Our beloved "Plus Pooch", Norah.

Norries, Norah-belle, Norah bones, The green and yellow Norries (not sure where this came from), Norsies (what Mare called her before she could pronounce Norah), WBP (World's Best Puppy)... the nicknames go on.  Norah passed away one month ago tomorrow, April 3, 2013.  We woke up in the morning, and she didn't.

About six months ago, Norah was diagnosed with a heart condition.  Actually, three different heart conditions, and was put on human heart medicine that we were told would essentially delay the inevitable.  Her vet told us that there was no cure for her condition, but that the drugs would keep her pain free and curb the recent seizure-like episodes that she began to have.   But the vet also warned us of sudden death.  We cried, and then we enjoyed every single second with Norah.  She was doing so well, that we almost forgot that she was sick.  The girls knew that she was sick, and that we needed to give her extra love, and they never ever forgot her in their nightly prayers.

In her last week, she only made it to the end of the alley before we had to end her walk and take her home.  It took me three times the amount of time to get her home.  Then she fell down the stairs.  And she started panting a lot.  These were signs that we knew her time was close.  But we lived at least partially, blissfully in denial.  When we found out she was sick, six months ago, I told Jason that I just wanted her to not wake up one day.  So that we didn't have to make a difficult decision, or have to see her suffer for a long time.  She was "singing" with the girls piano until the last day.

Every night before bed I knelt down next to her and told her she was a great dog and that I loved her.  She was truly our first baby, and a very important part of our family.  I heard her that night, have a hard time breathing, I offered for her to come sleep next to me, and I told her she was okay and that I loved her.  When we woke up in the morning she was gone.  The girls all held her and brought her blankets and laid their favorite stuffed animals near her to comfort her.  We told them that she was in heaven, which they accepted sweetly, until about an hour in when Marin asked, "If Norah's in heaven, why is she still in your bedroom."  After contemplating explaining the concept further to a four year old, we just told her that we were taking her to heaven, when Jason and I took her to the vet that morning to be cremated. 

My mom came and watched the girls, and Jason and I went together.  That was a hard day.  But the quiet, clip-clop of her paws free days that have followed, have been even harder.  We all miss her very much.  And it has gotten easier every day.  Marin and Emile each kept one of her favorite animals, and we donated her things to a local shelter together.  Marin slept with a picture of Norah and her together tucked under her arms for weeks.  Now it's by her bedside.  Emilie asks "Where's Norah?"  and requests that she goes for walks with us.  But they are getting used to this, and asking about her less and less.  The vet gave us a mold of her paw, which we framed and hung in the hallway with our photo collage.  Although Emilie thinks it's a wolf paw.  She keeps pointing to it says, "Look, Mommy! Wolf!"

We will always remember our sweet dog Norah.  She was the sweetest, snuggling, head tilting dog.  Our walks will never be the same.  Our hearts will hold her forever.