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Losing an old friend
15 October 2005
My dog died Thursday night. Or more truthfully, sometime near midnight, we stood in a veterinarian's office and watched as he administered the shot that would put her to sleep, the final sleep that would end her life and give her peace.
It was a heart-breaking moment. Katie was a Papillon, more than 14, and had been with us eight-plus years. She was our last dog, and perhaps not the best example of a good canine companion, being a little dim and unschooled in the usual dog behaviour. But she always greeted us at the door with glee and affection.
Dogs have a wonderful way of lifting your spirits through their boundless affection and enthusiasm, by being non-judgmental and always loyal.
Katie was getting old. She was almost completely deaf, going blind, had become incontinent and of late had started to show signs of canine senility - losing her training, forgetting the daily routines. But we worked our life around that: it was simply our responsibility to care for her extra needs. She had a good life with us.
Thursday night, Katie had a seizure, possibly a stroke. We awoke from a deep sleep to hear her nails scrabbling against the floor, and turned on the light, thinking it was just her scratching fleas. But this was much more frantic than we'd ever heard before.
She was out of her bed, on her side, her hind quarters contorted, and her legs working frantically. She had voided her bowels and bladder. She was panting rapidly and her tongue was hanging out. She obviously couldn't stand, and she was trembling heavily.
We jumped out of bed and tried to comfort her, while the other called the emergency vet services. She wouldn't calm, just kept whimpering and struggling. She didn't seem to recognize us, in fact didn't seem to respond to our presence at all. We knew she couldn't hear us, but she didn't seem to be able to sense us in any manner.
When we were able to get he to her feet, Katie blundered into walls and furniture, staggering; obviously blind and disoriented. We could see no recognition of movement in front of her face, nor could the vet find any sign of eyesight. Something had happened, something serious.
We had been prepared, at least intellectually. We've had many other dogs, and Katie was already 14. We expected she would have another two, maybe four years of life. She was still able to go on long walks, and had walked with us for at least an hour every day on Thanksgiving weekend. She was still bouncy and gleeful when she got a dog treat in the evening. But she slept a lot, her muzzle was greying, and we knew she'd be reaching the end of her life in the not-too-distant future.
We've had many dogs and cats, and taken many to the vet for their final trip. We have loved them all, and they all live in our hearts; animal companions who still roam our dreams. It's never easy, but it's part of the cycle of life. We have cried our hearts out over a pet's last moments many, many times.
We wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the vet's in the middle of the night. She never stopped struggling, fighting, obviously scared about being cut off from the world, not able to understand what had happened. Nothing, no amount of petting and stroking made any difference.
It was the suddenness that shook us. We couldn't calm her fear and frantic efforts to escape. It really upset us to see her in such a state, and be unable to even lend a little comfort. The vet had to sedate her to get her to stop struggling and give us all a few moments to recover.
Katie passed away with a final, deep sigh, then her body went limp. We stood in his office, crying for the loss of a little friend who would never greet us at the door again. Coming so closely after my Dad's death, it really wrenched my heart. Having Katie's company made Dad's passing a little easier.
It was a heart-breaking moment. Katie was a Papillon, more than 14, and had been with us eight-plus years. She was our last dog, and perhaps not the best example of a good canine companion, being a little dim and unschooled in the usual dog behaviour. But she always greeted us at the door with glee and affection.
Dogs have a wonderful way of lifting your spirits through their boundless affection and enthusiasm, by being non-judgmental and always loyal.
Katie was getting old. She was almost completely deaf, going blind, had become incontinent and of late had started to show signs of canine senility - losing her training, forgetting the daily routines. But we worked our life around that: it was simply our responsibility to care for her extra needs. She had a good life with us.
Thursday night, Katie had a seizure, possibly a stroke. We awoke from a deep sleep to hear her nails scrabbling against the floor, and turned on the light, thinking it was just her scratching fleas. But this was much more frantic than we'd ever heard before.
She was out of her bed, on her side, her hind quarters contorted, and her legs working frantically. She had voided her bowels and bladder. She was panting rapidly and her tongue was hanging out. She obviously couldn't stand, and she was trembling heavily.
We jumped out of bed and tried to comfort her, while the other called the emergency vet services. She wouldn't calm, just kept whimpering and struggling. She didn't seem to recognize us, in fact didn't seem to respond to our presence at all. We knew she couldn't hear us, but she didn't seem to be able to sense us in any manner.
When we were able to get he to her feet, Katie blundered into walls and furniture, staggering; obviously blind and disoriented. We could see no recognition of movement in front of her face, nor could the vet find any sign of eyesight. Something had happened, something serious.
We had been prepared, at least intellectually. We've had many other dogs, and Katie was already 14. We expected she would have another two, maybe four years of life. She was still able to go on long walks, and had walked with us for at least an hour every day on Thanksgiving weekend. She was still bouncy and gleeful when she got a dog treat in the evening. But she slept a lot, her muzzle was greying, and we knew she'd be reaching the end of her life in the not-too-distant future.
We've had many dogs and cats, and taken many to the vet for their final trip. We have loved them all, and they all live in our hearts; animal companions who still roam our dreams. It's never easy, but it's part of the cycle of life. We have cried our hearts out over a pet's last moments many, many times.
We wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the vet's in the middle of the night. She never stopped struggling, fighting, obviously scared about being cut off from the world, not able to understand what had happened. Nothing, no amount of petting and stroking made any difference.
It was the suddenness that shook us. We couldn't calm her fear and frantic efforts to escape. It really upset us to see her in such a state, and be unable to even lend a little comfort. The vet had to sedate her to get her to stop struggling and give us all a few moments to recover.
Katie passed away with a final, deep sigh, then her body went limp. We stood in his office, crying for the loss of a little friend who would never greet us at the door again. Coming so closely after my Dad's death, it really wrenched my heart. Having Katie's company made Dad's passing a little easier.
