As one could predict, I was a bit of a mess last week. Making the euthanasia appointment for my beloved Otto, and being with him until it was time for the final injection, was just impossibly hard. It was the second-guessing that was most torturous – wondering at the moments when he seemed to be doing well whether this was the right decision.
I’ve had several friends whose dogs were suddenly stricken with a condition that either killed them or had an impossible prognosis, making immediate euthanasia the only rational choice. Is it bizarre to say that, as Otto passed his 15th birthday, I started to wish for such an event, a crisis that would take the “Is this the right time?” euthanasia decision out of my hands? But no such event occurred; I had to take full responsibility to decide whether and when Otto’s bad days were outnumbering his good ones. Making life-or-death, suffering-or-release decisions should be difficult, but man, was it taxing. And over the course of the week following I did all the things that humans tend to do when overwhelmed with grief: locked my keys in my car while getting ready for an early-morning walk with Woody and Boone (fortunately at home, where my husband was available to help sort this out once he woke up), couldn’t eat, then ate too much, burst into tears at random moments . . .
Maybe not completely random. Some of the puppies I haven been fostering for the past six weeks for my local shelter had neuter surgery and were up for adoption at the shelter. Two days after my husband and I buried Otto, I was training some new volunteers at the shelter when a young couple and their five-year-old daughter came in, looking for a puppy of a small-to-medium size to adopt. I raced to gather “my” puppies for them to meet in the shelter’s “get acquainted room”– I was disappointed that none of them had been adopted the first day they were available, and any one of them would be perfect for this family. Happily, the family chose one of the pups, and I got to see them preparing to carry him out of the shelter – the whole goal of my fostering and volunteering efforts, right? I said, “Wait! Let me say goodbye!” and I ran over to hold his little face in my hands and kiss him on the nose and say, “Be a good dog! Have a good life!” But then my face immediately crumpled and I barely choked out the words, “Thank you!” before rushing out of the shelter lobby, tears flowing. I wanted that adoption to happen – I practically forced them to take one of the puppies! – but the whole idea of just launching that little life out into the world with unknown people and an unknowable future … it just overwhelmed me for a minute.
People’s kindness also is overwhelming when you’re feeling raw. I would be perfectly functional, and then would receive a text or call from a friend saying, “I’m so sorry to hear about Otto!” and BOOM, the tears would flow freely again. I had cancelled a dog-training class I was supposed to teach the day before Otto’s appointment, and, early this week, thanked the class for accepting the postponement of that session. After class, some of my students (a couple) handed me a gift bag that held a bottle of wine and a fine chocolate bar – and immediately, again, I could barely choke out my thanks. They said, “We know what it’s like, we’ve lost some fine dogs over the years, it always hurts!”
All of your comments and messages, too – thank you, I so appreciate your kind remarks and remembrances of some of Otto’s early exploits. I have been reading them in short spurts, because it’s so emotional. It’s obvious that you guys get it, you’ve been there. Many of you shared stories about your own lost, sainted dogs, and those stories are painful and wonderful, too.
When we make the decision to love a dog, most of us expect to outlive them; the difference in our usual lifespans makes our surviving their death an almost certain event. We know what we’re getting into – that we’re signing up for some future pain – from the outset. And the more we love them, and the more that they love us, the more pain we can expect! So, I’m rolling with all of it – the sudden face-crumpling, on-and-off crying jags, and even the locking-my-keys-in-the-car moments – in memory and celebration of my very good dog. Thank you for allowing me to share him with you for all of these years, and for your appreciation of him, too.
I so feel your pain. I have been through that and every time a friend goes through it, I relive my own moments. I, too, questioned my decision even after I was convinced it was necessary. They are just sooo loved and it is the hardest thing to “let go”. I have loved reading your articles.
This is our second marriage, and my husband and I don’t have any kids together, so Nash, the majestic muttly mix of GSD, rottie, chowchow, and golden we adopted in Jan 2000 was our first baby. He was three, and lived a good, long, healthy life until late 2012, when he was diagnosed with bone cancer. We helped him cross on 12/27/13, at age 16, and that was the only time I ever saw my macho, redneck husband sob like a baby. I thought I was ready… Nash had come to me, given me “the look”, and so I was the one who had to make all the arrangements. I was the one who had found him, adopted him..he was a momma’s boy. He loved Daddy, but he was MINE. And I was the one who held him and sang him his song as he crossed Rainbow Bridge. That was almost 10 years ago, and it still hurts. It still brings tears, and it still makes me cry. Just like the loss of my rottie in Feb 2020…and I thank God every day I was able to be with HIM before the world shut down. For a while, I know so many weren’t.
I like to think that Nash, Otto, and the rest of us who have loved and lost our dogs are running and playing together in Rainbow Valley, until it’s time for THEM to come get US.
My mom always promised that when it was our time, she’d come get us…and she’d have our babies with us. I can only imagine how many of us will have a herd waiting.
Several years ago I had a rough patch with several animals, cats and dogs needing euthanasia. I had told my old cat that he was going to have to on his because I just couldn’t handle it. As I watched him getting thinner and more frail I realized it was myself that I was thinking of and not him. The receptionist at the clinic who does Reiki went over him and told me that he was ready to leave.
I am so grateful that we are still able to help our animals end their suffering even as ours continues. The joyful moments we shared will always remain with us.
I cried years ago when you lost Rupert. Now I’ve cried twice for you & Otto. My family has had many dogs, several have been great dogs. I miss them all, and my face still crumples at the thought of any of these good boys after so many years. All I can say is that we are better people for having had them in our lives. RIP sweet Otto (& Rupe) . Big hug to you, Nancy.
I cried as I read about Otto. I, too, have wished my dogs would pass in their sleep but it was never to be. Sick ones with inoperable cancer and no chemo to help, one as young as 19 months, older ones with organ failures, and even one with an autoimmune disease. Young, old, or middle age, they’ve all be difficult to let go, but we do what is best for them not for us. I am truly sorry for Otto’s passing. It is never easy. Wishing you peace.
You were a great Mom to Otto. Two years ago, I had to put down my 15 going on 16-year-old Shepherd/ Chow mix. The most difficult decision ever. But she finally stopped eating. She is always in my heart,
don’t know if I will get another dog again.
I saw the similarity in the decline: pacing, stumbling, boniness. It broke me to take her in and I still am not over that loss. But I will see her again someday.
Thankfully you have other little ones to keep you busy. I recently took in a stray kitten who is quite a handful! But I love her company and taking care of her. Not a dog though, there is something so special about our bond with dogs.
I am so sorry to hear about your precious Otto. It had me in tears. It is so hard to go through this. I’ve had to say good-bye before. It always hurts.
Thank you so much for sharing Otto with us, such a truly good, good dog.
Sending so much love,
Lorraine
It was 2 years last month that we had to make this decision for our greyhound baby. I haven’t gotten over it yet and may never get over it. She was truly my soulmate. Let yourself grieve, those moments when you begin sobbing will become less frequent but will continue for a long time.
Sending hugs.
It’s only been 5 months for me since I had to let my Snickers go. Yesterday or the day before I get a Happy Birthday Snickers email from Only Natural Pet. Made it all come rushing back and raw again.
We love them with all of our heart but we wouldn’t change anything other than to ask for more time.