Just a couple of months ago, I thought about how painful it is to go through the death of an animal, and for several nights, I thanked Heavenly Father that none of our animals appeared to be dying. I was especially relieved to have healthy animals over Christmas, because I know now that I could never have handled Hannah's breakup along with an animal death.
But with an aging population of pets, I suspect our family needs to be prepared for the sadness.
But that's the thing--how does one prepare for death? And better yet, how do the living survive the loss?
Dash has always had rough movement and joints. Years ago, I took him in because one of his knees was so swollen. And while he could jump up on the trampoline when he was young, and he could jump a bit to catch a frisbee as he moved into young adulthood, his flexibility was gone pretty early. But once he hit that point, not much changed afterwards.
A month ago, John was bringing the dogs up the stairs, and Dash's back legs gave out. His butt was sliding back down the stairs while he tried to use his front legs and claws to catch himself. It became a "which came first, the chicken or the egg" situation. Did he fall because he had a physical ailment, or did the fall cause him to be sick? We'll never know. What I do know is that he quickly started to fail. At first, I heard him yelping, and when I went in to see what was wrong, he tried again to pick up Squirrel and couldn't. I assumed he had broken something, or at least pulled a muscle, so I took him into a vet in our area.
The vet hardly touched him, but told us that he had arthritis. He sent us home with a bunch of supplements and enough pain meds for a month. Dash was already on thyroid medication twice a day, but considering he didn't want to eat the supposedly chewable additions, Hannah and I would make Dash a peanut butter popsicle, scooping out a couple of tablespoons of peanut butter and sticking the different meds into the peanut butter. Dash seriously loved it....but it didn't seem to be helping much.
In fact, he stopped being able to reach down to eat, and in a wicked twist of fate, he couldn't even eat the way he had eaten for the past 13 years, scooping up a mouthful of food, dropping most of the pieces on the floor next to his bowl, and then licking those up one at a time. So I devised a water and food station for him on top of a plastic container so he wouldn't need to bend, but after one painful incident of trying to eat, he refused to eat from the bowl.
So I took him to our previous vet in Dexter. Unfortunately, this is the vet who took care of Chief (I'm not saying it was her fault that he died, but it's difficult to let that go). She concurred with the Northville vet, and said to me "for a 13 year old dog who has arthritis and who was morbidly obese for years, he's walking really well." Unfortunately, I hadn't brought him in for "walking" issues, but because I wasn't allowed in the clinic due to COVID, I couldn't get her to listen to me, even when I requested an x-ray. So I drove him back home, and trusted that he would get better.
By the next week, I was hand feeding him, helping him get up and down from bed, comforting him throughout the night, bringing him water, and crying because I couldn't bear to watch him in so much pain. I called the Dexter vet to ask what my options were for euthanasia, and she told me that she couldn't recommend it for him because he was a healthy dog UNLESS, she said, some event had happened since she last saw him. I told her that NO, nothing had happened, but he was even worse, yelping in pain during every movement. So she prescribed muscle relaxants, just another thing to add to the popsicle, but they were to be given three times a day.
At this point, I was losing it. Seeing an animal suffer is unbearable. His eyes were sad and there was no butt wiggle of happiness, and yet his mind was still smart and alert. He would watch us move around the room while he laid on his side, unable to move because of the pain, wanting to be near us. The Dexter vet had recommended dog chiropractic treatment, but both clinics were booked out through October, and they wouldn't bend when I started crying on the phone.
So I decided to try and just rub his back and spine, and while doing so, I found a large lump on his back. It was painful with pressure for him.
Finally, I took him in again to the Northville vet (on a Saturday), who while doing the x-ray, could tell that Dash was suffering. He pulled us in to look at the x-ray, and while he could see what he thought was a spinal tumor at that sore point, I had to just trust him. He wanted to put Dash down at that moment because Dash was so bad off, but Mark had asked to be there if we ended up putting Dash down.
I write all of this down, because there's nothing like the guilt that comes afterwards, wondering if it was the right decision. I don't want to ever tell myself that I didn't do everything I could to try and save him.
Mark kept voicing my very feelings: "Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we keep bringing animals home when we have to go through all this pain?"
I don't share this thought with very many people because I know it sounds so pessimistic, but the moment I bring an animal home, I think to myself, "Oh boy, this animal is going to die someday." Yep, that worry always sits on the horizon. However, there was a beautiful talk given on the Sunday between when I made the decision to put him down and the day we actually did it. The women giving the talk said that we often think of Adam and Eve living a blissful life in the Garden of Eden, but it wasn't so. They felt nothing. They were going through the motions of life, but they weren't living. They knew no sorrow, but they also felt no joy. It was Eve's decision to eat of the fruit that led to all of us being able to come here and experience joy. And pain.
If we could have looked to the future and seen the events of the last month, would we have rejected the 13 wonderful, happy, fun-filled, funny years with Dash? I don't think we would have (although I don't know--I do pretty much anything to save myself pain). The couple of days of sadness are worth the memories of him. We had 4,745 days of happiness and fun, and they were totally worth the last 30. Plus, as Mark says, I'm so glad we could give him the life we did. Our animals seem to live forever, and I would hate to think that it would have been shorter with someone else.
Mark drove up Sunday with our appointment to euthanize him on Monday afternoon.
It was a sacred time for Mark with his childhood dog. He wouldn't leave Dash's side, and he just kept petting him and telling him how much he loved him.
And all I could feel was that dreaded horizon moment, looming over us. Dash was going to die, and it wasn't just some unnamed time in the future. It was going to be Monday at 2:15.
I have only had a few moments in my life like this, when I know something terrible is coming at a specific moment, and all I can do is wait for it to come. There's literally nothing to do to stop it. And while that moment is difficult, the suffering that follows afterwards is even worse. And for the first time, my children were going to experience it firsthand. I was terrified for their pain.
Hannah wasn't sure she wanted to be there, but Mark knew he needed to be. Thankfully, Hannah decided that morning that she would leave work in time to go to the vet's with us. As it turned out, Dash's 13th birthday was on Sunday, and Hannah had bought him four pup-cakes at our local cupcake store, so his last meal was those sweet treats. And I didn't give him anything besides his pain meds that morning.
Again, it was heartbreaking to go out to the car and see Dash want to jump in the back of the car but be unable to do so. And when we picked him up, he was in pain. And normally during a car ride, he's looking out all windows, but he just laid down.
You know, even writing this, I can feel all the sadness welling back up in me. There just aren't words to describe making the choice to, honestly, kill my dog. I'm always the one to realize it needs to happen, and I'm the one to push it forward which is a job that just sucks. It reminds me of a scene in Steel Magnolias. M'Lynn (played by Sally Field) sits by her daughter's bedside when they turn off the ventilator:
I just sat there. I just held Shelby's hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life.
But then M'Lynn goes on to talk about how her boys left the room as did her husband before Shelby died. Nobody could bear to stay there but her. It's one of those moments when women show their fortitude, and like Mother Eve, make the hard choices for the peace and comfort of others. But as Mark kept saying throughout the weekend, the whole thing just sucks.
In the past, it's just been John and me, but this time Hannah and Mark were there, and I will say it for posterity: it was a sacred, beautiful experience. I know it probably shouldn't be that special because it's just a dog, but there was a touch of heaven in that room as Dash slipped away from us. We had said a prayer before we left for the vet's. Mark prayed that Dash would know we love him, that he would find a place in heaven where he could feel happy and pain free, but I had to say a prayer myself for all of us left behind. That we would feel the comfort of the Spirit like a blanket over us and know that all is well.
We put him up on the table on the blanket that we would carry him out in, and the vet came in just to cause him to sleep. Mark and Hannah knelt directly in front of him and talked to him as he drifted off. I told them that this was it--this was the last time he would hear our voices, and this was the time to say goodbye. It took a few minutes for his eyes to close, and they never stopped talking to him and petting him and kissing him and loving him. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. The love that Hannah has developed for Dash over the past few months of living with us, and the love that Mark has had for Dash for the past 13 years came pouring out. There were so many tears, but there was so much love as well. And even after his eyes were closed, they kept talking to him.
Then, when the vet came in to stop his heart, they still didn't stop petting him and talking to him. It can be pretty disturbing to see a dog gasping for breath as the drugs take effect, but they never recoiled. If anything, they released the Spirit out of his body and sent it on its way to heaven. I know as he looked down on us that he had no doubt how much he is loved, and how much he will be missed.
We then took him out to the car and drove him home. Even though we don't have the fields and acres to bury him, none of us could leave him to be group cremated with other animals. So John and Mark went out to our yard in the tree line and dug a hole before we left for the vet's. All we had to do when we got home was to carry his body, wrapped in the blanket, to the hole. Mark placed him in, and we covered him up. He actually is laying right outside my office window, and with strong winds today, his grave is covered with leaves as the forest reclaims him. And we know he's not alone. And we aren't either.
So with that, here are some memories I have of Mr. Dash:
- Mr. Dash was a Harrisburg ghetto puppy. We had just lost Dodge (I ran over him in our driveway with the van), and I was desperate to replace the pain in our hearts. Back in the day, you looked for pets in the newspaper, and I found an ad for a litter in Harrisburg. When I showed up, he was in a wire fence in a tenement house in the ghetto of Harrisburg. The carpet was destroyed by at least two litters of puppies living inside. Most of the pups jumped up on the fence to greet me, but Dash just sat off to the side, being quiet. I liked him from the beginning, and I took him. The owner then told me that if I would take two, he would give me a discount--$275 for Dash, $400 for both--and I figured why not? So I scooped by a black tri girl, wrote the check, loaded them up in the van (with Rox in tow) and drove away. The owner had fed them right before we left, and being car sick like most dogs are, they started vomiting. I turned right around, drove up to the house, grabbed the black girl, handed her back to the guy and told him I couldn't handle two puppies at one time (how funny that is to think of now, after handling so many litters of pups over the years!) Dash had my heart from the moment we brought him home. He was a humble little pup, very submissive and sweet. He had green eyes in the beginning which eventually changed to gold, the same color as his fur.
- Dash was Mark's dog from the beginning. I don't know how that connection started, but maybe it's because they're both the quieter, sweeter Kennedys. Mark wanted Dash in his senior pictures for high school, and I remember going to the photo shoot, armed with cheese, hoping he would hold still just long enough to get the shot. He was a great sport, and how thankful we all are to have those photos now.
- When we would let all of the dogs out in the morning, every one would tear down the basement stairs and stand ready for us to open the door. Dash always stood in the back--he was never in any hurry to get outside--and when we opened the door, the other four would rush out into the yard. The girls would all run the line, barking at anyone out walking, and just in full patrol mode. They would quick pee and poop so they could keep barking and running. Dash on the other hand would saunter out to the yard last, and while everyone else was running around in a tizzy, he would slowly go from one pee spot to the next, sniffing what everyone had just dropped and piddling his own pee on top of theirs. He never even looked at the property line. And then, when he was all done, he would just stand in the yard, watching the other dogs, and occasionally offer up a supportive bark just to say "You got this, ladies. Good job." And then he would lay down in the grass.
- Once we got Cherry and then Chief, Dash knew he was outmatched in athletic prowess. Cherry and Chief were high-performance athletes, racing to fetch the balls at top speed. Dash still wanted to fetch the balls as well but was seriously out-classed. So after throwing one ball for Chief and Cherry to race for, I would throw a ball for Dash, close to me so that he could follow it and actually retrieve it before the other two returned, because whatever dog had lost the race was more than happy to pick up Dash's ball and return it to me as a winner. Unfortunately for me, if Dash wasn't fast enough, or the ball wasn't close enough, he would always become distracted by some smell in the grass....and he would completely forget that he had been in the process of FETCHING THE BALL. So either I would end up walking out to fetch it myself (just to throw it for him again), or I could send out Cherry to fetch it for me.
- Dash was our original frisbee catcher, and he was the best of the three. When he was younger, he could actually jump for the frisbees and bring them back. However, as he got older, he was happier running between two of us throwing the frisbee back and forth to each other, pretending that he was going to catch it at some point, barking the entire time, but actually reversing direction when he realized it was going to be thrown back.
- Dash was a ridiculous eater. He would take 6-8 pieces of dog food in his mouth at one time, and then drop them all on the floor to just lick them up one at a time. I never understood why he didn't just eat ONE piece at a time!
- Dash loves toys. For many years, it was Purple Monkey, but I think Cherry destroyed it in jealousy. Then it was Chewy (a Chewbacca squeaky toy). But for the last few years, it's been Squirrel and Chippie. It didn't matter which one--he just wanted one in his mouth at all times.
- Dash was genetically superior to the other dogs in one way: he had a long nose and could get to the bottom of cans better than anyone else could. In fact, when a master licker like Cherry had abandoned a can with a small amount of food still in the bottom, Dash could pick it up and finish it off.
- I don't know why, but we always put birthday hats on Dash. Maybe it's because he was the only dog who would leave them on? I don't know, but inevitably he would look like he was smiling when he had one on, and it made us laugh every time.
- When Dash was older, he ballooned up to almost 90 pounds. We had moved into an apartment in Ann Arbor, and when we took him walking, his legs would just freeze for a few seconds. I took him to the vet and discovered that his thyroid was way out of wack. She told us that if we kept him on his thyroid meds, his bristly hair would be replaced with soft fur, his sad eyes would look happier again, and he would lose weight. Sure enough, in the end of his days, his fur was so soft and he had dropped 30 pounds. In fact, before we buried him, we cut off a piece of his curly red fur to keep.
- Dash was the friendliest of our dogs to strangers and visitors, and yet he was also the biter. We always knew if people came over, we could leave Dash out because he was so good (while all the others got locked up), but when people randomly walked into our yard, he was the one to bite them. He was also the licker. He just couldn't be within touching distance of you without doing some drive-by licks.
- Dash was the O.G. Man-Dog. He was our first breeding stud dog, and he did his part fabulously. So many pups from Mr. Dash. And cute pups too! And I loved to call the marriage between Rox and Dash the "fluffernutter" sandwich.
- For the first few years, Dash loved to jump up on the trampoline with the kids. He would get so excited when they would start jumping that he would first run around the trampoline, barking, but eventually they would call him up (maybe just to shut him up), and he'd bound up. His legs were always pretty tight though so I knew it wouldn't last for very long.
- Dash went to live with Mark for a few weeks during college, and he ended up staying at Allison's parents' home. He became a boat dog, cruising the lake in his very fancy motorboat ;-)
- Dash had the cutest fancy pants. As he grew older, they grew longer and were a mess, but after he went to the groomer's, his looked like a little bear butt.
- For the last three months, Hannah has been Dash's very best friend. It started with her letting him up on the couch with her at night while we watch TV, a big no-no in the Kennedy household. But she was willing to face my wrath in support of him. And he loved her for it. In fact, each day when she would come home from work, he would come up to her as quickly as Hootie for some Hannah scritches and Hannah love. And then he would loyally follow her around until she finally settled in at night. So how touching to have his two best friends there at the end.
Comments
Post a Comment