The Scottish Mail on Sunday - You
BUCKET LIST FOR A GIRL’S BEST FRIEND
When LAUREN FERN WATT’s faithful companion, an English mastiff called Gizelle, was diagnosed with cancer, she decided to make the most of their remaining time together – and learned to let go of life’s resentments
A writer on how she helped her terminally ill dog leiv her lats days ot the full
It was the perfect weekend for an adventure. I called Gizelle’s vet. ‘I know she is supposed to stay off stairs, but can she go on a road trip if I’m really careful?’ Gizelle loved the car and hadn’t been on a road trip in a while.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said the vet. She had a bad limp, but as yet we didn’t know why. So I texted my friend Rebecca.
The next morning the three of us set off for a drive from New York to the White Mountains. When I looked back at Gizelle, sprawled across the back seat, she looked the happiest I had seen her in ages.
Rebecca and I stopped to do handstands in the grass. We took a nap next to a brook, with Gizelle big enough for both of us to use as a pillow. We took her to happy hour at a bar and got her a huge bowl of iced water. Rebecca and I ordered two brown ales and clinked them with Gizelle’s water bowl. Cheers. It was the perfect day. Just blue skies, a cute bartender in a flannel shirt and my two best friends.
Mostly we just drove Gizelle around. She needed to stay off her feet. She stuck her head out of the window, her ears flapping in the wind. Rebecca and I took it in turns to stick our heads out of the window, too, just to see what all the fuss was about. The wind ripped out my scrunchie and my hair blew wildly around my face. I closed my eyes but could still see the brightness of the sun flickering through the trees. I stretched my arms out of the window and it felt like I was flying – it was amazing.
Then, just a few weeks later, came the phone call to confirm that Gizelle had osteosarcoma (bone cancer). ‘I’m so sorry to have to give you these results,’ said the vet. ‘She may have a couple of months but it’s hard to predict.’ The vet said that I would know when it was ‘time’.
I had known that this day would come eventually, but nothing could have prepared me for it. I hugged Gizelle and buried my face into her fur, sobbing. I didn’t want to let go of her. Never, ever could I have imagined that this bad news would hurt so much, that I would feel I couldn’t go on. I needed to find a way to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
So I did the only thing my 25-year- old self could think of. I dug out a pen and my silly teenage journal from the depths of my bag, and began to write ‘Gizelle’s Bucket List’.
I’d always wanted to take Gizelle to a beach. She had yet to hear the waves crashing on a shore and I thought she might enjoy standing in front of a big body of water that would make her feel small.
I organised a beach bag for her with all the care of a neurotic helicopter mum. Water bowl. Extra gallon of water. Beach towel. Check! I brought her chicken from the good meat shop, her dog bone and red rope toy. Then I packed my gear: camera, journal, sandwich.
I parked as close as I could to the sand, then lugged everything across at turtle speed. I didn’t want to move too fast and make Gizelle feel obliged to keep up. Her limp was only slight that day, but the vet had told me it was important to be extra careful with both of her back legs. The left hind leg (where the tumour was) would only grow weaker, and if she injured the right while staying off the left, that would be it.
I walked down to the water as Gizelle sat at our little camp and watched me. ‘C’mon, girl!’ I
I’d always wanted to take Gizelle to a beach. She had yet to hear the waves crashing on a shore