Dogs that are well-loved are among the world’s most fortunate creatures. They are fed, petted and often adored. They sleep eighteen hours a day. Although they live their lives on an accelerated time scale compared to their humans, they seem to spend most of their days in adolescence before transiting through a brief middle age and then into final decline.
Which is where it gets hard on all of us.
Lady is now 13 years old, which is getting on for an English Setter. I brought her home from a Silicon Valley technology trip while I was stationed at Fallon, Nevada. It was just her and her sister in the back of the seller’s truck, the last two of her litter. I picked her up for close examination, whereupon she sniffed me cautiously, decided I would do and licked my nose. When I brought her home the kids were entranced. My eldest daughter named her. If we’d have waited a little longer, we might have settled on “Goofy” as her name, for she was always energetic to the point of destroying the garden, but never particularly clever. Much more energy than sense. Still, we loved her dearly. Still do.
We’d had setters before, but this was back in the south where there were vast spaces to run and train in. Hunting dogs who love nothing more than a morning race across a wide field bordered by pines in the fall, a crack of cold in the air and a covey of quail waiting to be found. Unless it was hunkering down by the fire after the day’s work was done, looking into your eyes with seeming intelligence and soft gratitude.
Lady didn’t get quite as much work on birds as her predecessors did, unfortunately. Huntable land is hard to come by out west, and mountain quail have a lamentable tendency to run, which will break a bird dog’s heart. We took her off to the Imperial Valley for our annual dove hunt, son number one and I. But dove hunting is no fit work for a pointing dog, especially one that will retrieve only what she herself has pointed. Still, it’d have made your heart fond to see her shiver in anticipation as the shotguns came out of the gun locker and got loaded up. They way she’d whine and pace in the back of the truck as we neared our destination. Her eyes flashing left to right at each bird of whatever kind would fly across the horizon. Her comical attempts to get into the front seats so that she could see a little better.
It’s cruel hot in Imperial during September, and Lady would often come back from a long run gasping for water, which we fed to her from little bottles. One time we ran out, and she found herself an irrigation canal to plop down in, and drink from. A mistake as it turned out, for something in that muddy brown water did not quite agree with her, and she blew a gasket out on the drive home to San Diego. Awful stuff was, well: Everywhere. SNO being entirely useless in such affairs – he openly admits to a weak stomach – it was left to your correspondent to clean out the otherwise undrivable Nissan Pathfinder. In short order my Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast was decorating the grass by the rest stop, and my beloved son stood many paces off, pointing and giggling even as he gasped for control. We laugh about it now.
All those years of love, companionship and adventure slide undifferentiated from one to the next, like summer turns to fall. Not by a date on a calendar, but by a change in the air, the smell of woodsmoke, the falling of the leaves. In Lady’s life, autumn has turned to winter and we are all discontent.
Her decline started last year, I think – an emergency surgery was required to correct a condition known as pyometra that nearly stole her from us. A few months back she started drinking water as though her thirst was unquenchable and losing weight. We took her to the vets, and my suspicion was confirmed: Diabetes. She gets her insulin shots twice a day, and took joy in eating at least, even as her limbs grew increasingly less steady and her desire for long walks in the park diminished. She no longer climbs the steps to our bedroom to sleep beside like she had forever. She is not strong enough.
These last few days she takes no joy in life, and when I petted her last night I discovered wasted spaces where strong muscles used to cord and bunch. This morning I had to help her up to go outside. When we came back in together she stood trembling on the door stoop, looking into the living room where stark evidence of her incontinence was left for me to tidy up. She looked back at me with regret, no doubt expecting strong remonstration – she has always been, in that way at least, a good dog.
I just patted her head and shoulders, helped her down, looked into her eyes and told her that I loved her, that it wasn’t her fault. We all grow old. Her own haunted eyes looked back into mine in what I sensed to be confusion and pain.
I don’t know whether dogs are aware of their own mortality. I am though, and this as well: We are coming very near now, unless something remarkable happens, to having to make some sort of decision. Before I came upstairs I looked back at her in sadness, and she tried one time to wag her tail, to ease my pain. To please me. She couldn’t quite manage it.
Lady’s dying.
Update: Thank you all for your many kind comments. Some of them brought tears to my eyes, many of them helped me steel my resolve. More than anything else, I didn’t want to put her down. But neither could I stand her suffering. When I got home from work today, she was laying down outside, covered with a blanket, listless, her breathing labored. I sat by her for a little while in my work clothes, stroking her side gently, telling her what a good dog she was, how very much we loved her.
I knew what I had to do tomorrow. I’d take some time off from work, take her to the vets, do the necessary. I was frankly dreading it.
I went upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes, something I could lay down beside her wearing on the cool cement. I thought we might chat a little more. I wasn’t gone five minutes. When I came back downstairs and went outside, I found her still, her labors ended. Lady had waited for me to come home, hung on just long enough to say goodbye but not so long as to make it hard on us. And then she crossed the bridge, and stepped into the clearing at the end of the path. There are birds and rabbits there I’m sure, steak dinners and clear spring water.
She was kind to the end. A good dog.
You have my sympathies, sir.
No matter how many times this happens, it never gets easier. When it’s time, it’s time.
You have my sympathies.
At this point in my life, I’ve buried friends and family. But losing my Great Dane friend Henley still hurts after almost a year. I had to make the decision facing you and all I can tell you is that it’s part of the loving contract dogs make with us. They give everything in exchange for their trust in us. You’ll do the right thing. Love your blog, never comment, but had to today. Pax
Lex,
You guys have my sympathy right now. My 15 year old Border Collie “Snap” died a week before I graduated OCS, three weeks shy of his 16th. His last two years in life were hard, a liver abcess required emergency surgery from which he was never the same. (My father and I had to force our way into the pet hospital to feed him since he wasn’t eating according to the vets, and we weren’t supposed to be allowed back in the pens. He looked so miserable it was ridiculous, he was willing himself to die as he was being kept there. Upon seeing his he slowly made up his mind to live and started eating baby formula from our fingers. You could see the choice in his eyes, it was bizarre.) He was always an energetic dog who never said die (I thought about his attitude a lot at OCS), but hip dysplasia had taken a terrible toll on him his last few years. A few months before leaving for OCS I’d still take him on walks, and he’d light up and wag as much as he could for them as I grabbed the leash. Near the end after getting about only two houses down the street I’d have to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way, but he still enjoyed getting out I think. As I left in the morning for OCS I gave him some extra attention. He knew something was up and as I walked to the door he came up to me and gave a little bark, so I hugged him some more. Last time I ever saw him. The weirdest thing was that on commissioning day I got a voicemall on my cell (am I NOT making this up I swear) of just a dog barking. Never got a voicemail like that before or since.
Losing a much-loved pet is hard. All you can do is be aware when she tells you that it is time for her to go, and to take her down gently.
Despite the pain of the loss of a pet, I still pity the poor child who has never had one. These sparks of the Infinite teach us many lessons and make us better humans in the process. They also give a child the first lesson of unquestioning love, mortality, loss, and how to cope.
We are better for having known them.
I am beginning to realize that my Oki-mutt “Bob Dog” has turned the final corner from pup to adult to “old man dog”. I do not look forward to the inevitable and hope that you find peace with the decisions that you’ll have to make, Lex.
A hard thing to face, Lex.
But if she had anything to say, do you think it might be “don’t leave me with strangers to do it”. I know that is harder to handle, and I don’t want to add to your burden, but when my dogs, and even some of my family, have had to face the long walk alone, it did help them to have someone they knew and trusted there to close their eyes and hold their hands/paws till it was over.
Good luck. Facing some of these issues myself right now (once discussed in an email to you). It will never be easy. If it was, they wouldn’t call it suffering. Would they?
God bless, CAPT Lex.
Subsunk
(((hugs)))
Lex:
I have learned that one of the most telling signs of a person’s character is to see how they treat their pets, especially their dogs. Your words tell me all I ever needed to know, if I did not know before. We have trod the trail you walk; and will again, there being four in our pack, so your words bring back such painful, yet joyous memories. Pet her, stroke her, tell her how much you love her, over and over. Hold her in those inevitable few moments, so that she is not afraid as she goes across the bridge and into the clearing…
All dogs go to heaven.
Sorry, I think there’s something in my eyes and caught in my throat.
I just patted her head and shoulders, helped her down, looked into her eyes and told her that I loved her, that it wasn’t her fault. We all grow old. Her own haunted eyes looked back into mine in what I sensed to be confusion and pain. —— Thank you for your compassion —–
Oh, Lex, I’m so sorry. It’s awful to lose a dog.
How wonderful that she has been so loved all of these years, and been able to give so much back to you and your family though. That’s a blessing that even humans don’t always experience.
I’m so sorry Lex, that is a terrible experience no matter your age or how often you go through it, I suppose.
Two months before my wedding, my Mom called (from the other side of the country) to tell me she had no choice, the time had come for Prince. I got him when he was about six weeks old and he was my one constant, the one I could tell all my problems to, could laugh and cry with. And run. And run and run with. He loved a game where he would chase my brother and I in circles outside around the house, barking and snapping like he wanted nothing more than to viciously attack us. Only to have us suddently turn, grab him and fall to the ground. Where he would lick us repeatedly and then jump back, barking excitedly, wanting to start all over again.
I cried for at least a month after that phone call, I hadn’t been back home for a visit for 3 or 4 years at that point and so missed the chance to say goodbye to him. Not that that would have been any easier. I could only take small comfort in the fact that he had always been a very well-loved and treasured family member, both when my brother and I were at home, and later, when Mom would tell me that she never came home to an empty house because Prince was always there, tail wagging and eyes sparkling, so happy to see her.
You have my sympathies, sir.
And that, kind sir, is what separates us from the rest of God’s creatures – the ability to love and care for one not of our own kind.
A sign in my vet’s office says it all: “when it is my time, please don’t leave me to go through it alone”
A VET ONCE TOLD ME ” IT TAKES A SPECIAL PERSON WHO WILL GIVE AND RECEIVE LOVE FROM A CREATURE WHO HAS A KNOWN LIFE SPAN SHORTER THEN THEIR OWN” YET WE DO IT TIME AND AGAIN FOR THE JOY AND LOVE WE RECEIVE OVERCOMES THE SORROW AND THE MEMORIES KEEP HER ALIVE. GOD BLESS YOU SIR
BOB AND MARGE DUNNING
Lex,
You have my sympathies, sir. I went through the same situation two years ago with our 13-year old Shepherd/Huskie mix, Daisy. Stomach Cancer. I found it best to take her into another room before cleaning up her accidents. I didn’t want her to have to watch me and feel ashamed.
Our favorite story is the time she scared away the door-to-door home security system salesman. While speaking to my wife, he took an ill-advised step into the front door frame to point out where some sensor would be located. Daisy let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he had overstepped his bounds, thankyouverymuch. As he quickly backed away, he commented on our more than adequate existing security system, how beautiful she was, and would my wife please close the door – like right now!?!
Good dog.
Mike
My dog was Daisy too. Still miss her.
You will know when it’s time. I can understand if you find it’s the toughest thing you have ever gone through. I lost a cat three years ago, and I’m uncomfortable admitting I cried more when that cat died that when my mother or father passed away. Something about a dependent creature that never criticizes, and always offers love and companionship.
Lex,
I have buried many wonderful dogs over the past forty years. Here follows a poem I encountered some time ago in First Things. I always send it to friends and family who have lost a beloved dog. I hope you and your readers appreciate it.
**********************************************
On the Early Retirement of Dogs
Dogs, in their job of being man’s best friend,
die young in human years, retire to
a scent-filled place where well-fed pets attend
and lick the sores of mangy Lazari.
I have outlived, in order: Cole, the Cocker;
Morry, Dachshund; Gertie, Airdale; Jenny,
Collie; Smitty, Ridgeback; I’ve watched the dogs
of others die: Granny’s shepherd Blitz;
Barney, her fox terrier; Aunt Happy’s
Great Dane, Inge, a pair of scotties, Duncan
and Fife; my brother’s Mike, from Mexico;
a neighbor’s corgi, Keesh, who bit my father.
Aging with me now, the bloodhound, Cleo,
and pointer-spaniel, Dotty, who thinks I am
her pup. She watches to make sure I don’t
escape, and licks me when I’m near. I’d almost
let her take me with her when she goes.
Her nose is sound enough to find the dead
I’d want to throw my arms around. God grant
me in the afterlife a home with gracious
hearth and grounds for all these lovesome hounds.
Joyce S. Brown
The grief of losing a pet seems silly until it happens to you. Very hard.
If you like dogs and hunting you’ve GOT to read “The Old Man and the Boy” by Robert Ruark. You’ll thank me. All took place just down the way in South Port NC.
Running in meadows! Swimming in lake! Chasing a ball! Tug toys! Squeaky toys! The loving hand! The scratch behind the ears! Cool water for thirst! Kitchens and all their smells! Visitors come to play! The human voice and the gentle word! Ears to hear with! Eyes to see! Tongue to taste! A heart big enough to hold it all – the wonder, the mystery, the beauty!
Oh, the grace.
Bliss To You, Trixie’s Guide To a Happy Life
by Trixie Koontz, Dog as told to Dean Koontz
My first Dog as a child, a small terrier/mongrel, was named Lady. Many have come and gone since, and parting ways is never easy . A heartfelt, expressive composition washed over by very obvious heartache . Sad, but wonderful writing, Lex.
House sitting for a friend for six weeks while he took a round the country road trip left me with Beano, his cat of nearly 19 years. Feline AIDS, teeth coming out from time to time, and a generally weakened state were ongoing concerns, but he seemed fine until my friend returned. Then within a week, Beano started his final decline and was looking really, really tired.
Friend Greg and I had a conversation about it, so it was off to see the Vet. Greg came home alone, remarking that the Vet had said it was time. Beano had been hanging around for him, but was spent and ready for an adventure in the hereafter. Tears were shed. Memories were shared. The photo posted of Beano on the blog revealed the tiredness in the eyes. I was glad for him that he could move on, and was grateful for the final act of compassion that had given him his release. I dreamed of Beano a couple nights later, seeing him happily cavorting with others of his kind in and about a house. No, he didn’t look over at me and smile. Beano wasn’t a creepy kitty, and that would have been creepy.
Lex, my heart goes out to your family. So difficult seeing a loved one in their final days.
Sorry to read this Lex.
My best wishes to your family.
Lex,
My sympathies are with you and yours.
Deepest sympathies for you Lex — well recall when we lost our Elkhound to crippling arthritis at age 14. Those were tough days all around for everyone. Looking forward to our reunion in heaven…
w/r, SJS
I had to put my 13 year old black Lab, Libby down about eight weeks ago… her mother, Molly a beautiful yellow, preceded her by almost two years…Diabetes having done its work…its never easy…its not supposed to be…but we owe it to them as our final act of fealty.
I’ve heard it said that having a dog is a heartbreak waiting to happen maybe so… but that seldom, if ever, dissuades a true dog person from having a dog…and the heartbreak, its said, will soon pass…I certainly hope so. Best
I’ve had to put way too many dogs down over my 45 years on the planet, as one is too many. The dust here in AZ is horrible this time of year, and now my eyes are watering.
Jordan’s final trip to the vet came after she could no longer stand. She was a Golden Retriever, smallish (60 lbs). I carried her into the vet. We had put her in the car by slinging her in a small tarp so her incontinence would not ruin the van, but I decided that such would be too undignified an entrance into the vet’s office. I held her head as the vet administered the final shots.
A piece of advice. Call the vet up front and find out what the charge will be. Make out the check before you go. I had a hell of a time writing it afterwards through the tears and the shaking hands. I’m surprised the bank honored it.
[...] A good cry… Posted on May 13, 2010 by xbradtc That’s what I had after reading this at Neptunus Lex. [...]
My sympathies to you. I cried when my last dog had to go. I suspect I will again, but even though of all the losses in my life none has been as hard as my dog-companions, I wouldn’t be without one for anything.
Eloquence is no comfort, but it can be a relief. I appreciate your sharing with us.
Ah RonF–been there done that three times. Fourth time is maybe 3 or 4 years down the road. Lex I’m sorry about your dog, but I know you’ll do the right thing. It’s a terrible trip to the vet’s.
I had to go through this almost exactly a year ago. Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
Yeah, they know when it is time. A few years ago our 11 y/o (and they tend to only get to about 12) flat coated retriever suddenly went down hill. I tried to take him out for a short walk. He sniffed around the driveway for a bit, then looked at me as if to say “OK, I had my last look, let’s go back in.” Next day I took him to the vet and had some tests run – bad kidney problems, and advanced canine diabetes (whodathunk?). But until a few days before, he had been jumping, running, happy and energetic as a pup. We could have spent abut $4500 to give him a year or so, with lots of expensive special care. Just couldn’t see it. So, we had him put down. Cried for days…and the screen is getting blurry for me now.
Amazing how hard it is to have to part with “a dumb animal.”
Raise a glass to the good times with her.
They ask for so little – food, water, shelter – yet they give so much. Be they dogs, cats, guinea pigs, rabbits or anything else. Pets are members of the family and we grieve their loss as we would a parent or other relative.
Lady will be in good company as she crosses the Rainbow Bridge, Lex. Deacon, Bingo and Shelby were all the Beagles of my childhood – frisky and full of mischief. They will happily escort her to wide open fields of birds for her to run at and with.
Hugs to all at Chez Lex. Tough days ahead cushioned by wonderful memories.
This is the fourth time I’ve been back. The first three I couldn’t hardly stand it, and sitting at my desk at work crying my eyes out just wouldn’t get it. I’m so sorry for you Lex, I can’t imagine what you feel now. A good dog (and I have three I love with all my heart) becomes a part of your family. It’s terrible when one who cannot tell you of their pain is starting to go and there’s nothing you can do.
My sympathies, Lex. More than that, I just can’t say now.
Lex, twice now I’ve tried to post something comforting, and both times I have failed. Because there really is no comfort. I know what you are going through, I have lost three dogs myself to old age in the past few years. I was fortunate that the youngest one was thirteen when she passed, the oldest seventeen. But no matter how long they are with us, they all leave us FAR too soon. I weep for you, your family, and Lady. Comfort her, and then let the Lord look after her. She’s earned it.
Oh, Lex… I’m so sorry.
I’m seeing evidence of my own beloved pet’s age, and I know a year such as the one you and Lady are dealing with is not so far off. I do not like to think of it.
You have my deepest sympathies. *hug*
My Blue Heeler worked her magic and seduced her way under my hide. She adopted us, not the other way around. She resorted to breaking a window to get in the house with the kids. I weakened and let her in. She left us in 2001 and I still get a lump in my throat when I think about her.
Tears would not allow me to read the entirety the first time
Indeed, PDX Jim. I’m sitting at work with tears in my eyes as I read everyone’s words and know that I echo them, have experienced them, feel sorry for this to happen.
I cannot do anything but be glad that I’ve had my dogs to teach me love, life and death in a few short years of my adolescence.
No matter the decision made, be comforted that you’ve done the right thing. Thanks for writing all you write, Lex. Many a time do I read that “These are the posts that set you apart,” and your command of communication is indeed impressive. But truly, the ability to communicate your emotion so carefully and let it be echoed by so many… I think there is a country song by David Allan Coe about this.
Here’s to Lady, and to Buster (mine), and to Pongo (Girl’s), and to the rest. There’s some amazing relationships between human and animal, and we wouldn’t be the same without them.
And here’s to the ones to come.
-CG
This is never an easy time, and words and sympathies never quite cover it.
In the past couple of years, I have had two Labs that have moved on from the family. The only regret that I ever had about dealing with them was, “Did I wait too long?”.
It’s a tough road but, the happiness from the years outweigh the sadness of loss.
Lex,
My heart goes out to you in this time. A companion’s passing is always a distressed time, one we know is lurking yet never one we want to face. Your ability to smith words to express what we have all felt in our faithful burden to our beloved pets is as always inspiring, and welcomed. I’m sure this post was not easy (yet possibly cathartic).
I wish you and your family the best in these times.
-JC
“The Housedog’s Grave”
(Haig, an English Bulldog)
~ 1941 ~
By Robinson Jeffers
I’ve changed my ways a little, I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment
You see me there.
So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you’d soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.
I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the nights through
I lie alone.
But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read — and I fear often grieving for me –
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.
You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying.
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope that you when you are lying
Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dears, that’s too much hope: you are not so well cared for
As I have been.
And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided . . . .
But to me you were true.
You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.
ou have my sympathies, sir, and my complete understanding. I’ve had many fond furry friends in my life, and nothing is tougher than when the end of the road comes. It is especially tough to toe that fine line between selfishly wishing to keep them alive, and having them put down because a decent person can’t stand to seem them in their misery.
Somehow I get the sense that you’ll know the right time.
I recently had a similar situation, with a dog I “adopted” when I married 5 years ago. Although a familiar scenario for me, it was very hard on my lovely wife, her having been born and bred in NYC, a member of a large family in a neighborhood not conducive to pets.
We’ll get another, when she feels ready. I hope that you all will too.
All the best
Lex,
My deepest sympathy for you and yours. May the warm, sunlight memories help to wash away the pain. Your moving words makes me wish I had a P-250 pump handy by.
Lex…I am speechless. Unconditional love and joy is what they give.
My sympathies to you and yours.
When I was in ninth grade I was doing community service at my primary school and got a call to go home, maltese poodle dead by pancreatitis (spelling of that I’m sure is wrong).
A while later my cat had a tumour that blew up overnight, folks were OS so my younger sister and I took him to the vet. Funnily enough I was then doing community service at a guide dog school.
This time I was there and pressed the plunger in that syringe myself.
I like to think of it as the last best thing you can do for a faithful friend, no matter the cost.
Unfortunately I’m now faced with an ageing Lab with arthritis. Yellow has mainly turned to white.
When the time comes I’ll once again ask to be the one to press that plunger and again make that last best decision I can for my friend, patting him and thanking him for his love all the way.
Excuse me while I go hug my dog…
I was thinking the same thing myself. All three of my dogs are gonna get a lotta love tonight.
Yep after reading this I went and scratched the two cats on the dome… It registered like it always does… “What? Time for food? Already?”
I am so sorry for your loss, Lex. One year ago this month, I felt exactly what you feel now as we had to put Buster down due to cancer. He was a big furry goof-ball who I played keep-away with a soccer-ball with and who would lift my spirits if I had a trying time in life. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I could have treated him better during his 9 years with us.
Lady’s time is at hand.
Take care.
Here’s proof that your dog loves you more than your wife. Lock both in the trunk of your car and come back in two hours and open it. Which is happy to see you?
How does that prayer go? Something like “Lord, please help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.”