I am so very sorry to tell you, good people and dear readers, that Rose is gone. I know how many people love her all over the world and I regret bringing this news.
Rose died Friday evening, euthanized after a long and severe wasting disease that left her in pain and without spirit. She died in ease and comfort at the gentle and sensitive hands of Dr. Suzanne Fariello of the Cambridge Valley Animal Hospital, Cambridge, N.Y. her head resting on my arm. Maria, Rose and I all lay on the floor, on Rose’s favorite sheepskin. Dr. Fariello was on the other side. “Let go girl,” I told Rose as the final injection began, “your work here is done.” As she closed her eyes, I kissed her once on the nose. She was never much for cuddling.
The final days for Rose began at 3 a.m. Thursday when I woke up suddenly, sensing Rose was in distress. She and I are connected, always aware of one another. I got up, could not find her in her usual spot in the bedroom that overlooks the pasture, where she kept watch at night. I went downstairs and searched for her, and found her lying by the back door, shivering and in her own vomit. I heard a voice loudly and clearly in my head saying, “I’m lost”- and this was a powerful feeling. I picked her up, cleaned her up, and took her to the dog bed in my office where we spent our days together.
I promised her that I would take care of her, as she had always taken care of me. My turn. I told her that I would do my job and see that she left this world in dignity and comfort. For the next two days, that was my focus. And I kept my word, as she has always kept her faith with me.
From my first day at the farm, Rose has always been with me, next to me, watching me, working with me, protecting me, and there is a vast and beautiful space around me that is empty. And disorienting. As if a part of me had suddenly vanished.
Maria and I took Rose to Dr. Fariello that afternoon – Maria and I had been talking about this much of the day – and we all were clear that Rose was in pain, incontinent and disoriented. I said I wanted to put her down Friday evening, that we needed a day with her. We made an appointment for 5:30 p.m. Rose went quietly and easily. Dr. Fariello said Rose seemed spent, in pain.
We spent Friday walking with her, sitting with her. Rose is nothing if not stoic, and although she moved slowly and tired easily, she was game. I took her up into the Pole Barn, sat with her for an hour. Maria took her into the Studio Barn, where she had never gone, and they sat together for several hours. I took her for several walks around the farm, taking photos.
I am so proud of Rose, and I am grateful for her life and time with me. I am glad that she got to live her life so fully. She inspired four books. In many ways, “Rose In A Storm,” was a love letter to Rose, and I am glad I got to write it. I have yet to tell her story fully. I will do that. I shot some video from the last day or two – encountering Simon, her final pursuit of the Imaginary Squirrel, sitting up in the Pole Barn. I’ll put that up later in the week.
Rose lived the life of a dog every day, as few dogs get to do. From the first, my work with her challenged me to be a better, more patient and empathetic human. They do that for us, they make us better if we listen to them. Everywhere I went, people asked me about her, how she was, how she was doing. She touched the hearts and minds and imaginations of many people, especially women, and women who work.
Outside of a vet’s office, Rose was never on a leash. She worked almost every day of her life and she never was asked to perform a task that she did not perform with courage, diligence and professionalism. She dealt with sheep, cows, goats, chickens, rabid feral cats and skunks, rams, lambs, the stray cows of nearby farmers, goats, friendly and belligerent donkeys, coyotes, stray pigs and deer trapped in fences. She saved my life several times and as important, she grounded me in my life on the farm. I cannot imagine life here without Rose, especially in the first years. She was my partner, my strength, my Centurion. In time, much of that role has changed and passed, to Maria, to myself, to a life lived with less chaos, less drama, less struggle. My life is different now, more focused on writing and animals, and as I changed, so did she and so did her work. I could see it.
I believe that dogs come and go when they are ready, not just when we are ready, and this summer, when it was clear Rose could no longer herd sheep or move quickly, and was suffering, I knew the time was drawing near.
This week I will write about my life with Rose, the process of grieving for her, and my strong desire to celebrate, rather than just mourn, her life. I do not wish her life or death to be a drama, mine or anyone else’s. Grief is a part of it, but only a part. I am aware of the irony of having just published a book on grieving, and of being the “expert” in my own life, and I guess I will see firsthand how this works. I will be honest about it. I will also share the reactions of Izzy, Lenore and Frieda.
Rose will be cremated, her ashes spread over the pasture by the Pole Barn, where she loved to work and sit.
I will share the experience and also the photographs, and in honor of Rose’s ferociously hard-working spirit, I will keep that pledge, even when it is not easy or comfortable.
Thank you all so much for your loyalty and devotion to this wonderful creature. I know this is a pain and loss that is not only mine, but mine to share.
The photo above is the last photo taken of Rose, in the Pole Barn where she lay resting on a sheepskin for her last look over her beloved farm. Updating her map, I suspect, one more time.
I believe the divine is present in the broken human heart, in those humbled by loss and disappointment and grief. The divine is present now, in her spirit and in my heavy heart.
Before Rose closed her eyes I thanked her for her love and hard work. I told her I did not assume that she wished to join me in another life or in a heaven, as that would be presumptuous of me and it was her choice, not mine.
I told her this:
“My wish for you, dear Rose,
is to always run in fields of gold,
sheep stretching to the far horizon,
In a fenceless world with clear skies
and boundaries beyond imagination.
Your work here is done.
Your work is just beginning.
Much love, Godspeed.”
