So, we’ve been dealing with our dog’s cancer and subsequent amputation for the last three or more months as best we could but we finally decided it was time to let her go. It’s a situation I’ve always hated. She’s perfectly alert and health mentally…her body just doesn’t want to give her a break.
She lost a leg (rear right) to cancer. Then, likely due to her arthritis in her hips, stopped trying to put much weight on her other back leg. This was still relatively managable since we could help her get over big obstacles and go to the backyard to answer that constant call of nature. We’d still find her in places we didn’t expect. She has this raised bed, about 6 inches off the ground, and despite that obstacle, she’d end up 30 feet away in one of her favorite spots by one of the doors to the living room.
In the last few weeks, she’d been starting to favor her left front paw. At first, we though it was arthritis but the way she’s been favoring it and her medical history made us feel otherwise. Instead of traumatizing her with another trip to the vet, my wife decided today that we should finally put her down.
She’d always been my wife’s dog more than mine (I’m allergic so I generally keep my distance from our animals except for the one cat I’m not allergic to…Max…he’s an amazing cat but that’s for another day). So, I just helped her with the decision. It was a decision that we both knew we were moving towards (she’d just been talking about getting the number for the vet who make housecalls who helped us with putting her mother’s dog down when she had cancer…same litter by the way).
It’s always tough. She’s so alive but she really doesn’t have much of a life any more. We work so hard to keep humans alive even when their lives are failing yet we’re often so quick to head off to the vet to put an animal down when they’re diagnosed with a major disease or an “expensive” disease. Every time I’ve put down a dog (all the cats I’ve known have died on their own), it’s always been the same. They have so much life in them still, despite the pain and discomfort. Watching that life fade away when the drugs take effect is mind-numbing. I have this thing about innocent lives being lost and it’s so much harder when you’re making the decision to do so.
It was surreal today as my wife and I made arrangements to have the vet come by at 11am on Monday to effectively kill our dog. And, to have the cremation company swing by around 11:30 to pick up the body. Meanwhile, you’re staring at the victim, panting away.
I know they’re sensitive to us and I’m sure somewhere deep in Sasha’s gullet, a little red light is flashing. This is likely going to be one of the best weekends she’s had in recent months since we’re going to be covering her with affection and attention. And, knowing her and how she’s reacted to times when she knows there’s something up with us, she’ll likely give us those puppy-dog eyes on Monday as the doctor comes in…as we talk to her, reassuring her everything’s already.
I’d already been saying good bye to her this week since the Syneflex we got (for arthritis) wasn’t having any effect and she seemed to be getting more and more stiff and unable to walk on her own. But, I’d remained optimistic (funny this coming from a realist). But today’s decision killed me.
Now, I keep thinking about “the last time”. Tomorrow’s going to be the last day I’ll be alone with her as I work from home. This weekend will be the last time she spends time with both my wife and I. Sunday annd Monday will be worse. Sunday night will be the last night I say good night to her. The last night I’ll take her out to pee. The last time we feed her, the finicky beast that she is. The last time we give her her meds. The last time she gets a biscuit. I didn’t know it but last night was the list time I’d open up a new box of biscuits (her favorite…she’d always perk up when she heard the crackle of the plastic bag they came in).
My wife mentioned thinking about the good times. How funny she’d be playing with her toy. The one time we got her out to the beach so she could run around (before the lifeguard kicked us out). The time we took her to a doggy park…she only got along with a great dane. The times we walked her around the block…with the same surprise attacks by dogs behind gates. I remember the time she was with me on a walk at 9pm or so and some guy walked up and started talking to me. He seemed drunk so I was on my guard and so was she…I realized she was standing perfectly still watching the guy intently.
I remember all the trouble we had to go through to get her to eat. Meanwhile we’d visit my wife’s mother’s house and her dog couldn’t get enough of anything he was fed. The best was getting her to react to stuff. We couldn’t mention the word “walk” or she’d get all excited at the prospect of getting out there…even when arthritis started attacking her hips, she still wanted to go…despite the pain later. She would always walk with us to the pantry to see if we’d “accidentally” reattach the leash to her for another walk.
Her sister, Nikita, died suddenly when she was only 6 months old. We’d suspected it was related to the Valley Crest operation behind our house years ago. They sprayed diazanon. Killed numerous wildlife in our backyard: birds, lizards, you name it. Dept. of Agriculture came out…oh…three or four months later when no evidence of the spraying existed any more.
When we discovered Nikita, we’d actually thought it was Sasha because Sasha was the weaker, more meek one of the pair of them. Nikita didn’t look distressed, she was just on her back like she was sleeping. It was Inna who realized Sasha was the one sitting next to us all excited that we were there…I think it was because of her teeth or something that made her stand out. Bizarre experience.
I remember us taking both of them, then just Sasha to my mother-in-law’s house so she could “babysit” in their early years. Just like taking kids to daycare. Too funny.
Now, I sit here and can’t help but think about those “last times”. This is going to be a rough weekend. How do you kill a dog who’s cute little eyebrows (she’s a Rottweiler so she’s got those little brown dots above her eyes) still move around in quizzical expressions? What do you say to her as you walk by her sleeping in the living room in her favorite spot by the door?
I keep wishing she’d passed away quietly in her sleep. I know it’s selfish but I think it also would have been better for her. She’s going to wonder why she’s not getting fed or getting her meds Monday morning (she always dreads those meds). She’s going to wonder why we don’t bother with the details of the morning. Taking her out to pee that last time is going to be the most painful. It’ll be nice that she won’t be in such pain any more but no one wants to die. If she could spend her days lying around in diapers, I’m sure she’d still be content…except for the cancer. Logically, the decision is sound but it’s never that easy.
We’ve lost a number of animals but this one’s going to be one of the harder ones. I still miss my Amanda (she died in 2001 at only 5 years old…Max is still alive at 13 and going strong). No idea what killed her…she just disintegrated from a noisy little sports car as I called her into a cat lying quietly in an unknown amount of pain as her belly swelled. I’d never heard an animal die on his/her own until then. At least she got to sleep with us for a few days in the end…she’d be immobile nearly all day but when we let her in the bedroom, she lit up and almost jumped up on the bed herself. My shoulder still misses her weight.
I think about Muffie (I was a kid and watched Battlestar Galactica…no…the original campy 70’s one…give me a break). She was living with my parents (another long story I won’t be sharing anytime soon). I didn’t know it but she’d become emaciated and it turns out had kidney cancer or the like (I got this all second-hand). My mother wanted me to help out with putting her down. God, how that sucked. I hadn’t seen her in months if not longer (again, that story we won’t discuss). She was ecstatic. On her own, she wouldn’t sit because it hurt her and she trembled with the pain. At the vet, with me holding the leash, she was actually pulling as hard as she did when she was a pup (she was 13 I believe at the time of her death).
I remember the time when we were rescuing kittens in our yard (the neighborhood cats liked to have litters elsewhere then bring them to our yard since they got food and we kept the back locked up). One litter was devastating. Out of five kittens, one survived. Each night we’d brace ourselves in case another kitten had died.
Meanwhile, I have a cat in my office that we rescued (I don’t get how people seem to think it’s okay to just toss cats outside?). He’s got FIV and we’re convinced he was kicked out because he does NOTHING but talk all the time when he’s awake. Either he was an opera singer in a past life or he has this idea that he’s saying something we understand. I don’t know but because of his FIV (don’t let your cats out…they WILL get FIV), I’ve been waiting for the day when he’ll start to hide…stop eating…do something that’ll tell me he’s reaching that point when FIV will finally kill him. Outside of the chatter, he’s got to be one of the best behaved cats I’ve ever met. He doesn’t tear up the screens to get out. He doesn’t run around on my desk or shelves. He doesn’t try to get into every single box, drawer, etc. When we yell at him to get out of the bedroom, he listens. All he wants to do is look out his window, eat at 8am and 4pm on the dot, and run against our legs. He’s amazing. When he passes away, it’ll be ten times worse than this.
I’m much closer to him than Sasha but the way Sasha’s impending doom is affecting me, I don’t look forward to that day at all.
So, now, I’m off…I need to say good night to Sasha…I don’t have many opportunities left.
G’night.
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