My Benevolent, Sweet Steffie
That was a very dark day in March of 2011 when the Texas A&M Vets told me that your life would be cut short by months or years and you were diagnosed with "Protein Losing Nephropathy." You weren't even 6 years old yet.
You were probably my last Weimaraner to raise from a puppy. I thought, "They must be wrong! They have to be wrong!" They sais that only four years was to be expected at best. I thought you and I were going to prove them all wrong, but, after three and a half years of fighting it, I knew in September that our luck was running out. But we both refused to give up.
After saying goodbye to eight other family/personal companions, I know the "Look." On November 15, you gave me that look: "Oh, I love you more than life itself and you have done so much for me, but, can't you see that I'm tired, and I'm not happy, plus I'm getting weaker. Didn't you notice last night that I had to get a running start to jump up onto the bed, for I was embarrassed to ask you to help me up."
At 7:45AM on November 17 when the Vet arrived here at home, you gave me a look. "I wagged my tail when my favorite Vet entered the room, but, she isn't here to heal me, is she?"
It's now been over 5 months since I desperately hugged my very best friend and told her how much I loved her as she gave me that last look.
Time seemed to work fairly well in the past to adjust to such a loss, but, this time, things were different. Having never married and at 60 years old, Steffie would be my last Weimaraner puppy to raise. She was robbed of a full life, a life that I looked forward to each and every morning we both awoke to.
You went everywhere I went and I wouldn't dare leave you alone here unless priority and your well-being dictated otherwise. Everyone knew you and I when we went riding in the car. All those times when I would return to the car and you would be sitting behind the steering wheel, and all those times someone inside a building looking outside would see you behind the wheel and say, "Look out there, is that a dog trying to drive, or is it a person?"
Steffie, I haven't had much luck in adjusting to your absence. Some have told me that I have Caregivers Syndrome. Some have asked me if I should consider professional help. Some have told me I should get another puppy. My Vet even sent me a message that she was praying for me on Christmas evening. Your Doc knows, but no one else truly understands.
Steffie, in the last hours with you, I kept thinking that love alone could save you, and if I could just find that magic wand it would all go away. Your Doc told me that you were blessed to be cared for by me. Well, even though flattered by her kind words, I can't help thinking that I failed you, because we didn't prove them all wrong.
Rest In Peace, my Benevolent and Sweet Steffie. Until we meet again.