Author: fourfarmdogs

 So, I did it. I was tearful all morning at work. The night before, I’d concentrated hard on thinking of what he would want, of asking him. I’m no animal telepathic, but my sense was that he was ready, and that he wanted to stay home, to stay on the farm. By lunchtime, I realized I just wasn’t going to make it through the day at work, so I headed for home. I told myself that I wasn’t 100% committed to it yet, and part of my mind was already trying to un-knit the decision. But, another part of me knew it was time to walk straight into my own suffering, and not shy from it any longer.  

When I got home, Chessie was up and about, and vaguely glad to see me, but mostly because he wanted me to help him back inside. He promptly laid down on his blanket in the hall and fell sound asleep. It was good to see him resting well. He was breathing very slow, a little labored, and became fairly unresponsive. He didn’t acknowledge petting much at all. Maybe he was already getting ready, I felt like he knew and that he was relieved.  

I was hoping to convince the vet to come out and do the procedure, so I wouldn’t have to disturb him. But they didn’t want to. I was concerned that it would distress him hauling him in the van, and that we’d have a battle to find a vein at the vet’s office. I didn’t want it to end that way. We ended up finding a friend who could do it for us, she came in the evening. Chessie was still asleep, and didn’t even seem to notice the needle, so it was very peaceful, very gentle.  

Kirk kindly dug a hole in the pasture using the tractor and got everything ready. We wrapped him in some worn cotton blankets and put him in the ground, in the rain, just before dark.  

This kind of burial is consistent with beliefs I’ve been developing over many years, based on a lot of reading and thinking. I object to complicated burial procedures, painted coffins, chemicals and the like-it’s not good for the environment, not natural. Cremation is also polluting, and I believe that it has the affect of delaying the grieving process. You don’t see the body; it comes back to you days or weeks later in an urn, such that your mind does not connect well with the reality of the loss. The one time I had a rescue foster dog euthanized and taken away, I had strange, irrational thoughts for weeks, momentary ideas that I’d un-do it, go get her, change my mind. I think sending the body away prolongs the denial part of the grieving process.  

So, for me, this burial at home, in simple, natural cotton blankets, is right with nature, a last act of ritual and caring, and very final in the mind. And, so it is done, and I think it was right. My final realization was only this: that he had no good days, not even any good hours, left ahead. So, though the time and place were arbitrary, it seemed there was no point in delaying any longer. Now, we can all move on, we can all rest well once again. 

So long Chessie, it was a good fifteen years, and I’m glad you got to enjoy some life on the farm before you left. I will miss you.

I wrote this yesterday morning, partly as a way to think through my situation. But, I didn’t have the heart to post it then, it would have made it more “real” than I wanted at that moment.

Today I feel I am facing an excruciating decision. Chessie is doing worse and worse, and last night was miserable for us both. His decline is very slow, such that the increments are not noticeable. But, when I evaluate his overall quality of life now, and compare it to even just a few months ago: I see that there is virtually no quality left. Save eating, perhaps. He struggles to get up and lie down. Often he needs my help with both. The rest of the day, he shuffles around the yard (where he is left most of the day) in a daze.

He seems very senile, or otherwise mentally withdrawn. He barely acknowledges my presence, and no longer seems to take pleasure in being petted. He does not make eye contact, though I can tell he still sees. Sadly, I admit, much of my interaction with him is filled with frustration and impatience, over which I feel extremely guilty. I owe this dog compassionate care now, as he has been faithful to me all these years, and ever-tolerant of my mistakes and flaws. But, what I feel he deserves does not always show in my actions, when I’m struggling to help him get up and he is trying to bite me, or when he has just made a mess on the floor.

I searched the web a little bit for guidance on when it’s time to euthanize. This decision is so terribly weighty and fraught with ethical and spiritual complications! It is hard to think with a clear mind in times like this! Advice from others concludes: evaluate the animal’s quality of life, evaluate what’s stopping you from ending it, and use your best judgment on what seems “right.” And they always say “you’ll know when it’s time.” But I feel I  don’t know!

I don’t think I am selfishly hanging onto him for fear of losing him-in fact; honestly, I am ready for him to pass on. That is one natural aspect of age-related deterioration, is that the person, or animal that you once knew disappears. It gradually prepares you for the complete loss of having them in your life, because you’ve lost most of them before the actual death event occurs. This morning when I awoke from what little sleep we both got, I was praying to find him gone, it seemed like the time was so right after such a hard night. But, no, he awoke when I touched him.  

So, what’s stopping me from euthanasia? I think I am avoiding having to take the responsibility for it—I am wishing to be spared that burden by having him die a natural death. And yet, what remains is guilt that his passing may endure more suffering than is necessary, because I refuse to make this decision. So, I can’t win, no matter which path I choose, the emotional consequences for me seem the same. 

I have tried to evaluate what end-of-life suffering means from a spiritual or religious point of view. Of course, that is one of life’s greatest philosophical questions anyway. And most religions don’t give a lot of advice that pertains to animals, since ancient texts mostly address animals from the standpoint of eating them! The best we can do is presume that there is meaning in suffering, that it is part of the soul’s growth, or perhaps penance for past wrongs. It seems we must trust that suffering is necessary, and we must embrace it and accept it as part of our term here on earth. Dogs are generally very good at that. Possibly end-of-life suffering is also instrumental in readying someone for their own death, in helping them come to the conclusion that they want to pass on to leave their suffering behind.

So, I think that is why euthanasia is so very complicated—that as much as I dislike seeing another suffer, and would like to end that suffering—is it my right, or my duty, to do so? Am I interrupting some natural, meant-to-be process by declaring “I will not allow this suffering”? Am I short-circuiting his own spiritual preparation for leaving his earth by removing the choice from him, his body, or the divine?

But, it breaks my heart that he cried most of the night, I don’t know why, or what was bothering him. And that he’s having more and more nights like this. He just seemed like he could not get comfortable. And I left him in the dog yard this morning, crumpled against the fence where he semi-collapsed- still whining. I can’t guess what his day is like while I’m gone, if he rests, or if he suffers all day, if he finds shade and water, or if he just sits where he lands out of apathy. I don’t know what’s happening in his mind, if he knows where he is, if he knows what he wants, or what lies ahead, outside of the moment he’s in. I know he’ll be complaining when he sees me pull in at the end of the day, but no matter what I do to attempt to address his complaints, he rarely seems to settle and be satisfied.

So, it seems that the decision is before me, that I must take that next step and own this choice. Only I can do it. There is nothing left of the dog that once loved to run, chase, play, jump, learn and be with me. He is only a shadow now, which wanders through each day like a ghost, biding his time for that which neither he nor I can know. It seems the only thing to do is to be the escort that delivers him to that place as gracefully as possible now, hoping and praying it was the right thing for his gentle soul.

I had a vet/acupuncture appointment scheduled this evening anyway. Maybe it’s time. Maybe.

This is Chessie, he’s 15 years old. I got him when I was in college; he was a dog pound rescue, a ~4 month old, shy neurotic pup with a lot of instinct to chase things. Back then I couldn’t see much beyond school, and never really expected him to be anything but a companion. But, I trained him, and after graduating, finally had enough money to compete with him. He earned a lot of titles in obedience, agility and even a “PT” in herding (though his desire to “grip” and run livestock limited his further progress there).

He has been a good friend all these years, weathered my many training mistakes, me losing my temper and patience with him many times, and some irresponsible things I did with him when I was twenty-something (like tying him outside my Calculus class one afternoon, which resulted in him escaping and running around, un-capturable, menacing everyone in terror until the police were summoned :-0). We have been through a lot of life together, many houses, roommates, growing up, boyfriends and dog show travels.

But now he is in the twilight of his life. Though still healthy in many ways, his kidneys are on the way to failure. And, his rear end has become neurologically crippled so that walking is very complicated, though not painful. And, he is mostly deaf and senile. And so it goes, I assume that someday soon, I’ll either wake up to see that he has passed away, or I’ll have to choose to put him down.

There lies the rub for me. All my dog show friends reassure me, “you’ll know when it’s time.” But, that doesn’t seem to hold true for me. I lost an elderly cat to cancer a few years ago, and I completely didn’t know whether or not to euthanize. His death seemed imminent day after day, where I figured he only had hours left, so there was no sense in putting him down. But, he’d make it through that day, and the next, and the next. Each day, I’d think, “man, maybe I should have done it yesterday, but it looks like today will be his last.” In the end, I wished I’d done it much earlier; I’m not sure if to save him, or myself, or both, from the trials of the dying process.

One friend offered this suggestion: pick five things that they love, and when they can’t do three of them, then it’s time. Well, hmm, for an old dog, there isn’t much: Chessie stopped wanting to train new material a year or so ago, but he still enjoyed doing easy material he already knew. Several months ago, he stopped wanting to ride in the van though, so opted-out on going to training nights. He used to like to go for a run in the field, but in the last couple of weeks, he’s been opting out on that too. He still does like to eat, and be petted. So, I guess that’s two out of four-where does that leave me?

I can’t help but notice the parallels to my two ninety-something grandmas. They too have cut back on most of the things they used to enjoy. One sleeps a lot, and watches TV the rest of the time. The other is frustrated by her fading memory and reasoning ability. I recently met a lovely 90 year old lady, who said, not in a complaining tone, but in a contemplative manner, “I never planned on or expected to live this long, and I kind of wish I hadn’t. Just too many things going wrong with my body.” In old age, there is pain, loss of eyesight and hearing, and the unglamorous things- bladder and bowel control isn’t what it used to be, and it’s challenging to maintain one’s desired level of hygiene. And, dementia can cause people to say things that are not always real “Emily Post,” if you know what I mean, Gentle Reader. 🙂

Chessie, too, has lost his social graces- he used to get along well with other dogs and was well behaved with people. Now, he takes food from the other dogs in a demanding manner, growls at everybody to get out of his way, he’s grumpy, and if he falls and I try to help him up, sometimes he bites! Hard! Here is a photo of him having snuck into the duck pen, he’s porking out on duck feed like Winnie The Pooh caught in the honey! His appetite is one thing that remains robust!