It was a year ago today, November 5th, that I had to take my old friend to the vet to be put down.
He was a 14 1/2 year old Shepherd/Rottweiler cross with the unlikely name of Chism (this is what happens when you let your kid name your dog...).
I had known him since the day he was born. I came home from work and saw my neighbour sitting on her lawn; in her lap were two newborn puppies. They didn't even know her dog was pregnant, until she gave birth!
I pleaded with my neighbour to let me have the male one, and after some convincing, she agreed.
Chism was a dog only a mother could love. Strong, willful, bullheaded, destructive, vicious.... He never sat still. He would walk around and around and around and around the coffee table, trot down the hallway, trot back and walk around and around and around and around the coffee table. He would shred the garbage. He would tear the fence down trying to attack the little old lady meandering past. He wouldn't shut up. He was virtually untrainable.
Note: Never get a Rottweiler/Shepherd cross as your first dog.
Over the years he proved himself to be the most protective dog a person could ask for. No one could come into the house until the dog was satisfied. While this was a hassle, I will say it was a great comfort. I was a single mom for several years, and even when I was with my husband he worked nights a lot. Chism was the best protector I could have had.
Around age 12 he started to limp quite a bit. He was slowing down a lot, his fur was dulling, his eyes were unfocused, he wasn't eating much and he had lost his zest. I went to my local independent pet store to ask for an end-of-life painkiller; they recommended a super strength joint compound with glucosamine, MSM and other natural things for joint health. I thought this was like changing the oil in a car just to drive it to the junkyard, but alright.
Within a day Chism was walking up the stairs, running in the yard and bounding around again. This compound took 7 years off his life! He was like a 5 year old again. His eyes were clear, his fur was glossy, and he was his old perky self.
This stuff kept him young and fit for two years, when gradually I could see him decline. He started limping again. His eyes were dulling again. His appetite was weak.
As we went for his walks he became slower and slower. He could go only short distances. Then he started to stumble. His hips would give out and he would be stuck on the ground; he would scream in pain as I tried to pick him up.
On Halloween 2007 his hips gave out entirely. He couldn't get up. He barely made it home.
Oh well, the internet is full of good information. I searched for options for him. Medicines, surgery, you name it.
I realized, at the ripe old age of 14 1/2 human years, that he would not likely survive surgery. Or if he did, he would not recover well.
I had to make the decision.
I had to end his life.
The day I realized that this time had come, my heart broke in a million pieces. How can you decide to have your best friend, your protector, your old fluff, killed?
I phoned the vet on Friday. The soonest they could get us in was Monday, Nov. 5th.
Those days were more agonizing than I can possibly describe. It was helpful, in fact, to talk to a number of other people who had been through this. I was committed to attend a birthday party on Nov. 3, so I went. I talked to everybody there about it; everyone there had owned dogs. They all told their stories. Some people had waited too long with their dogs, and the dogs' suffering was immeasurable. One dog's eye imploded and his kidneys failed. Another dog was in so much agony he couldn't sit, stand, lie, anything -- he would just stand there and shriek.
With a heavy heart I knew I had to follow through with this appointment. Chism's quality of life was down the tubes. It would take him almost an hour to get outside to pee. He couldn't eat.
I sat and talked to him. I told him how much I loved him, how much I appreciated what he had brought to my life. I told him I never liked dogs much before I met him, but now I love dogs because of him. As I stroked him and talked to him, he struggled to get some balance, then he put his paw on my shoulder. It fell to the floor with a thump a few seconds later. It was all he could give. It was enough.
The evening before was agony. He had his last banana, his last sleep, his last night. The morning saw his last walk. He ate his last cookies on the way to the vet. He knew something was up.
As the sleeping medicine took effect Chism slid down into my arms, and I got to cradle my old friend as his life slipped away.
Leaving him behind at the vet was so hard. (Having the ditz yell after me, "Have a nice day!" was even harder. Schmuck.)
Although his body is gone, I know his soul lives on. But, that's for another post.
Rest in peace, my old friend. Thank you for being my doggie.
Love,
Mommy
