Carlie, The First Golden Girl

Carlie's story starts like many other senior dogs; she was found as a stray in Salt Lake City, and went unclaimed at the shelter. A friend brought her to our attention. This all happened like most of the dogs we have within our organization, but we were still at the earliest stages of starting the rescue. We had just received our 501c3 status, and were waiting to put on our kickoff fundraiser with the goal of collecting funds to get things rolling, and get dogs rescued. The plan was to hold off on taking any dogs until we had a foster network, and funds to properly take care of the dogs. It was decided that another established rescue would take her into their care. We agreed to foster her for them, but her care would be backed by a rescue with more experience and more resources.

She was picked up on a Friday from the shelter by a foster for the other rescue where she stayed over the weekend. We agreed to meet the foster at a halfway point and take her home from there on Monday, that was the first time we met Carlie. While picking her up, and the foster asked for our rescues information. Apparently there was a miscommunication, and the other rescue had planned to pass ownership of Carlie to The Golden Bark Foundation. A surprise, but I took it as a sign, and an opportunity to live by the mission of the newly formed foundation, to provide care to our first senior dog. This was all I wanted to do and the entire reason I started the rescue in the first place, and what better way to start than with this beautiful and silly lady.

Nathan drove while she sat awkwardly in my lap, watching the cars go by out the window. Like many older dogs removed from their established lives, she was likely wondering why she went from her home, to the streets, to a shelter, to a strangers home, to another strangers car. Regardless, we kept her comfortable on the ride home, and promptly introduced her to our personal pack when we got there. She settled in quickly and slowly started digging her way into our hearts.

We took Carlie to see the vet about a week later for a standard senior dog workup. It was during this initial vet visit that we found out she would not be able to be adopted out, and would have to stay with the foundation as a hospice case. Her blood work showed kidney failure, and a heart murmur. I asked the vet how long dogs typically live while in kidney failure, and she told me she'd never seen a dog live more than two years. 

I was so sad for sweet Carlie when I found out, and cried for her. Such a goofy old girl with soft fur and large sweet eyes, she didn't deserve to have her life cut short. I had only known her a week and already I was devastated at the thought of losing her.

Nathan and I agreed that we would get her into a hospice foster home. We believed it would be best for us to focus on the dogs we already owned, and keep our home open to temporarily foster whatever other dogs the foundation would bring in the near future. The foster she had originally that picked her up from the shelter and delivered her to us had offered to take her in should she end up a hospice case, and so the plan was to do just that. Her soon to be new foster had things to take care of, and told me to get back to her in another week to discuss taking in Carlie. My memory of how hard I tried to get her into that home is blurry, but at some point Nathan stopped asking about it, and I forgot about it entirely. I think, well, I know, a part of me didn't want her to leave. I loved her and wanted her to spend those last years with us. As you know, sweet Carlie never ended up going to another home.

So we included her in our life: Daily walks, playtime, nightly cheese, cuddles, adventures, Christmas card photo, social media posts, everything. She was a part of our small family. 

We soon found out she likely had dementia, as she would often wander for hours and forget basic things. But that didn't stop her; she continued to make us all smile. Her little quirks made us laugh. Carlie had what we called a delayed bark; she would always be the last to start barking once her brain caught up to everyone else's excitement. It was adorable. She loved getting scratched behind her ears and would smile and kick her leg when you hit the right spot. She made little grunt sounds and sneezes and followed you around everywhere. She was in the way of everything you were ever doing: cleaning, cooking, walking, socializing, she was always there wandering nearby and getting under your feet. If you ever wanted her out of the way, you could pick her up, face her in the direction you wanted her to go, and place her down. Like a wind up toy, she'd start walking in that direction instantly, it worked every time. She became known as Carlie Long Legs, because she had long and lanky legs that caused her to sleep in funny positions many people will be familiar with, as they were the highlight of many a GBF social media post. We likened her to a little long-legged spider dog. 

Time went by, she met many friends and family, she attended events with us, and she was loved by all. Everyone always commented on how soft she was, that was the first things we noticed about her when we took her in as well. Carlie quickly became not just a member of our family, but also the face of the Golden Bark Foundation. The first dog we took in, with a face begging to be broadcast to the world.

But she slowly started to decline, so slow in fact we hardly noticed until we looked back in hindsight. 

We moved to a new house in November of 2022, and Carlie forgot how to use the dog door. This was no major nuisance, she just joined my list of dogs to clean up after. Whenever we put her outside, she ran back inside because she hated the cold. She would find carpets or rugs to pee and poop on. I never got mad at her or any of our dogs prone to accidents. They're old, they've been through a lot, and it comes with the territory. They need a bit more patience and a bit more care, just like humans in old age. It turned into a game of 'Whose Pee Is It', and I got pretty good at it.

We saw the most significant shifts in her personality and health in the last months. In March of this year, she had no solid poops and was throwing up all her food. A trip to the vet and a couple medications helped her get back on track, but the diarrhea became an on and off occurrence.  She began refusing to wake up for breakfast and eating less with every meal. Being a notorious picky eater, we started to have to switch up her diet frequently to ensure she ate: chicken, beef, canned wet food, you name it. The weeks before she left, we noticed the most significant shift. 

Her delayed barking became no barking, her wandering lasted longer and longer, and it took her more time to come inside when we put her out, sometimes to the point where I would have to go fetch her from the yard and bring her inside myself. She lost weight, she didn't want to play or wag her tail, she didn't have the energy for walks, and naps took up the majority of her day. Over her last weekend, she stopped eating altogether. It wasn't odd for her to skip a meal or two, she always picked it back up, but this time was different. We tried everything to kick start her appetite, but no food changed her mind or appealed to her. In addition, the nausea and diarrhea she was experiencing in March had returned, she was at an all time low.

We decided to take her in that Monday for another check-up. We feared that it was getting close, and the vet confirmed our fears. She had lost 4-5 lbs. since her last visit in March, and that combined with her numerous other conditions were textbook signs of late stage, end of life kidney failure. The inevitable had arrived, and we made the heart wrenching decision to help her move on. We agreed with the doctor to schedule an appointment for euthanasia one week later, so that we could try to spoil her one last time. The doctor gave her fluids and some medication to help her remain comfortable in the meanwhile. We had big plans to throw her a party, take her to the farmers market, and give her everything she ever could have wanted. 

Sadly, the remedies provided by the doctor did little to change her quality of life and will to keep going. We tried everything to get her to eat, and I cried every time she refused. I was selfish. We were selfish. We wanted her around longer than her body could realistically handle, and we wanted her to enjoy us spoiling her. On Tuesday we decided if she didn't eat by the next morning, we couldn't hold on to her any longer. It was highly unfair to her. At this point she was very clearly ready to go, she had no energy, no food, and was very confused.

That night I slept with her next to me. I woke up whenever she woke up to let her drink and wander as she liked. At some point, I laid her in one of her favorite beds, and we all went back to sleep. When I woke up early that morning, she managed to somehow make it outside and wander the yard. I left her there to enjoy herself and do her duties, when I checked on her an hour later, she was lying in a ball in the corner of the yard. I thought she had passed on her own, but she was still breathing and sleeping, basking in the sunlight and fresh air.

I brought her inside and tried to get her to eat one last time. If we could kickstart her appetite, we thought she might gain the strength to stay around a little longer. Her body didn't want it. Her weak little body was ready. Nathan made the call, I didn't have the strength to do so. I had a panic attack right before we called the vet, and my tears covered her little body as he called to move up our appointment. 

I dressed her up in a little Hawaiian shirt. I told everyone she was preparing to leave for her cruise in the sky, trying to shine some light on the incredibly depressing state of affairs. We knew what she needed, we knew from the start we wouldn't get to be with her long, we knew that we provided her with the best end of life care a dog could ask for, but all we could see that day was the tragedy of loss.

We took her downtown for one last wagon ride. It wasn't a trip to the farmers market, and it wasn't a farewell party, but it was something. She slept in my arms the whole car ride there and continued sleeping in the wagon. She was no longer there; our Carlie had already started drifting away, it was apparent more to us now than ever. We took her to say goodbye to some of the friends she'd made during her time with us. Everyone held her tightly and loved on her while we cried, watching our friends say their goodbyes. 

After we visited friends, we went across the street to sit in the grass under the Ogden Amphitheater. With her in our arms, we sat in silence. The sky was gray, it had started drizzling, and all we could hear was the faint sound of rain hitting the trees above us. We sat there with her, just hours out from her appointment. Our goal was to keep her as comfortable as possible for two more hours. I picked up a purple flower and stuck it in her little shirt. She knew nothing of what was going on, just cozy in our arms. We wanted to take her into the vet sooner, we didn't want to keep her here any longer if she was ready to go, but the vet wasn't open until our scheduled 2:00 pm appointment, so we were forced to continue to wait. 

With just another hour, we decide to start driving to the vet. We took a few detours visiting our old home and going through the neighborhoods we'd walk Carlie in. We drove in painful silence with music playing in the background and her tight in Nathan's arms. 

When we got to the vet, we were taken to a room instantly, which we were grateful for so we didn't have to sit in the waiting room while others were with their pets. The tech reviewed her cremation information with us and gave me the paper to write what we wanted to engrave on her box. My hands shook as I wrote. Nathan and I had decided what to write beforehand, so I wrote "Carlie. Golden Bark's first Golden Girl." We exceeded the character limit for the engraving, but the tech assured us she'd make it work.

The vet tech could see our sorrow, and let us sit with Carlie for a bit longer before she took her back. In that time, our sweet Carlie decided to wake up and became coherent again. We could tell she felt like herself because she didn't want to be held, she never wanted to be held. We both saw her big eyes one last time, and she got to see us. Nathan angrily said, "Why did she have to wake up now." It made it much harder to let her go knowing she was acting like herself again. But we knew we had to, it was her time, and she was ready despite her short burst of energy.

The tech returned and took her to the back to put her IV in and get her ready for sedation. She promised to sedate her right before walking into the room so we could have a few more moments with her, and that's exactly what happened. We let her wander around for just a moment before we put her back in our arms and she began to slip into a deep sleep. She was comfortable and calm. The vet came in and asked if we were ready, I had to say yes because I knew we'd continue to put it off if I didn't. I had to be the one to make those hard decisions that day. I didn't want to, but we were both having such a hard time that one of us had to take the lead. 

Nathan held her tight and I held her paw, and talked to her as she left this earth. I told her what a good girl she was and how well she was doing. I wanted to make sure she heard nothing but love as she crossed, I hope she did. They left us with her body, and we both burst into even more pronounced tears. Knowing she wasn't there anymore was so hard. I kissed her little head one more time before they took her, and then she was gone. We left, completely broken, full of so much heartache. 

We drove home in silence. The tears continued the whole drive home. She was gone. She was actually gone. We wouldn't be bringing her back home with us anymore. 

Letting go of a dog is something we are no strangers to, we had lost three other seniors prior to her. But fuck, Carlie was so much harder than the others. There was just something about her that was special, something that made it harder to let go. We knew her time was limited; we couldn't cope with the idea she had left our life so quickly. Not even a year together, just 9 months. She signified the start of the Golden Bark Foundation, the face of the organization. There was an innocence and youth that emanated from her in the time we had her, her big eyes and awkward wandering made her feel like a dog with much more life to live. It felt too soon, and that stung.

We loved all the dogs we've had to let go equally. I thought Harvey was my soul dog and Sadie was Nathan's, but after Carlie, we both agreed there isn't just one soul dog; there are many. Different dogs serve different purposes in our life. My heart has grown with more love, patience, and compassion for each dog. I loved them all with all my soul and spirit. I've loved every dog with everything that I am. 

It took me days not to cry every time I thought about her. I am still crying now, but with each day, it gets a little bit easier. I miss her presence so much. I miss her smile. I miss her smell. I miss giving her kisses. I miss her delayed bark, her long legs, I miss everything about her. With time, the pain and longing for her will turn to joy, nostalgia, and thankfulness for the time we had. Already, we look back now on the energy burst she had right before we had to let go as a blessing. We got to see her one last time as we wanted to remember her, the awkward, wide eyed, meandering sweetheart that filled our hearts and left a lasting impression on everyone she met.

Every dog deserves to be loved, no matter how much time on earth they have left. The difference someone can make on an elderly dog by simply being there and providing it with patience, love, compassion, and a safe place to end it's life in comfort is beautiful. That elderly dog will leave just as big, if not a much bigger, imprint on your life as well. My only regret with each dog is we didn't get to love them sooner, but there's solace in knowing we were there when they needed us the most. There will never be enough time with our dogs, no matter their age, but I know to be thankful for and to savor every second of it.

Carlie, we love and miss you so much. I'll love you forever and always. Soon enough, these tears will fade away, and I'll only think of every beautiful moment we spent together. Whatever happens after this life, I hope you're out of pain and barking happily, with less delay, on that cruise in the sky. I hope that one day we will meet again. Forever & Always in my heart. Thanks for being the first dog we rescued. Golden Bark's First Golden Girl. 

-Nathanial & seth schilling