In Memoriam — The little brown rescue dog who smiled like a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I put my best friend to rest today. I had been preparing for this moment for quite some time, but you’re never really ready for it. With…
In Memoriam — The little brown rescue dog who smiled like a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I put my best friend to rest today. I had been preparing for this moment for quite some time, but you’re never really ready for it. With each vet visit, the news kept getting worse and worse, so it didn’t take me by surprise. When she went downhill fast yesterday, I wondered if this next vet visit would be her last.
I dreaded the possible news but dreaded her crying out in agony worse. She stopped eating and barely drank. It was a few hours until her vet opened, and I was prepared for a hefty bill. Old, aging dogs don’t come cheap, but her love was worth it.
The vet told me she needed surgery, and the chances weren’t in her favor that she would survive. There was a significant chance she wouldn’t. If the surgery were successful, it would need to be managed, in addition to her heart disease, kidney disease, collapsing trachea, and now Cushing’s. Or we could opt for euthanasia because she may have been going through congestive heart failure since her heart murmur had gotten significantly worse.
I struggled hard because I didn’t want to lose my best friend. She’s been there when no one else has. We started as strangers, a dog I saved from an overcrowded animal control euth list. She didn’t trust me and wasn’t afraid to show it. I picked her and was going to make it work, even if she wasn’t my dream dog, behaviorally speaking.
We shared nearly ten years, and she slowly learned to trust me over time. If I took her somewhere, it’s for her good. It’s to the vet, or a park, or the groomer. Sometimes it was a surprise visit to a BBQ joint. She was a big fan of BBQ chicken. In the worst-case scenario, she went to a dog sitter to play with new friends until I returned.
Yet here I was, making THE decision with her complete trust in me.
I want to say it was the right one. I didn’t know if her suffering would ease after surgery. Or if she would suffer needlessly, only for the inevitable to happen. Or if she would start eating again. Before this episode, she had her good days when I swore she’d be around many more years and her not-so-good days when I cuddled her while she slept, grateful for the time we’ve had so far.
I told her when the day came, I would make the right decision. The vet fully supported it. I wasn’t so sure. Frankly, I’m still not.
I know she’s not suffering anymore. By the flood of tears, I’ve been fighting…I am. My office mate, my feet warmer, my judge and silent best friend, I took comfort in her presence…Now, that’s gone.
No one to guard me while I’m in the bathroom. No one to judge me silently with a look. No one is quite like her. Despite being unable to speak, she sure managed to convey a lot.
The anguish I feel is excruciating. I’m devastated, shattered. I decided to end her pure love. In easing her suffering, I created my own.
Welcomed it, even.
From my past dog loves, I know eventually, the pain will be replaced by good memories. Another dog will have its life turned around and get a happy ending. The cycle will start all over again, from homeless to happy.
But that is not today. Today I cry angry tears of never-ending sadness. I weep for what could have been and for what never will be.
Her bill didn’t turn out to be that hefty since we didn’t do the surgery. I’m donating some funds to the rescues that made our unlikely friendship possible. My company matches donations, so it will hopefully help a few homeless pets get their start.
It’s the best way I can think of to celebrate her legacy and love… by helping the next dog. Knowing how much she enjoyed her foster friends, I think she would approve.
Rest in Peace and Pride, Dobby Brooks. I miss you already.
I hope you found Lady and Rocky to keep you busy and cuddle you when you’re cold. More than anything, I wish we had more time.
