Griffey, My Soul Mate

Griffey Jr. Carpenter 11/27/2004-12/26/2022

Fly high, my sweet boy…

 

WRITTEN 12/16/2020

On November 27th, 2004, my soulmate was born. Yes, he had four legs and was covered in white fluffy hair, but he was my soulmate nonetheless.

Mike and I had gotten engaged in 2004 and were planning a summer of 2005 wedding. We were living in a NON dog friendly apartment in Spokane at the time. I had started talking about wanting a small dog for a while, although Mike was not much of a “small dog guy.” After a few months of putting the pressure on, he finally agreed to start looking at puppies. We’d already discussed names, and Mike tended towards very masculine tough names that I hated. Finally, I had it. I knew Ken Griffey Jr. was Mike’s lifelong hero, so when I suggested Griffey, Mike loved it.

We were planning to go to a pet store that had bishons one February afternoon in 2005, when I happened to look at the pet section of the newspaper and saw an ad for Shimas. That caught my attention because I had no idea what it was. I called the number listed and learned they are a maltese and shitzu mix. They had one puppy left and it was 11 weeks old. That sounded right up my alley so we decided to go see it instead of going to the pet shop.

We drove all the way out to Tum Tum area, down a driveway to what I remember as a bit of a hillbilly home in the woods. There were two sweet older women who lived there (no idea if they were a couple). They had a few puppies sleeping in a big cage in the living room but said only the white one with apricot colored ears was still available. They’d called him “Apribob” because of the colored ears. Ugh, what a terrible name.

We saw the parents. The dad was a 3 pound maltese with a terrible haircut and no teeth named Hot Rod Rocky. And the mother was a 12 pound shitzu named Tigress-something or other. Let me emphasize, this was before I knew or cared about the ethics of dog breeding versus rescuing. This breeder churns out a lot of puppies it seems, and still does to this day, but the puppies all seemed loved and well cared for. It was not a puppy mill situation.

I don’t remember if Mike and I discussed it much, but I think we both knew he was THE one. We paid $550 for Griffey and took him home. I remember the little white bundle of fluff seemed shy and tired on the car ride home on my lap in the dark. From looking back at the date stamp on pictures, I think it was either Valentines Day or the day before.

Griffey didn’t let me sleep much that night. We put him in a giant rubber bin on the floor with a bed and toys next to our bed. He howled and cried. But as long as I hung my arm into the bin with him, he quieted down and slept.

The next morning, Griffey was a whole new puppy. He was rambunctious and playful, prancing around playing with toys. He was the ultimate fluffy teddy bear puppy. Life would never be the same.

With apartment living, especially one that we had to hide him in, Griffey learned to use pee pads out on the enclosed balcony. We tried to never leave him home alone after setting up a camera to watch his activities when we left and seeing that he howled and cried. We didn’t want to get in trouble at the apartment so we started taking him in a pet duffle bag carrier with us when we came and went from the complex.

Mike and I were both in school at SFCC at the time so we coordinated taking him to school, putting him in his crate in the car, and then whoever got out of class sooner, took him home. If it was a cold or warm out, we’d put a battery operated fan or heater in there with him. He rarely had to be in the car for more than a couple hours. I even took him to Chemistry class with me one time and fed him Cheerios the whole time.

Over the next 6 years, we moved each year to a different apartment, depending on where we were going to school, but we always made sure to get a pet friendly place after the first one. Griffey was my study buddy throughout 6 years of college, curling up on my lap or my books on the couch for endless hours of pharmacy study.

Griffey was loved by everyone. We often went north to our hometown of Chewelah on the weekends and stayed at Mike’s parents’ house where Griffey was very much at home and spoiled. Mike’s dad, Papa (as we affectionately referred to him with Griffey), was the ultimate grandpa making Griffey food and letting him sleep with him. Griffey loved going to their house and got excited as we’d go up the driveway.

I taught Griffey the difference between all his toys – and there were a lot of them. Most times, he could fairly accurately identify each of his toys scattered throughout the room and bring it back to me when rewarded. He also could go retrieve my slippers and drag them back to me or even attack me on command (thanks to Mike’s encouragement). Griffey would sometimes attack and chase me so viciously, my shrieking would only urge him on even more (and Mike would reward him with treats). I must admit, I loved it too. Mike and I traveled a bit after getting married, and we were incredibly lucky to have Mike’s parents take care of him most times we were gone. Griffey usually came back from Papa’s house thoroughly spoiled and bratty.

We took Griffey camping, hiking, on bike rides, snowshoeing, to hunting camp, and backpacking. He was an active little guy.

I mentioned Mike had not been a small dog person before. If ever there was an example of a 180 degree turn of perspective, it is this. Mike loved and adored Griffey as if he’d been his biological child. He was incredibly protective, loving, tender, and just entirely emotionally invested in the long life, health, and happiness of this 6 pound four-legged child of ours. Having Griffey entirely changed the way Mike thought about all animals, and I’m pretty sure changed the tenderness of his heart to all living things. He was in love with all dogs, especially, and had to approach and talk to every dog he came across.

In spring of 2011, Mike became ill just as he was beginning Physician Assistant school at the University of Washington. I had finished Pharmacy school just a few months prior and we were in the process of buying a new home across from a park in a neighborhood we loved in Spokane. It finally felt like things were coming full circle and life was falling into place. And then Mike spent the night in the ER due to extreme pain and nausea, and came out two days later with terminal melanoma. Life would again never be the same.

We quickly backed out of the house we were buying, moved out of our rental and back into Mike’s parents’ house in Chewelah to save money and be close to family for help. The next 5-6 months were a series of ups and downs, but mostly downs as Mike’s health deteriorated. He participated in clinical trials in Seattle and then Los Angelas, where we lived in a hotel for 10 days until we got an apartment and lived for about 2 months. Griffey was there with us through it all.

It was such a crazy time. Family would take turns coming down to help. I frequently wheeled Mike to the doctor’s office and sometimes the ER for scary turns of events. Griffey got left alone at our apartment often, but someone was always there at night with him and to walk him around the posh Westwood neighborhood by UCLA in the mornings. I think he really loved it there. We flew back and forth 2-3 times with Griffey and he was quite the traveler. I can’t believe how easy he was during this time. It’s like he knew I needed it.

In September, Mike’s condition progressed to the point where he was paralyzed and we had to take a medical flight back home. Mike, his dad, me and Griffey all rode a private medical flight back home to Deaconess where I had a bed set up next to Mike. Griffey was there the last day of Mike’s life and when he passed, he was curled up on Mike’s hospital bed next to him.

Having Griffey during that time after losing Mike gave me a reason to go on. He was our baby. I traveled a lot during the next 6 months and I was so lucky to have Mike’s parents to watch Griffey and love him like Mike and I did. I always knew he was in the best hands there. I’d come home off and on for a few days or weeks, then travel somewhere else. I’m so grateful to Griffey and Mike’s parents for allowing me that time to develop independence and strength and go through the healing process that I needed.

WRITTEN 12/27/2022

I began this blog post 2 years ago when I felt like I might not have much more time with Griffey. He began developing dementia sometime in late 2020. It felt so ominous that I began mourning him for the first time and began writing this post. Now, finishing off this post where the story left off:

Griffey allowed me to eventually find love again and Chris, of course, fell in love with Griffey. Who wouldn’t? Chapter 2 of mine and Griffey’s life has been nothing short of beautiful and extraordinary.

Griffey went through 5 more moves with us over the next 10 years. He was so easy, funny, silly, just the absolute joy and love of my life. He allowed us to travel to 30-some countries over that time period and I was always so lucky to find amazing friends who were willing to pet sit in my home. Griffey was loved by so many people.

We sold our house at the golf course in 2018 and decided to build the home we really wanted. It took 2 years of waiting, but finally during the pandemic in the spring of 2020, we were able to move into the new house. I’d been waiting to provide Griffey with a nice, comfortable stable forever home for so long. I wanted to get him back to the golf course where we could go for long walks, let him run as fast as he could, and have a space to feel like we could all finally settle.

Less than 6 months later, Griffey started to change. He would start pacing and panting in the evenings, wandering aimlessly or staring off into space in another room. He stopped wanting to sleep in bed with us and either paced or slept in the living room. Eventually the vet started him on Prozac and this helped with the pacing. He came back to sleeping at least part of the night with us until he jumped down in the middle of the night. His eating habits changed and he stopped eating as much and I started adding broth or canned food to his dry food. He didn’t want to lie on my lap in the mornings anymore. Everything was just different. At that time, I thought I may lose him soon. I didn’t know what all the changes meant but I was deeply grieving the loss of the dog I had known for almost 16 years. I remember crying constantly the first week this happened.

In 2021, Chris went through his own cancer battle. I took around 6 months off from work while Chris was going through his treatment and then recovery. It was such a blessing to also be able to be home with Griffey during this time. I went back to work for a short period of time, then almost immediately, got called back to have my hysterectomy that had been cancelled due to Covid. So again, 6 more weeks off from work.

By this time, I had saved up through the pandemic, bought a Sprinter van, and hired a builder to turn it into a tiny home. It had been a longtime dream of mine. So our van was down in California and we took Griffey with us to drive a rental car down and pick it up. Looking back on videos from this time, Griffey was doing ok. He lacked a spark of silliness and the same personality he used to have but he was getting around ok.

 

I went back to work for the months of January and February of 2022. Finally, March 1st, a year after Chris’s start to cancer treatment, we embarked on our maiden van voyage. I had finally decided to go from staff pharmacist to a fill-in basis, which is something I’d dreamt of and worked towards for years.

Griffey still had a pep in his step and seemed to enjoy little hikes in Sedona and did really well in the van. For convenience and cleanliness, I started using belly bands for Griffey so he wouldn’t pee in the van. He’d get nervous and go frequently while we were driving if he wasn’t sleeping. I also had begun cooking his food for him, buying ground turkey, sweet potato, rice, and other veggies. March and April were spent in California, Arizona, and Utah. Somewhere around that time, Griffey had his first seizure. He got up to go pee in the morning, wobbled, and collapsed into a limp, howling baby for a few seconds and pooped and peed on me. Afterwards, he slept all day. It was so traumatic the first time for me, I just cried and cried.

I took the “wait and see” approach and he didn’t have another seizure for probably a month. Then another and another, maybe a couple weeks to a month apart. The only things I can attribute the seizures to is possible head trauma when he fell off a ledge in a parking area in California. And once, years ago probably around 2019, he slipped off the bed and jumped into the wall, knocking himself unconscious. It was the scariest, saddest thing.

We flew home in April for a couple weeks then back to Arizona to continue our drive home through May. We spent most the summer at home and traveling in the van around Rainier, Mt Hood, and up to Banff. Griffey did so good. Sure, he’d slowed down significantly. I had to steer him on the path when we’d go for walks, help him up and down over obstacles, I was constantly washing pee out of his diapers, and struggling to get him to eat enough. His vision was bad, and he had multiple eye issues I had to put 3-4 different kinds of drops in each day to treat.

He’d been having the sundowners starting each night around 6 pm. In the van, it was very stressful. If we were driving, he’d get extremely anxious on my lap or pacing in the back. So we always tried to not be driving after 5 pm or so. Griffey’s nighttime pacing and anxiety meant I needed to be able to put him in bed and he’d circle and fall over numerous times until he’d get comfortable or exhausted enough to finally lie down and sleep. Our bed was 4 feet off the ground, so we had to either stand right by the bed and line it with barriers so he couldn’t fall, or we’d have to get in bed with him. It essentially meant we couldn’t do anything at night time. Griffey wouldn’t sleep on his bed on the floor. He’d pace and bump into things, sometimes slip and fall and panic. Or he’d knock over his water. We just literally couldn’t do anything past like 5 pm. We could leave him for a few hours during the day or in the morning because he’d sleep for a while. But it was difficult. We’d occasionally come back and you could tell he’d been pacing and his little diaper would be soaked so I’d have to bathe him in the sink.

Towards the end of our trip to Canada, Griffey had a new kind of seizure. This time at night, he foamed at the mouth, went rigid, and kicked his legs violently. It was awful. I cried and cried. It happened two nights in a row, so I started giving him alprazolam he had for anxiety each night before bed to prevent any further seizures until we got home. It worked.

Then we saw the vet and started Keppra immediately when we got home. It made him act drunk and wobbly for a few days but then he got used to it. We also got a prescription for trazodone to help him go to sleep. The vet gave me a “Quality of Life Scale” and euthanasia paperwork. I cried. I knew we weren’t there yet though. Aside from preventing seizures, the Keppra seemed to resolve other strange issues too. Like for over a year, Griffey had sun sensitivity where shadows in the sunlight make him twitch and flinch. It was incredibly sad. But suddenly the Keppra made that stop. It also helped with Griffey’s pacing and relaxing in the evenings a bit.

We left again for our longest trip yet in September. We spent 3 months circumnavigating the country. We went to New England for fall colors, to Maine, to New York City, Charleston and Savannah, to Florida to visit my dad, to the Florida Keyes, New Orleans, Arkansas and Texas, through Arizona and California and back home again. It admittedly was difficult with Griffey sometimes. I had to get up at least once or twice per night to take him outside in sometimes poor weather, cooking food in the van and trying to find things he’d eat to take his medications was hard, keeping him clean and constantly washing diapers was exhausting. And sometimes carrying him for hours to avoid leaving him behind was tiring. He’d get restless sometimes and like a baby, I couldn’t always figure out what he needed: pee, poop, water, food, sleep? It had to be one of those.

 

We celebrated Griffey’s 18th birthday in Sedona last month. We went for a walk on an easy trail where I mostly carried him. We went out to a restaurant that had a specific dog menu and ordered the venison stew where he ate it at the table with his own fork. Finally, I got balloons and we had a quick celebratory photoshoot in one of our favorite places we’ve traveled this year. It was bittersweet. I wished with all my heart he could’ve enjoyed the day more.

We arrived back home December 1st. That night I had an incredibly vivid dream, which I rarely have, of young Griffey running down the hallway at Mike’s parents’ house (his happy place when he was young). I woke up sobbing and totally in distress. And that was the first time I felt like I knew the end was drawing near. We’d been planning to take the van (and Griffey) to Baja, Mexico in the coming months after the holidays. But Griffey was starting to become more difficult to keep safe and I felt guilty all the time because he just didn’t seem happy. There was no spark there anymore. No tail wags, no eagerness for food, no pep in his step. When he was asleep was the only time he was “himself.”

I tried surrounding him with all his old toys he hadn’t touched in years. I hoped maybe the smells would trigger memories or bring him some comfort.

Things happened so gradually over a year or more, that it was hard to notice there were significant changes in general. But as soon as we walked in our house, I knew how much he’d aged and changed. I was hoping he’d show excitement and recognition of being home. But instead he was slipping and wobbling in this new, more open space and slick concrete floors. He was stopping and peeing/pooping anywhere the urge hit, he didn’t remember where the door was or how to go through it coming in or out, he couldn’t see or figure out how to go up or down the patio step to get to the grass or how to get back in. I just carried him and put my arms out like bumpers to keep him from falling into the snowbank or patio. Inside, he’d try to lay down on his blanket and spin in delirious circles until he’d lose his balance and fall and I’d run over to help him. I’d hold him steady while he ate or drank.

I asked Mike’s parents to come see him and potentially say a final goodbye, because I didn’t know how long he’d have. I’ve always known I wanted that for him. They represent Mike to me. They comforted me with the promise that Mike was waiting for Griffey. It’s his turn to have him now after all this time.

Over the next 3 weeks of being home, Griffey’s interest in food declined even more. My home cooked food was ignored and wasted, but he started eating canned food again for a day or two before getting bored of that. Trying to get his 3 pills in each day was so stressful because I’d be terrified he’d refuse the food I’d hide them in and I worried he’d start having seizures again. Some nights, I’d spend 30 minutes trying to get him to to accept food and take his pills (cheese, meat, peanut butter, cream cheese, whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, mayonnaise were just some of them).

Also, for months Griffey had been sneezing and flinging green snot everywhere. The vet had said if it was out of one nostril, he likely has a sinus tumor. It wasn’t until this month that I said, “hey can we try an antibiotic just as a hail Mary, to see if it clears it up?” So I spent $125 on a liquid antibiotic. He absolutely hated it. I tried hiding it in everything. Finally on day three, I had Chris hold him while I just squirted it in his mouth. Seconds later, he threw up and had a seizure. So I instantly said I was done trying the antibiotic. I felt terrible. BUT – lo and behold, a day or two later the snot stopped! He could breathe clearly and wasn’t snoring anymore. He didn’t have crusty snot all over his nose and green slime all over my floor. It was amazing! I feel so guilty we didn’t try that months ago!

But that didn’t solve the real issue, which is Griffey had progressive canine cognitive dysfunction (aka dementia) and was no longer safe to leave alone. He spent 90% of his time sleeping, but the other 10% of the time he’d walk wobbly circles around the kitchen or wander the house walking into walls, tripping over rugs and falling, trying to lie down but rolling onto his back, and just looking overall uncomfortable. My heart was breaking seeing him look embarrassed or in pain when he’d walk straight into a wall. For 2 weeks I tried talking to Chris about feeling like the time to make a decision was near. But I don’t think Chris was ready to talk about it until this week. We literally couldn’t leave Griffey at home. I took him to Spokane with us every time we had an appointment (he’d spin stressful circles on my lap most the time), we took him to friend’s houses, Christmas Eve parties…I couldn’t risk leaving him at home and hurting himself or feeling lost and scared.

Christmas night I had one more vivid dream. In my dream, I was hurrying to get to this room where Griffey was. He had essentially turned into a zombie dog and was just standing there staring into space. The vet was there waiting for me. I held Griffey in my arms in a seat as she gave him an injection and he went limp in my arms as I comforted him and whispered to him. He was gone. I woke up sobbing hysterically in the middle of the night. Griffey was sleeping peacefully between us. But all I could think about was how uncomfortable he seemed and had no joy. How just like in my dream, he’s a shell of himself. He’s not really even there. I was stressing about full day appointments we have next week where I can’t leave him home but I also can’t bring him. How if we took him to Mexico like we planned, something awful could happen to him and I’d have no where to turn. How I was so scared of waiting until he suffered to make this impossible decision and regretting waiting. I never want him to experience pain or suffering.

That morning after Christmas, I messaged my vet friend who I’d been corresponding with over the last few weeks. I told her I think it needed to happen this week. A little while later, she messaged back saying she could come that day to see how he was doing and give me some advice. Suddenly, I felt like my soul left my body. Like I was floating there watching myself next to Griffey on the couch sleeping as I responded “I think I could go through with it today.” She responded that she’d come prepared then. I couldn’t breathe. I felt sick.

The way that day passed was in the quietest slow motion but also I wanted to stop time so bad. Griffey curled up on a blanket on the couch with us as we cried, told him all the things we wanted him to hear, and fed him prime rib whenever he awoke. I felt like I was having a panic attack. At one point, I said, “I don’t have to go through with this. We could put this off till Friday.” But I knew I’d spend every day this week feeling just as sick as I did that day dreading it and dying inside. And what would he gain? I had to think of him and what he seemed to be telling me. He was tired. He wasn’t really there anymore. But I would’ve kept that little shell of him in my arms forever, helping him go pee, helping him lie down, talking to him like I always have, if I knew that’s what he wanted. I’d scoured facebook groups about dogs with dementia, I Googled “how do you know when it’s time,” I took multiple “Quality of Life” quizzes. I had asked God, Mike, Griffey, the universe, anything to help me know what the right decision was for weeks. I never got anything but those two dreams and Griffey’s sad eyes.

So when she arrived, we made small talk between my tears, I fed Griffey more prime rib, which he seemed more eager to eat than anything in the last 2 months which made it even harder. I held him in my arms for the sedative shot and he relaxed into me like an extension of my soul on the outside of my body until he was snoring. Soon, the final injection was placed in his tiny leg vein while he slept and seconds later, the snoring stopped, his chest stopped rising, and he was as limp as I’ve ever felt him against my heart. I sobbed the whole time, Chris could hardly watch he was so distraught but I’d asked him ahead of time to please take a few pictures for me throughout. I hadn’t been able to look at them until now.

We wrapped Griffey up in his blanket he’s used in the van the last few months. I caressed his little head and ears like I have so many thousands of times. When she took him out the front door, swaddled in his blanket, everything in my soul screamed that this wasn’t right and he belonged with me, as I shut the front door and we collapsed into each other sobbing.

Nothing has ever felt so wrong in my life with the exception of leaving the hospital without Mike when he passed 11 years ago. The emptiness and void left by his little soul was and still is ripping my chest open with pain.

There is an entire part of my identity that is “Griffey’s Mom.” Since I won’t be having kids, the entire maternal side of me was manifested in my relationship with Griffey since I was 21. The way I mothered him, talked to him, worried about him, considered his well-being in my every decision is now suddenly gone. I am devastated to my core. I feel like I made a mistake. Did I do it out of selfishness or convenience? I could’ve carried him around and spent hours a day taking care of him forever if I knew that’s what he wanted. But I just didn’t know.

The following day, yesterday, I gathered his blanket, his toys he hasn’t touched in 2 years that I’d spread around his bed hoping they triggered his memories, his leashes, his diapers, everything. I could barely breathe. Every time we make a sound in the house, I look over towards his bed to see if we woke him. When I hear Chris in the bathroom brushing his teeth, I instantly feel the urge to run to the bedroom and make sure he’s still sleeping, not wobbling towards the edge of the bed unsupervised. When I see a time on the clock, I think it’s his medication times. When I come in from the garage, I hurry in hoping he is still asleep on his blanket. When I lie in bed, with his blanket still on top to prevent him from blowing snot all over our bedding, I expect to see him curled up in a little white ball. I reach for him first thing in the morning.

But all I see is an empty spot where his bed and food used to be. I can’t handle the pain. I feel like I did the wrong thing. I miss both versions of him. The young Griffey of his youth and the new, very confused, but adorably dependent on his mamma version of him. I have so much guilt. Guilt that I always wanted to take him on more walks but didn’t always follow through. Guilt that I didn’t get to take him on the van adventures until after he changed. Guilt that it took two long years to move up to our new house and he started to change shortly after we moved in. Guilt that he had a few accidents in his life that probably scared him and could’ve injured his little brain. Guilt that even in the last year I sometimes lost my patience with his seemingly inconvenient habits that could be frustrating. Guilt that he spent as much time as he did being confused and uncomfortable.

My logical brain knows he was not comfortable or happy. He hasn’t wagged his tail in over a month. It killed me to see him this way. But my heart feels like I made a mistake and I tricked him. I thought I would feel relief for him, relief for me. But all I feel is desperation to have him back. I just want to hold him and sleep next to him. Sometimes I even call out his nicknames like he might hear me and respond. Or I close my eyes and imagine I’m petting him on the blanket next to me.

Last night and today I watched old Instagram stories all the way back to 2019. I can’t believe how different he had become and how much I didn’t notice the changes. Even in April he was standing on his hind legs in the front seat of the van looking out the window at me as I approached with fast food. He could never have stood up looking out the window this past month, let alone even stand in the seat without us holding our arms out to prevent him from losing his balance and falling off the seat. I watched videos of him waking me up at 5 am excited to eat. He’d spin around excitedly racing me to his food dish, looking at me with such joy and spark. I miss him so bad, the pain is unbearable.

I wish I could end this on a good note. A life lesson. An optimistic, happy ending. But I’ve spent 18 years dreading this day and the grief that would follow. It was even worse than I imagined. I always joked that Griffey and I were like ET and Elliot and could feel each other’s pain. I hope he doesn’t feel my pain right now. I hope he feels nothing but joy as he runs with Mike through the meadows and flower fields of heaven like they did so many years ago.

Some of my favorites over the years: