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.
Nancy, you are truly a Godsend – not only to the many dogs you’ve helped and loved over the years – but to those of us that really get that the privilege of having a dog in our lives is one of life’s great joys and blessings. Even though this post and your last one that was such a beautiful tribute to Otto made me sob from feeling your pain (and mine), I am so very happy to be a comrade in dog loving. Like you and others, I’ve been owned by many dogs throughout my life and there have been a few very special, very good ones. I lost my best boy 2 years ago and it still hurts some days as though I’d lost him yesterday. I know that sudden and unexpected rush of grief that collapses your face and brings that cascade of tears and pain. Still happens after all this time. But it’s worth it, isn’t it? I am so grateful to have had him and all my dog companions in my life even though the pain of losing them is almost more than I could bear. I truly hope hearing from others of like mind and heart helps you as you travel through the inevitable grief journey. A big hug to you as well as a huge thank you.
I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’ve not been through it (yet). I was only finally able to realize my lifelong longing for a dog 13 years ago — after years of SF rental apartments = no dog. My late husband and I had our yorkie together from her tiny puppy days. It was such a relief to me to still have her after we lost him. A year and a half later I came home to find her dead, under the covers on my pillow. It was devastating. I went through both the feeling that I just wanted to have been with her and the feeling that I was relieved I did not have to make the choice. Within a short number of weeks I adopted another dog. Just looking at the search results on Petfinder made it crystal clear to me that I wanted a dog in my life and there were too many dogs who needed someone; no reason to wait. I got my fabulous Mr. Fitz from Muttville Senior Rescue in SF. He was a young “senior” then at only 8. He’s 11’ish now and the most perfect dog. Just recently we welcomed in a 14-year old morkie — so only up to my third dog now. Getting to know her has, of course, gotten me thinking about whether I’ll have to be the one making That Choice soon. Reading about your experience with Otto has helped me process the whole of it. Thank you for sharing. I still don’t know how I’ll ever be able to make that call. But Mr. Fitz and Lily are worth having to find out.
I remember when you got him. He was very lucky to have such a good home. My hugs to you. We have all been through this and we know we will get through it, but the pain is real, the loss is real. They will always hold a special place in our hearts.
I remember when I started a new job and I started a conversation with one of my co workers. She had a picture cube on her desk. When I asked her if they were her grandchildren, she told me that they were pictures of all the dogs she has had in her life. Not a bad idea.
Take care. Maria
Nancy, I feel I know you as I’ve read your articles over the years, including Otto. My Heart Dog (Irish Wolfhound/Pyr/Border Collie) died on his 12th birthday. He was still perfect except for not being able to breathe, so you know my heart goes out to you. It is never, ever going to be a good day to say goodbye to those we love. I live each day as if it will be my dogs and cats last as I know you do. My foster puppies and dogs help with the grief as I prepare them for their new, adventurous lives. My DNA has become Dog, as has yours.
“It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life, gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are.”
~Unknown
Hi Nancy. First of all, I am heartbroken for you and your family. Losing a cherished pet is devastating. Otto was, and will be, forever in our hearts. Of course, now, when I read WDJ, I will shed tears just as I am now.
I could tell from your previous posts over the past several months that you were trying to prepare for this and, well, you can’t. I have had four goldens cross the rainbow bridge, but the most difficult was my companion and best friend, Brewster. Sadly, he seemed fine (they never complain) and then quickly started failing. It only took two days for the emergency vet to let me know he would not make it and would not be able to return home with me with a catheter. I still miss him so much.
I know he will be waiting for me when it’s my turn.
Thank you for sharing Otto with us all these years and thank you for your honesty and for trusting us with your pain. Sending hugs and love and peace.
Heartfelt condolences for losing Otto. I started to write a comment when you posted the first time but I didn’t make it through. I’m on dog number ten and I find each time gets harder to deal with. So much loss, so much grief, but the love is immeasurable.
Dear Nancy,
I am a 30 year subscriber to WDJ and love following the personal stories you share about your own dogs. So I feel that, in a way, I knew Otto and so, to an extent, I share your grief. I have been holding my breath for this sad news since you shared his slow decline months ago.
While it is natural to second guess ourselves, I hope that with time, you will begin to see that the choices you needed to make for Otto were only in his best interest; I was truly moved as I read how many things you did for his comfort in his sunset months. You loved him as much as anyone could love their pup. Please do not be hard on yourself for finally having to make what some would describe as one of the most difficult decisions in our lives.
As I have said to many: when you get that new pup, it’s is the happiest “Hello”….and then…. it will be saddest “Goodbye”.
Please know of my prayers for your healing and your peace as you slowly let go.
I was heartbroken to hear about Otto – I’ve been a reader for years, and have followed him in your posts and newsletter all along. The love we have for our pups is so pure, it would be impossible for our hearts not to be broken when their time to pass comes. It is especially hard to make The Decision when the slow decline of aging calls us to do so. There’s often not a clear line, just a gradual waning of life quality that is in itself heartbreaking. Sending you tons of love and healing. I hope you find comfort in knowing what a wonderful life you gave Otto.
Sirius, the Dog Star the brightest star in our night sky, just got brighter. You’ll find Sirius in the constellation Canis Major. There you can feel Otto’s presence. A kind of celestial hug from your boy…
I’m sorry you lost your good friend.