Although it's been several days, the shock hasn't lessened much.
Last Sunday morning, Jeff leashed the dogs and took them with him for a mountain bike ride. This wasn't their first time, so it wasn't a brand new experience. Although it was very hot last week, that morning was significantly cooler. He kept them on the leashes until they were past all of the busy streets of our neighborhood and then turned them loose so they could go at their own pace.
He kept checking their progress and offered them water several times. He said they were doing very well, better than ever before. Eventually their journey was nearing its end so he releashed them for the way home.
Suddenly, Elka collapsed.
Jeff dismounted and knelt beside her, stunned by her abrupt change in behavior. At first, he thought she was just exhausted (though she hadn't been showing signs of it even a moment earlier) and needed a couple of minutes to recover. He spoke softly to her and petted her silky head.
Soon he realized she was in pretty bad shape. She would try to lift her head only to have it drop and her hind legs were clearly not functioning. Jeff moved her into the shade on someone's lawn to make her more comfortable and noticed she wasn't able to help him much in the process. He offered her water but she showed no interest in it.
Though she was having difficulty controlling her body, her tail continued to wag.
After several more moments, Jeff saw she was worsening and made a sudden decision. Tethering her and Duncan to a tree, he hopped on his bike and rode it as fast as he could home to get the car.
Meanwhile, I had just emerged from the shower and was wearing only a towel when Jeff burst through the door, saying, "Something's wrong with Elka."
After hearing his quick description, I urged him to not wait for me to get dressed. The thought of her tethered to some stranger's tree while she was so ill for even a few unnecessary seconds made me want him to return to her immediately. He and Delaney jumped in the car and hurried back to the dogs.
When they returned, she had slipped into some sort of stupor, not even able to recognize her heartsick owners. Jeff gently stuck her muzzle into a bowl of water he had brought and she didn't respond in the slightest.
Carefully, he lifted her into the back seat, quickly got Duncan and Delaney situated in the front and rushed off to the vet.
She stopped breathing before they got there.
Once at home again, Jeff lifted her out of the car and onto our lawn. He came inside and sorrowfully told me, "She's gone."
I hurried out front. Delaney and I wept over her lifeless body, touching her beautiful head and lengthy legs for nearly the last time. Even in death she was lovely.
It was impossible to believe that she was gone. Only two hours earlier, I had been looking out the window at her and thinking how cute she was, bounding around playfully.
Of all the dogs I've ever owned, she by far had the sweetest disposition and was the most amusing.
Sometimes when she would wag her tail, it would move in a circle instead of the normal back and forth motion. That always made us laugh.
She was a lanky creature, possessing legs that were slightly too long for her body. The result was a gangly clumsiness when she was excited which was all the more endearing.
She pulverized several toys far beyond recognition and then continued to play with them as if they were the most beguiling items ever. Sometimes we would hear strange noises and look out back to see her batting her plastic food bowl around on the patio like it was a hockey puck sliding across ice.
When we walked the dogs together, she would often bite Duncan's leash as if she wanted to be the one walking him. Other times, she would walk alongside one of us and nip at our clothes or nudge our hands, urging us to pet her as if she wanted to enjoy some of the best things in life (walking and being petted) simultaneously.
She hardly ever barked which, in my opinion, is one of the best qualities a dog can exhibit. She was compliant, but not timid and playful without being too overbearing. She had soft, reddish fur and beautiful, naturally outlined eyes.
Don't misunderstand; she wasn't perfect. She destroyed more than her share of items which we had to replace, she dug a number of moon craters in the backyard and she would sometimes jump up on you, dirtying your clothes with her muddy paws. In other words: She was a dog.
When Bruiser died, it wasn't a shock. He was 12 or 13 years old so we knew he was living on borrowed time. He had lived a full life of adventuresome walks, belly rubs and tasty kibble.
Elka was only two. I had taken it for granted that she would still be with us once the kids were both grown and gone.
So what killed her? If it had been overexhaustion, I think Jeff would have noticed her looking tired before that because he was watching for it. It doesn't seem like her heart gave out on her because she would have been gone within a minute or two and it took over half an hour for her to actually pass after collapsing. It may have been a snake bite. During his runs in the nearby wildlands, Jeff has killed three or four rattlesnakes in the past year or so. Her symptoms seem compatible with this theory but we'll never know.
Jeff deeply regrets having taken the dogs that morning, naturally, but if he hadn't taken them, fearful of the unknown, he'd likely never take them on bike rides or for runs in the wash. What kind of life would that be for a dog? She loved to bound around freely through the scrub brush, chasing rabbits and plunging through the shallow waters of creeks, sand flying up behind her scampering paws. Though we wish she was still with us, we know that she had an enjoyable life and that's because we regularly took her out of the safe confines of our suburban backyard.
When life is lived best, it's a bit dangerous.
It's so sad. She really was a very precious girl.
