TheBanyanTree: Your dog died today.

[TLW]

I thought you might want to know. I understand you put her on the street
around September, October? She was ancient and deaf, with infected teeth
and weakening hind quarters. She was a Labradoodle, though, so you probably
paid a good sum for her 15+ years ago. Maybe you loved her too much to put
her down. So you put her out.


I don't know you, and I try not to judge. Maybe you were overwhelmed, with
six kids or something. Maybe you are ill, yourself. Maybe you've lost your
home and your job and didn't have the money to put her down. I don't know.
I only know this sick old designer dog was found on the streets with no
collar or chip. And she'd been on the streets quite a while. She looked
like Chewbacca.


Here's the thing. My 12-year-old Lab mix died in November. He went downhill
very quickly (renal failure), and after a couple of expensive days at the
vet's, I helped him out of this earthly plane. He was so loved, he had
human friends who left work to come hug and kiss him and give him
scritches. I was devastated, of course. As I told people at the time, it
was a terrible day, followed by a difficult week, followed by a lifetime of
memories. And then I had a lot of old-dog supplements left over. I thought
my Jasper (which means "bringer of treasure," and he did) would like me to
help another old dog, if I could, so I went down to the shelter. And I
found... yours.


The shelter didn't even want to release her to me, which I can understand.
There were so many other dogs there, all younger and healthier. I have her
cage card with "Pls PTS poor dog" on it. (PTS being Put To Sleep.) She was
at least fifteen pounds underweight and seemed either blind or deaf or
both, and she didn't wag her tail once.


I am no hero. I was ambivalent about springing her, myself. Anyone would
have been. But I have had some tough times in my life, and been very
depressed and underweight and looked matted and broken, myself. And no
family pet deserves to die emaciated and alone. A couple of animal rescue
groups got a hold of me and offered a discount grooming and teeth cleaning,
if I would just give her a home. Those people can be very convincing and
also somewhat scary. If they ever join the Taliban, we'll all be in really
big trouble. I wasn't exactly up for a project, but I was so tired of
feeling alone every day. And my dad is old and broken now. So I brought
your dog home. After she was shaved, she weighed 39 pounds. She was all
ribs and age spots. I thought she might last a week.


That was four and a half months ago. She had a couple of tooth extractions,
again thanks to those Taliban types, and then she could eat again. Both ear
infections cleared up with with a round of antibiotics, but she never
regained her hearing. I wish I'd gotten her some of the rubber-grip booties
they have for old dogs, since my wood floors could be a challenge for her,
but I didn't know about those until today. She would find herself sprawled
out on the floor, like Bambi on the ice, a couple of times a week. Falling
didn't seem to faze her, though. She was a great role model that way.


She didn't even make eye contact with me for the first couple of months,
but then she sought me out every minute, and was never not in the same room
as I was. Not even when I tried to sneak to the bathroom when she was
asleep. She'd always sense my absence, and come find me.


I named her Freya, after the Norse goddess of love, beauty, gold,
fertility, war, and magic. I thought she deserved just about everything,
after what she'd been through.


She was a beautiful, beautiful dog. She was sweet and so gentle with the
kids in the neighborhood. She loved her food and our walks and my bed. She
would slowly bunny hop up the steps I made for her and stagger across the
comforter and sink in a happy heap. She slept most of the time, of course.
Ate and slept. But she'd shoot after a cat in an instant. And she'd perk
right up when I came home and lay a gentle hand on her to let her know I
was back. We'd go outside and she'd spin in happy circles. It made me laugh
and laugh.


I know you loved her. Imagine my surprise when I discovered she'd been
taught to shake hands for a treat. With both paws. That must have taken you
quite a while, that training.


Anyway. Freya panted a lot the past few days. It was hot, but not *that*
hot, especially at night. Then, today, she couldn't get up without help. Or
poop. It was pretty clear that her body was done. I looked into her eyes,
and she gave me permission. "Thank you for saving my dignity," she said.
"Now I am tired and done."


I am happy to report that I had trouble loading her into the car by myself.
When I first brought her home, it was a cinch. But then she gained about a
pound a week after coming here. And she still looked a little thin, to some
people. She helped me at the vet's place. She walked in, then collapsed on
the waiting room floor.


It's not hard, at all, the euthanasia. Having put down two dogs in six
months, I can tell you. The event itself is painless, and I wish with all
my heart that it was available to humans. I say this as someone with a
86-year-old stroke victim father strapped to wheelchair in a nursing home
2000 miles away. But I know it's a slippery legal slope. Still, I'm here to
tell you that the event itself is actually pretty wonderful. To put someone
you love who will never get better out of pain is a great gift and a
blessing. Freya's last breath seemed to me a final sigh of relief. She had
my hand on her shoulder and my lips to her nose. I cried, of course. We
always cry. But I felt a great weight lift, when I saw her, so peaceful and
beautiful there. I trimmed some of her hair to keep. Those wonderfully soft
tight curls on her chest. I'm sure you remember the ones that I mean.


Anyway. I just thought you might want to know. Your dog died today.