I lost my oldest dog, my little old man in a fur coat, on Saturday. He'd been ill for quite some time. He's had a heart murmur all his life, and it had been getting worse and worse. He was going to the vet's Saturday to check about his loss of appetite. But Saturday morning, he had a seizure...
We rushed to the vet's office early, hoping someone would be there to see him sooner. He was having something like a panic attack, and it was only getting worse during the car ride. He was so scared. We all were...
The normal vet wasn't there and we had to deal with a stand in. She was not very good at this sort of thing. Vetrinary medicine, yes. Bedside manner, no. It was pulling teeth to get a straight, no-nonsense answer from her. She was recommending all kinds of blood tests and treatments, but never answered the important thing: Would it make the dog better?
After confronting the vet about it, she admitted that it wasn't going to make him better. It was to buy us, the owners, time. It wasn't going to improve his quality of life or make him recover. And his time was getting shorter. His quality of life, even if we treated him, would have been reduced to a heavily medicated stupor for weeks on end...
It was extremely painful to do, but we decided it was time to say goodbye to him. It wouldn't be fair to him if we kept him alive at this point. He was uncomfortable, unable to eat, not able to play anymore. And I didn't want to resign him to being miserable for whatever time he had left...
I'd just gone through something similar with my cat not too long ago. And this was way the hell too soon to be dealing with this. But it had to be done. I didn't want my little man to suffer...
I stayed with him to the end. I always do. I held him in my arms until it was done. He wasn't alone...
It hurts. A lot. I can't even express how much it hurt to go through with it. But it had to be done. For him. Not for us, his owners. Not for me.
For now, I am swallowing my tears and grief. I've expressed some here, but I dare not at home. Not with the situation as it is. Not with my wife going into and out of depression in the blink of an eye. I don't want to set her off worse. Not with everthing else going on... I think my little man would understand that.
He was our oldest, but only twelve. He'd had a good life, with lots of love and attention. And food. He loved food. And he was living on borrowed time for the last three and a half years. We knew that. But it still wasn't easy.
I'll miss you, my friend. I hope you are happy in that big food bowl in the sky. Say hello to your brothers and sister for me. I know they've been waiting there for you...
I hate saying goodbye...
