Saying Goodbye: Losing a Beloved Pet
Published April 26, 2011
Victoria Schade
My regular client Jen had a funny look on her face when she stopped in.
“Time for more bones?” I asked her.
“Nooo, um, we had to put Tulip to sleep last week.”
My jaw dropped. I knew her Berner was a senior, but I never thought that her time was now. Tulip had just been ambling around my store last month! As Jen told me the details of Tulip’s final hours her face got red and her eyes filled with tears. The vet came to Jen’s home since Tulip wasn’t well enough to travel, but it was a harrowing end just the same, complete with a 24-hour wait for the canine “coroner” to come pick Tulip’s body up.
I cried with Jen—I’ve never been able to listen to a last-days story without feeling the pain as well. Hearing about the needle and then the inevitable goodbye always brings me back to losing our Zeke, pictured above. He’s been gone for over two years, but the pain of the end can bubble up in an instant. (Tears are coming to my eyes as I write this.) Those final moments at the vet still haunt me.
Having to make THE DECISION looms large in every goodbye story. In eleven years of dog training I’ve heard of only two stories in which the end came peacefully. One is what I’m sure we all wish for our dogs; old Duke wandered out to the yard, found a sunny patch, went to sleep and never woke up.
Have you been one of the “lucky” ones, in that your dog made the decision for you? Or did you have to make THE DECISION?
Health & Home
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Comments (4)
I was on vacation when my boyfriend called and said there was something wrong with our Rottie/Shephard croos Hercules. He had a golf ball sized lump in his throat. I was away for another week and he didn't sound all that worried so I tried to brush it off. When I got back the golf ball had grown into a baseball sized lump, and he was drooling mucous uncontrollably. We kept feeding him and tried to make him as comfortable as possible, other than the mucous he didn't seem to be in pain at all. Then one day it was very hot and he stopped drinking. He couldn't swallow anymore. So we took our beloved dog out to the vet and left him there to die. It was the hardest decision we have ever made but it was better than letting him suffer. Shortly after, I received a call about a runty and possibly blind and deaf Berner pup. At a third of the size of the other pups and the horrible wobble she walked with I didn't think she had a chance. But I adopted her and she's now 100 pounds and strong with a clean bill of health. You don't always get the dog you want, but you get the dog you need. I also had the misfortune of trying to nurse 5 sick kittens and a dying mother cat back to life. 2 days old through to 14 days old waking up every 2 hours to feed them with tiny bottles and KMR. They died off one by one no matter what meds I tried from the vet and how much effort I put into them living. The mother, after forcefeeding fluids and medications into her for three weeks, lived. The vets wouldn't even look at the babies. It was truly one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever gone through but if I have to bury 5 kittens after all that but save my once-feral mother cat, I am glad I did. Just my experiences with this sort of thing, it's never easy and takes a special sort of person to care for animals the way we do. Keep it up people, these pets couldn't have asked for better owners...
Dooley, a red toy poodle, was 5 when he developed a number of health issues. We adjusted and integrated weighing him and giving him shots about every 2 weeks. He hung in there until he was 6 and patiently endured our attempts to keep him going. We cooked chicken and rice and fed him by hand and kept him hydrated. When we went to let him out one morning and saw that he was losing blood, we knew that he was at the end of the road. I bathed him and wrapped him in a favorite blanket and held him in my lap all that last day. I read my books and stroked him. When I felt him fading, I kept telling him I loved him. I didn't want him to be afraid and I don't think he was; that meant the world to me. Our little red boy was the stair guardian and front door watcher. The day before he died, he laid down in the yard in a patch of sun and took a long nap. He looked so normal for the first time in a long time. It still makes me feel good to think of that. There will always be a place in my heart that he lives in.
My fist dog, Tige, an american staffordshire terrier died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 15. The night before, a visiting neighbor commented that Tige was looking very tired and "a little like my husband did before he died." Tige went around the table, greeting everyone, we all gave him pats, then off to his bed he went. He was still there, sleeping the great slumber the next morning when we went to get him to take him outside.
Our second dog's decision was made for him as he developed pulmonary edema and heart disease at the age of 16 and there was no way we were going to allow him to succumb to a horrible suffocating death.
Duke was a 12 year-old German Shepherd with severe hip dysplagia which culminated in his inability to walk, stand or sit. The pain was constant as his eyes shone with the agony that the Tramadol could not find.
I am 60 years old. I mention my age if only to illustrate the somewhat contentious point that hey, maybe I should have known better. After-all, a 60 year old man crying over the death of his dog is disconcerting at best.
Right?
Instead, I loved Duke as though I were a young boy all over again. A boy whose heart was still green and forever unbroken by the sorrow of loss.
The vet stopped by to administer the coup de grace to Duke. First, she kindly assured us that we had indeed made the right decision to end Duke's suffering. Her sheer professionalism helped us to roll with the punch.
The little boy dreamed of Duke that very night. And in his dream, Duke was but a young puppy again as he boundlessly chased the boy deep into the golden fields of summer.