[Gpdd] Rainbow Bridge: Rosebud, Pt. II

[Tex]

It's funny how no matter how prepared you think you are for something, you
really aren't. 

Rosebud, our eldest piggie that had been sick for some time crossed to the
Bridge on July 5. It was an event that we had expected to happen for quite
a while; I had steeled myself for her passing: knowing she had a large
internal tumor and was living out her last days, we had not expected her to
live as long as she did. The past month was pretty bad; she had become
unable to move very well, so we kept her on soft towels and tended to her
needs. Had she shown signs of pain I knew I would have to help her
crossing, but despite some discomfort and the inconvenience of limited
mobility, her appetite remained voracious and her spirits were good. 

I remember last fall, when we used the last of the garden peppers. I felt a
strong wave of sadness, as I didn't think she'd live the winter, and that
would be the last fresh garden veggies she would enjoy. Then as winter
dragged on and finally passed, I began to hope that she might live long
enough to enjoy those garden treats one last time. We planted the seeds in
March; each day I'd tell her: "won't be long now. Fresh veggies coming."
She remined indifferent, content to hide in her nest of hay and come out
for meals and treats. She became especially fond of berry-flavored yogurt
drops. Sweet, horribly high in calcium; but for a piggie whose lifespan may
not be longer than tomorrow we indulged her with one every couple of days.
The yogurt drops became more frequent in the past few weeks when it was
clear that she did not have much more time left. 

The weather grew warmer still; the seedlings got transplanted to their
containers and the garden was oficially started. Every day I'd tell
Rosebud, "Not long now. fresh tomatoes soon." She'd twitch her little pink
nose and go back under her hay. The tomato plants put out flowers, then
eventually fruit began to form.

In early June, Rosebud became unable to move about normally. She could
still move enough to get around the cage, get to her food and crawl into
her nest. But we knew it wouldn't be long. The yogurt drops got more
frequent. 

By mid-June, the first of the local corn became available. Rosebud got a
healthy amount of silk and husks along with the rest of the herd. She
enjoyed that even more than the yogurt drops (but give me one as dessert
anyway).

Finally, one small tomato began to ripen. I'd tell Donna, "tell that tomato
to hurry up; Rosebud is getting impatient." I'd tell Rosebud, "hang on. The
tomato is almost ripe." 

Each morning, I would go into the piggies' room, expecting to find her
gone. Each morning, an inqusitive pink nose would poke twitching out of the
hay nest, looking for breakfast (and a yogurt drop, please). I'd gently
lift her into the carry box I made, and take her out so I could clean her
off and change the towel. Then back into her nest with a yogurt drop reward
to keep her calm until breakfast followed a few minutes later. Every
afternoon, I'd get home from work and greet the herd, looking first for
that pink nose, then checking Sweetie Pigg (our other piggie on the
critacal list). Rosebud would crawl over and supervise while I changed
Sweetie Pigg's towel and gave her a few Cavy Cuisine pellets (along with a
multitude of other problems, Sweetie Pigg is a sludge piggie, and on
limited pellets). Usually Rosebud would go back into her nest, satisfied
that I was properly tending to Sweetie Pigg's needs.

Dinnertime and evening cage cleaning saw the same routines, except Donna
would hand out the yogurt drop.

As July began, it brough the promise of one small, round ripe tomato;
perhaps by the Fourth it would be ready. 

Rosebud used to love to play soccer with  cherry tomatoes. The one ripening
was a bit too big for kicking around, even if she had been able to stand to
do it. I told her she'd just have to eat it when it was ripe; no playing
with food this time.

On July Fourth, the one lone tomato was picked, washed, a small piece
sliced off for Sweetie Pigg and the rest presented with much ceremony to
Rosebud. She dove into it and finished it in a couple of minutes. "plenty
more on the vine," I told her.

The next morning, when I changed her towel, I knew something was terribly
wrong. The little pink nose didn't rise in greeting, although she did pick
her head up when I came over to wish her good morning. When I put her back
in and offered a yogurt drop, she wasn't interested. I knew that Rosebud
was preparing for her final journey.

As much as we wanted to pick her up and hold her, we didn't: a lot of
holding and movement caused her pain from the tumor. Instead, we would rub
her head and talk to her throughout the day. Unknown to each other, both
Donna and I had told Rosebud it was ok to go. I told her I loved her, and
to take a message of love to everyone at the Bridge. 

At around 1 pm, we decided to take a nap. I haven't been getting a lot of
sleep due to other nursing duities (not onlt Rosebud and Sweetie Pigg, but
our cat Hockeypuck is on the mend from surgery and needs tube feeding ever
8 hours). The nap ended up lasting three hours; when I went into the
piggies' room, I knew Rosebud was gone. I gently lifted her out so we could
hold her one last time. In her lips was one strand of hay, and when I
looked in her cage the morning yogurt drop had one last nibble taken out of
it. It was still moist from her lips.

We took her to the vet's, and her ashes will be back with us in a few days. 

I think she waited for that tomato - or for me to see her enjoy it. Her
passing was peaceful and quiet. So why am I so upset?

She was an independent, crabby little piggie (very little! She wasn't much
larger than a hamster) that didn't like people or being held. She had bit
me (painfully) more than once during those 7 + years, and spent most of
that time as a tumbleweed of hay moving about her business. So why am I
crushed?

In addition to all that, I was prepared for this day, and I knew it was
going to happen for a long time. So why am I looking at the world through
so many tears? 

I guess you really can't prepare for some things.

Goodbye, little Pink Nose.