Everyone said I would know when the time was right, but I didn’t. I called the vet asking her to euthanize our dog and canceled three times.
Then a friend said, “Ask yourself whether you’re keeping the dog alive for his sake or yours.”
McDuff was a Cairn terrier, a ferocious palm-sized ball of fluff when we brought him home as a puppy, unafraid, even, of chasing deer in our backyard, despite the fact that he hardly came up to their knees. He grew up to become a solid, hassock-shaped dog with a stubby tail, a painter’s beard, and wise brown eyes. He kept me company at home when the kids were in school, when it was just the new baby and me left at home.
Later, when the new baby went to school, too, McDuff was my companion in the kitchen, in the car, in my office. He was still opinionated and noisy, brave enough to drag himself home after a coyote attack, trying to die in his customary bedroom. Luckily, the vet was a friend and took him at 5 AM, stitching him up and saving McDuff’s life.
As time went by, McDuff grew stiffer and fatter, as many of us do. He was diagnosed with Cushing’s Disease and suffered from Lyme disease as well. Despite medication, eventually McDuff could do little more than lie in the dining room in his customary place. He hung onto his dignity, going outside to do his business and nosing around for treats whenever our other dog was begging for them. After a while it became a scramble for him to make it up the tiny step into our kitchen. One day, he stopped being able to do even that much, and soon he was standing in the corner of the dining room at odd times, peering at nothing. His tail stopped wagging. He smelled like death.
McDuff was smart enough to be terrified of vet visits, so I found a vet who came to the house, a lovely woman with a sweet assistant. They sat on the floor with me and gave McDuff a sedative while I stroked his head and told him what a good dog he’d been. The cat purred beside us and my youngest son, the same age as McDuff in human years now, patted my shoulders. When they stopped my dog’s heart, he didn’t even twitch.
The vet gently rolled him in a towel and carried him like a baby to her van, taking him to be cremated and leaving me to hope that, when it’s my time, I will have some way of leaving this earth as peacefully as McDuff did, surrounded by those who love me, rather than being strapped into a hospital bed, a shell for my family to mourn.
What makes it so hard to say goodbye to a beloved pet is that your pet—dog, cat, whatever—isn’t just livestock. That animal was chosen by you at a particular time in your life, and represents an era, no matter how long or short, that can never be repeated, no matter how much you wish it could be. In our case, McDuff came into our family when our youngest child was born, at a time when my husband and I were starting our life together as parents of a vigorous, exhausting blended family in an old house we renovated together.
McDuff moved with us to a grander house six years later, a new house with lots of land that could accommodate our bigger, busier family. He was with us again when our children started leaving for college and we downsized to the house we’re in now; McDuff nearly made it to the youngest child’s own departure for college. He was with us through the deaths of my uncles, my grandmother, and my father.
How can you make the decision to let go of a beloved pet and ease the pain that follows?
Ask yourself, as my friend made me do, whether you’re keeping your pet alive for the animal’s sake or your own. Can your pet still do the things that made him/her happy and confident? What is to be gained by keeping your pet alive if your pet is elderly, in pain, or infirm?
If you do make the decision to euthanize your pet, consider having it done at home to ease your pet’s anxiety. Google “mobile vets” and you will find one close to you, or ask your own veterinarian for recommendations. Give your pet a special meal, and ask your vet for the collar, a tag, or ashes afterward to help you treasure your memories of the animal.
Then mourn your loss, while celebrating the bond between human and animal, between this life and the next.
8 Comments
Putting my Fred down was one of the hardest things in the world to me. People that are not pet lovers will never understand. He had been a vital part of our lives fir sixteen years. I recently had to have that conversation with my daughter over her Chessie. Terri had lived on her own since she was 19. She got Chessie in college and 14 years later, Chessie was still her only love. She turned down more than one relationship that did not understand the two of them were a package deal. But by the time she had to carry Chessie outside (she was 75 lbs) and hold up her hips so she could do her business, when she’d come home from work to find Chessie stuck on the floor with all 4 legs splayed out to her sides, blind and helpless, I had to ask her who she was keeping her alive for. She finally made the decision and put her to sleep but is was devastating.
Holly, I am sorry fir your loss. It will hurt for a long time. I stepped over the empty space where Fred use to lay for weeks before I could walk directly across it.
The vet that put him down gave him to be cremated in a beautiful mahogany box with his name engraved in it. She also made a plaster Paris cast of his paw print. Fred is buried in the rose garden under a bird bath where he used to love to lay. That house is sold now, but someday someone may dig up that garden and find a plaster Paris paw, a mahogany box and a picture of the best black lab that ever roamed this earth.
Ah, Joanne, you are so right about the hurt lingering. I keep trying to put down two bowls of food in the morning instead of one. I love the idea that you buried Fred in the place where he used to love to sleep. So sweet! Thank you for sharing your story.
Holly, you made me cry. We had to euthanize our dog, Bambi, years ago and I still miss her. When we buried her, we all stood around and cried our eyes out. She was the dog that grew up with our kids, so I know what you’re going through. We now have a different dog, Gus, and he’s great. But, he can’t replace Bambi. Loved your article!
My heart grieves for you. But your pet gives you so much in life, we need to be as empathetic with the pet when it’s time to go. I know. We had our little Schnauzer put to sleep a month or so ago. It was the hardest morning and the hardest decision I had faced in a long time. But she was ready. She needed some relief. Love makes us do what we need to do when we have to do it.
Oh, Caleb, I love your last line–I hope you’ve used it in a novel: “Love makes us do what we need to do when we have to do it.” So wise, my friend! Thank you.
Thank you for that beautiful, touching post, Holly. My prayers are with you. You all are so right. As difficult as letting go of your loved one may be, love eventually clears the way to making the right decision. I still ache with the loss of my big girls: a 14 yr. old Dobie, 12 yr. old Lab, and 8 yr. old Rottie (the biggest shock – still a baby in my eyes) and wish I’d thought about mobile vets. I have the ashes of one, and held a memorial service for another with live music and everything. Saying they’re family doesn’t always do them justice. Their ability to make us the most important thing in their lives, love us unconditionally, and express those things without hesitation or reservation cannot be found anywhere else. When I miss mine most, I try to focus on the things I did to give them good lives, no matter how short 🙂
I love your comment, Dariel. Your pets were so lucky to have you as their owner. I’m still trying to focus on the good life McDuff had, but the grief is still pretty raw. Time, I know, will help me remember him fondly instead of missing him every day that I don’t see him snoring in his customary corner in the dining room on his fuzzy red bed! Thanks for sharing your story with me.
That was a very touching post, and I empathize with your feelings. Your friend was wise in advising you to consider McDuff’s feelings (and condition). We often hang on too long because we cannot bear to let go. Other times we don’t have that choice. Quite a short time ago my wife and I lost both of our dogs. The first was killed by a bear, the other died of heart failure a short time later – with her head in my lap. The sadness was profound. (http://www.allandouglas.com/blog/life/dolly/)
We were not ready to “replace” our girls, but we wanted to do something to help repay the companionship and love they had given us. We got involved with the local animal shelter’s foster home program. These dogs would be short term residents as we helped nurse them through needed medical treatment so they would be adoptable. Of course the very first one, Cochise, stole our hearts and we ended up adopting him. Several dogs later was Blondie, whom Cochise became very fond of and insisted that we keep her too. We’re on our 11th foster dog now and it has been a very rewarding experience. We still miss Dolly and Zadie, but we are able to focus our thoughts on the good times we shared, not the sadness of loss.
I hope you too will find a way to move past the sadness.