and caring. Sure, the breed has a tendency to be gentle, but she was more than that. She was her plaything who would lick her when she was having fun and growl when she'd had enough. And she was ours.

Correction. We were hers.

It's a night of drinking out of sorrow, but it's a night of remembering out of joy. It's a night to sing her song and tell her stories. She'll live on in pictures, video and our hearts and minds. We may get another dog someday, but we'll never get another Bailey.

To those of you who met her, your friend has passed. To those of you who have come to know her through this narrative, may you smile and hug your own pets (if you've got them) and toss them an extra treat. One of their fellow kind has passed tonight, and her story shall be sung and remembered for as long as we live.

Sit. Stay. Roll over. Good Bailey. (Scratch, scratch, scratch.) Farewell, Old Soul.