Last Wednesday, I had to put my 14-year-old beagle Duke down. For about five months, he had been "coughing" (or so we thought) intermittently. Then, he started "snotting"---blowing mucus out of his nose. At times, he would wake up gasping for air---almost like a reverse sneeze, but more of trying to get air. We saw three vets, tried various drugs, eliminated some guesses as to the cause (e.g., we initially thought it might be kennel cough, but that wasn't it). He actually had congestive heart failure and, according to the third vet, "multiple other issues," one of which might have been cancer based on what the vet could see. At that point, we didn't want to put Duke through any invasive tests; he hated going to the vet more than even most dogs do, and I could not see putting him through multiple tests. Even the vet advised against it, telling me, "I wouldn't put my dog through it at his age." We medicated my baby as much as we could to make him comfortable (hydrocodone, steroids, benadryl every 4 hours, Lasix, etc.), but ultimately, he was having a hard time breathing most of the day. That last day, he woke up with one of those gasping spells that lasted so much longer than usual, and it tore me apart. The idea that he could not catch his breath killed me. Even after the gasping spell was over, he was breathing heavily, really struggling for air. When I look back, I see why he couldn't seem to sit still for an extended time (he was always an anxious dog, but in the past month, he would not sit down, and now I realize it was because he could not get enough air while doing so). My husband and I had to make the most difficult decision of putting him down.

Duke was my first dog. I've never had to do this before. I never, in a million years, believed that it would hurt this much, although many times I've thought about the fact that he was getting old and would someday die. What kills me the most is that he still had a zest for life. That last day, my husband and I took him on the beach to sniff around for a few minutes before taking him to the vet. He LOVED it! But he was still struggling to breathe even while sniffing on the beach.

I feel a knot in my stomach and a deep hole in my heart. For the first few days, I could not stop crying. Even today, I've cried twice. What makes it so much worse is that we have another dog, and his confusion over where Duke is kills me. When I feed him or give him a treat, he looks down the hallway in confusion, trying to figure out where Duke is (Duke was always so ready to eat that it's as if my other dog cannot fathom where he is at breakfast and dinnertime). I am devastated, but I'm trying to keep my spirits up for my other little doggie. I've tried to play ball with him and take him for a few extra walks just to distract him from the fact that his pal isn't here anymore.

This hurts so much.

Hi, lynn, please permit me to offer you my sincerest sympathies in the physical loss of your beloved Duke. Losing a companion is never easy regardless of the circumstances or how long we are blessed with the privilege of their company. Euthanasia is the last gift of love we can give our companions at great sacrifice to ourselves so that they can be restored to their former youthfulness in the company of the angels.

Lynn, this grief journey is one of the most painful experiences you will have on this side of eternity. It is a journey that is filled with many different emotions that can overwhelm us all at one time which is why it is frequently referred to as a horror roller coaster ride. It doesn't matter if it's our first experience or our thousandth - - each grief journey is uniquely individual because each relationship we have with our companions is uniquely individual. It is a journey that can only be traveled one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time because you are now enduring the most excruciating experience of adjusting to the first withouts and the memories that can be all too painful right now that include this time yesterday, last week, last month, last year.

I know from first hand experience how painful this grief adjustment journey is. Unfortunately there is no easy way to navigate the journey. There are no fast forward or delete buttons that can be pressed to speed up the process or make it automatically disappear. One of the most important things you need to remember is that you are among friends here who truly do understand what you are going through, and we are here for you for as long and as often as you need us.

It is perfectly clear from what you share with us that you did everything in your power to give your beloved Duke a happy and healthy earthly journey. Even though you are faced with the most incredible task of adjusting to the physical absence of your beloved Duke, there is one thing that will never change: the love bond you and your beloved Duke share. Love is eternal, lynn - - it is not restricted to the physical laws of time and space. Your beloved Duke's sweet Living Spirit continues to share your earthly journey as he always has and always will for he is always and forever a part of your heart and memories - - he is always and forever a heartbeat close to you.

I also know from first hand experience that when our hearts are entrenched in deep grief there are no adequate words in any language that can soothe the searing pain of sorrow. Still, I hope the words I share with you will offer you some measure of comfort, support, encouragement, and hope as you travel your grief adjustment journey.

Thank you so much for honoring us in sharing your beloved Duke with us, lynn. Perhaps sometime you will feel up to sharing a picture of him with us - - but only when / if you want to. Please know you are in my thoughts and prayers, lynn, and please let us know how you're doing.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam

Thank you, moonbeam. I appreciate your kind words.