The dog bucket list!
When Lauren Fern Watt’s English Mastiff was diagnosed with cancer, she was determined to make her time special
The moment I saw Gizelle – a big ball of fur with deep hazel eyes – I knew she had to be mine. I was 19, too old you might think to be suddenly so attached to what my brother and sister kept on protesting was meant to be a family pet. But in the days that followed even they couldn’t deny there was something special between us.
We’d always had dogs, but Gizelle – who I’d named after my favourite fairy-tale character – was different. When I moved into a rented house during my fourth year of university, she came with me. And, while I drew the line at taking her to lectures, every day after class we’d go for a run, through the parks or along the streets.
She was my protector, my best friend, my partner in crime – the one thing I could count on. Gizelle was with me during my parents’ divorce, and my own break-ups too. And, she was there as I watched my mum battle with alcohol addiction. She sat with me as I cried, unable to understand why Mum couldn’t just stop drinking. Through all of it, Gizelle, my huge 11st English Mastiff, was my one constant.
In June 2011, I graduated, started working in travel PR and, after cutting ties with Mum, I moved 800 miles away from my home in Nashville to New York. Gizelle loved the city, but one afternoon, in July 2014, I noticed she was limping on her left hind leg. I took her to see the vet, bought her vitamins and a heated dog bed but, with the limp not improving, we were referred to a specialist. As we waited for the results I was terrified, but I was determined to do something fun for Gizelle – she’d been prodded and poked enough.
I was heartbroken
I decided to take her on a road trip. Looking at her, sprawled across the back seat, she was so happy. We stopped to walk through a park, and dozed near a brook
– Gizelle happily obliging as my pillow.
It was the perfect day. But, just three weeks later, came the phone call that confirmed the worst. Gizelle had osteosarcoma – bone cancer.
‘She may only have a couple of months,’ said the vet. ‘But it’s hard to predict.’ I was heartbroken and when I finally stopped crying, I did the only thing that my then 25-year-old self could think of. I’d always kept a diary, so I started writing a list – Gizelle’s bucket list, to be exact.
Our last adventure
I’d always wanted to take her to the beach – I thought she’d enjoy wading through the surf. And from now on she’d only eat the finest chicken and steak I could find. I vowed, while I might not be able to buy us more time, we’d go on more road trips, have more adventures. Together.
And we did. That September, I drove to the beach, parking close to the sand so Gizelle wouldn’t have to walk far. ‘C’mon girl,’ I called. Her limp was only slight that day and I watched her play in the waves.
Accomplishing one of our goals spurred me on to come up with even more. We spent a week in Maine, meeting goats and chickens, and contrary to the vet’s diagnosis that Gizelle might not live to the autumn, as the leaves fell that November we were right there, jumping in them. We went canoeing and on road trips – and one evening, as I chatted to my dad about my plans – and hopes – for the following weeks, conversation turned to Mum. Dad would never say a bad word about her but I was still so angry and so confused. ‘Why couldn’t she give up the alcohol, if not for herself, then for us?’ I asked. ‘Mum has a disease,’ he said. ‘Think of it like the one Gizelle has.’
Maybe he was right. Maybe it was like cancer – some people get better and some don’t. Nothing I did could change the outcome. But I could do was change my attitude towards it. I could still see Mum without feeling bad about our relationship. Gizelle had helped me without realising it. And, while I’d never be able to truly make her understand how much she’d meant to me, I hoped she knew how much I loved her.
As the cancer spread, her body grew weaker, and on the 6 January 2015 I took her back to the beach one last time. I fed her ice-cream – her favourite, vanilla – and that night I lay beside her on the floor.
I was desperate for just one more day, but the next morning, I knew it was time. I took her to the vet and there, as Gizelle placed her head in my lap, and the injection pierced her skin, I said goodbye to my best friend.
Gizelle was cremated and I kept her ashes on a shelf in my room, next to a photo of her. It’s now two years on and every now and then, I’ll take some of those ashes and scatter them where we had our adventures – on the beach, or by the brook, remembering the fun Gizelle and I had. Her time might have been too short, but I know, without a doubt, we lived it fully. ✱ Lauren’s book, Gizelle’s Bucket List: My Life With A Very Large Dog (£14.99, Hodder & Stoughton) is out now