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It's tough to go through, Overthinker. I lost my boy dog about 11 months ago. Even good sized, strong and vigorous dogs remain dependent on us for so much. They give more than they take in my opinion, but a good dog (pet) owner is making all the important decisions for the loved one for its entire life. Including that last, often hardest decision to let them go. It's like being the parent of a fairly young child, but one that physically grows up and then grows old, and then dies.
Then we grieve, and grief always has some regrets and "if only" feelings in the mix. I felt that way as my boy started failing. I knew for two months that he was going to die soon (he had cancer) and several times I tried to get him interested in something only to see him struggle to participate or to show no interest at all. It would break my heart a little as I tried to remember the last time he wanted to do the activity, like I should have savored it or commemorated it more. Fortunately he walked well til the end, though for shorter and shorter distances. I have such fond memories of him walking around this bend and his head popping up with his ears forward in expectation, right up to the last few days. The walks were hard for him; he'd lost over 15% of his best weight. Sometimes I thought they were just for me, or that he was merely pleasing me, but that come to alert posture and the little spring in his step, if only for a few yards, told me he wanted to be there too.
I was a mess for a few days after he died, and I thought about him often and shed some tears for a few months. I'm wiping a few away now. I know the pain I feel is testament to the love we shared, and not based on regret, but the regrets are there. The pain and doubt are inevitable, I think. The pain does soften and become more a familiar visitor than an intruder.
And now my girl dog is near her end. I rescued her almost 13 years ago, and I'm not sure of her age, but she's at least 15 and maybe as old as 17. Her situation is different but everything is starting to wane for her. It's hot here and she doesn't handle the heat well, so we only walk late at night. That seems to be getting harder for her each day, and we've skipped a few, or just walked around the yard together. That get's her nose and brain going, and the notion that she needs more exercise at this point is, well, quaint.
She's benefiting from her big boy's paving the way last summer. I'm 62, and these are the first two dogs I've partnered with and seen die. While her issues are different, an old dog dying slowly seems to be a kind of defined thing. Like boy dog last year, her world is small now and getting smaller. She's getting incontinent, her appetite comes and goes, and here senses are slipping. But I'm better prepared for these changes, emotionally and practically, from having seen them so recently. And she's adorable in a diaper.
Overthinker, I'm very sorry for your loss. I know how you feel. I've been there too & my dog went downhill in the matter of a week as well. He's been gone 7 yrs now. If you care to read my brief thread, feel free:
It's never easy to say farewell to a beloved dog, where it's one that you adopted just 6 months ago or had for years. I've been through it 14 times in the past 14 years since I adopt oldsters.
All I can is that the acute pain eventually transforms to a dull ache and and more and more the joyful memories overrride that hurt of loss. I don't regret a single adoption.
I hope that you too will find that time makes the memories sweeter and the pain much less.
I recently euthanized my dog after nearly 16 years together. I know it was what we had to do. He had lost the life in his eyes, wasn’t interested in the things he loved anymore like home cooked chicken, treats, and howling back at me in response to my baby voice conversations with him. Congestive heart failure and anemia took a toll on my baby in a matter of one week. He had been maintained well enough for a year since his diagnosis but he shifted into end stage with all the signs of a dying dog in a span of 6 days after a prolonged syncope that i believe was a stroke. My fur baby was always taken care of. He had his food. His space. His bed. His baths (which could have been more frequently but he hated them so much we hated having to put him that position of stress). We never stopped taking care of him for the 16 years with us. He was very antisocial with other dogs and humans. Extremely protective. Barking incessantly. He couldn’t go outside, to a dog park or beach, or even in the car because he would bark until he had no bark left. We never took him to a dog park or beach and it haunts me now. It wasn’t because I didn't want to, I did but I never had my mind on the thought that he wouldn’t be here one day. I wanted to take him to the beach our last week together but being he was so disoriented and lethargic I didn’t want to put him in a stressful unknown environment. I now wish I would have played more with him, cuddled more with him, taking him out more but it’s too late and it makes me sad. I feel Like i failed Him. I know I loved him and I hope he knows it. I never Left his side, not even during the night our last week together. I cuddled Him on the couch, on my tummy, outside as we sat for some fresh air, on the floor by his bed, incessantly i was With him until the very end. I kissed him. Spoke to him. Held him and gave him head rubs during his moment of final rest. My family and I loved on him until we could no longer have him around in his last day. We just wish we would have done more to show him physical affection during his healthy times. We didn’t let him sit on the couch or rug and now we even regret that? But we LOVED him. We would rush him to the vet and be there to take care of him in any emergency as well. Unfortunately, this American hustle and bustle lifestyle keeps us from honoring the things we love most. The things that truly matter. I’d forget he wasn’t eternal and should have stopped to give him more time on those days where he was just a regular part of my life. I feel like i might have taken him for granted at times. I just wonder if he’s resentful of anything? He was so loyal, sweet, noble, caring, protective. He was a little angel baby. He loved us and we know that. We just hope he knows too. I miss him staring at me whenever I did things around the house. I miss him waiting for me at the door. I miss him being my first good morning and tucking him in at night. Loosing a fur baby family member is just as painful as a human. It has truly blown us away how much it could hurt and how much grieving his loss has taken a toll on us. If only he knew. It has been just like a human, you always feel like you could have done more for and with them. Anyone else go through these feelings after losing a pet?
I've gone through that same thing with my pets. It's almost as serious as losing a human. Why not try to give a proper burial to the pet somewhere in your backyard? That way you can visit his or her grave?
I cried like a baby when I lost my last dog..I couldn't even tell my friends of her passing because I knew I'd start blubbering right away.....for days I questioned what I could have done differently to prolong her life.
It took about a week of serious crying bouts to accept that she was gone, and believe that I'd done nothing wrong.
Now I'm just thankful to have had her in my life...I'll never forget you Molly!
Old age hit our german shepherd like a ton of bricks. Even our vet couldn't believe he was 17, but he would not see 18 sadly. I felt like I betrayed him. I lied to him. All through the process of putting him down I was kissing him and telling him everything was going to be okay.
We were not going to get another dog. We had spent 17 years traveling by car, eating from drive-thrus, sleeping in mostly creepy hotel rooms, because we couldn't be away from him. He was family. We felt a new dog could not replace him. How could any dog replace him?
After 3 days of reaching for a dog that wasn't there only to find disappointment, we ran to the animal shelter and adopted a new one. It had become clear that dealing with hair all over the place and traveling by car wasn't so bad.
He didn't replace the shep, but he did fill the void that was left behind. He had his own quirks and provided his own comic relief, and when he passed at the age of 12, we knew what we had to do - after the crematorium picked up his remains - that same day we ran to the animal shelter.
We had 2 rules (my husband's rules) - no females and no hounds. Guess what? It was shortly after Christmas, and the only puppies available were two rooms of female hounds. She hasn't replaced the first two, but has clearly carved out her own niche. She will be 10 soon, and although she is still lively and healthy, the husband is passed. He had picked her out, and she clearly claimed him as her own at home. She loves me, but her sun rose and set over him. She is all mine now, she allowed me to replace him for her - and I truly dread the day....
Anyway, maybe a new puppy/dog is the answer. They don't replace the lost 'family member', but they do fill the void.
This is a very thoughtful response and I'm sure many people will relate to it. You and your husband are (were) good people. Thx for sharing this.
Location: Stuck on the East Coast, hoping to head West
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I think we all go thru the what-if's. It's torture. I had one dog with bone cancer and we dealt with alot of anticipatory grief. Of course, there were financial concerns, too. We spent alot of time and money with specialists and therapies trying to prolong her life. In the end, it was all for naught, we only extended her life by a few weeks. We wondered if we'd simply prolonged her suffering.
With another dog, he'd had an absolutely clean bill of health vet check only 3 months before he woke up one day and we had to rush him to the emergency vet: ruptured spleen and hemangiosarcoma. We were completely blindsinded. He'd had a wonderful night the night before: a long walk, we took him to his favorite field, he had a great dinner, etc.
With time comes perspective. We all do the best we can, oftentimes under enormous pressure, with only the information available at that time. But we make those tough decisions with a heart full of love for our best furry friends.
FWIW, I had a long chat with the vets in both cases (a little while after I lost my dogs). In both cases, the vets agreed with our decisions. They were able to give us medical facts and assurances that our dogs were not in pain, that they knew we loved them, and other information that we found very comforting.
I realize that this was posted back in July, but wanted to add something anyway.
First, condolences to you, OP. What you described regarding your emotions over losing your dog has many of us nodding our heads in silent acknowledgement...anyone who truly loves their furred (or in some cases, non-furred) family member, beyond having him or her as a 'pet' will understand what you described. They are our constant companions, they are loyal, they are without judgement. And they are our personal responsibility.
Personally, I think that one of the major reasons we suffer - and often torture ourselves with the 'what ifs' after taking out loved one to the vet's for that final time - is because we are in complete control of their lives. While the love of a child or other human can be immense, the love of an animal can, in some ways, be as deep, or even deeper. Animals are completely dependent upon us for their survival. They are, in a sense, like children...we are their guardians, here to make sure that no harm befalls them, and that they have a life filled with love and kindness. And ultimately, we are the ones who decide when the animal has been in too much pain, or is no longer enjoying life enough to continue...we are the ones who have to decide when to end their lives. THAT is an enormous burden, placed upon the shoulders of humans who are often so full of love and so willing to give of themselves, that the need to determine when their loved one has had enough is almost too much to bear. I've seen people who couldn't handle it, who broke down or gave up on themselves, and - almost always - blamed themselves in some way, thinking they could have done more.
My last dog, Kaya, was truly and completely my heart dog. She was the love of my life. My son and I had her in our lives for 15 years, and when her body began to fail her, I was incredibly torn. My son was living almost 300 miles away, and we'd known for a while that Kaya didn't have a lot of time left...she'd been diagnosed with an aggressive mast cell tumour (completely misdiagnosed by a previous vet, so it wasn't caught early) and by the time they knew what it was, I was told she might not even live out the weekend. She defied those odds however, the stubborn girl that she was, and for a few months - aided by pain control and other drugs - she continued to thrive, amazingly so. The vets were stunned by her ability to 'keep on keeping on'. I kept my son informed of her status, and though he couldn't come home after her initial diagnosis (he was in college and in the midst of exams) he had scheduled a trip home as soon as he could, to see her one last time. Given the way she was acting - still full of life, appetite as voracious as ever - I thought that we had time.
Funny thing about time. It can be deceiving. For Kaya, she was fine for about 3 months, eating, drinking, exercising, even still displaying her annoyances for dogs she didn't know, and squirrels who appeared on the property uninvited. For those brief months, she was herself. She was indomitable. She was amazing.
And then early one morning, she wasn't. I got up and was preparing to take the dogs (Kaya, and my newest family member, a young border collie named Izzy) for their regular walk/play/run outside. Kaya seemed a bit sluggish; she held back a bit, walking at a slower pace, stopping here and there...something was amiss. When we reached the field where the dogs used to love to go and play, I released Izzy and he went charging off across the expanse, eager to explore. When I released Kaya, she simply stood there and looked at me. I tried to encourage her to go, but she refused. She stuck to my side, no interest in her surroundings at all. And that's when I realized that something was seriously wrong. So I gathered up both dogs and took them home.
Once there, Kaya refused to eat her breakfast. In the 15+ years that she'd been with me, she had never once refused food. Ever. Then a few minutes later, she collapsed to the ground. I rushed over and got her up, and she collapsed again. So I called my sister in a frenzied panic and after she arrived, we rushed Kaya to the emergency vet clinic. And the rest of the morning became a bit of a grey, fuzzy blur. I was told that Kaya was in terrible pain despite the pain meds, that she'd been hiding it (rather well) and it was finally starting to take over. Then I was given options: Continue on with her, but hike up the dosage of pain meds so they would once again be under control, albeit with Kaya most likely wanting to sleep all day as a side effect, or...euthanasia. I struggled with the decision for a few moments, mostly because my son had his flight arranged; he was coming home to see her within the next 3 weeks. I knew how much he loved her, as much as I did...and yet, all I kept seeing was Kaya collapsing to the floor, not able to get up. At the vet's she had actually recovered somewhat, even tossing a salutary growl toward another dog who was in the waiting room, but...deep down I knew. And as much as I yearned for my son to see 'his girl' again, I simply couldn't do it. I knew that Kaya had said, 'It's time'. And I made the decision.
To this day I still sometimes go back and forth, agonizing, punishing myself, wondering if I made the right choice. But deep down inside, I absolutely knew. Yet I will most likely always have moments where I punish myself with the 'you should have waited'/'what if...'/'did you do enough'. And this is because we, as animal lovers, are in a sense granted the powers of God, having that power to decide when to end another life. That is an overwhelming responsibility, something that I sometimes wish we didn't have. It causes us an unending amount of sleepless nights, guilt, anger, pain, and suffering. But ultimately, superseding everything else, it gives us this...something we fail to see, especially when we are in the midst of it all. It bestows upon us the power to end suffering, to allow our animal friends to not go through sometimes indescribable agony, or a life that ends in misery. We provide the best we can for them, and in the end we grant them the grace to exit feeling loved, comforted, and at peace. That is the best we can do for them. And I have no doubt that each and every one of them is grateful.
To the OP: " If only he knew." He did.
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