Farewell Thoughts About My Dog

That worst time of pet ownership came last week when my dog’s failing health forced me to play God and assign executioner status to his vet. He had a malignant tumor that was discovered five months ago. He seemed to have dealt with it very well making the sudden onset of sickness a surprise. But for me, the absence of time to dwell upon a decision was probably a good thing. The vet, who is compassionate but firm in her advice, told me we could draw some blood to test, administer antibiotics and fluids and probably get him through it this time. But she frankly said that he had turned a corner and this is what things are now going to look like from this point on. He is now in that place where we don’t want him to be. And in my private thoughts I knew this is not the place I now wanted to be. So, we put him “to sleep.” He went quite peacefully, remaining in sweet repose--handsome to the end, his tongue not stupidly slithering out as sometimes happen when they go down for the count.

There were expected twinges of sadness during and following the loss of Woodie. Seeing the injections slowly stop his breath and heart and slipping into stillness. The quiet, empty house to return to and going to bed with imagined stirrings of him about; his food and other reminders of his life here; feeling small jolts to my routine. I slept with his collar beside me and felt some comfort in it.

But there were some noticeable absences of sadness that were unexpected. And particularly noticeable was how easily I could transition to them. In fact, I felt disrespectful for carrying on so easy and felt I should make myself jerk a tear. This could have been due to a few things, I imagined: The suddenness of Woodie’s sickness that allowed me no time to deliberate; the mental preparation of the inevitability; the private wish for his life not to encumber me for so long.

Meanwhile Woodie’s end of life has caused me to wax philosophical more so than any other past pet. In today’s journal entry that I have just come from, I noted that my immediate grief that came after his passing was more like a panic that he had been lost and I could not take care of him. In his later life, I had begun to realize that even though he seemed independent--often stubborn, disobedient, unbothered--he is, in fact, completely dependent. Every meal he eats depends on me, to let him in or out, to provide his shelter and even his safety that he doesn’t walk out in front of a car, all are beyond his abilities. But it’s such an accepted fact, I don’t even give it any thought. Until I can’t care for him. Also, even though the fact that he was a bully breed and his laziness, stubbornness, belligerence irked me no end, he was like an older brother. Despite the fact he pushed me around, I always secretly admired him. Of course I miss him.

One last confession: Grief--at least for me--has never seemed nearly as sharp for a person as for a pet. Humans, whether closeness is due to kinship or friendship, generally are independent and take care of themselves. They knew it was coming sometime or another. They cannot claim innocence. Animals are born innocent and remain so. People are born innocent, but that is it.

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