New Here, And About To Lose Our First Dog. :( Options

[dobermandad]

Hello everyone,

I came across your forum while researching the topic of coping with the death of a pet. It's a topic I've been trying to familiarize myself with for quite some time now, as our doberman, Deuce, has been afflicted with a number of maladies over the past couple of years: Addison's Disease, a heart condition... and most recently, a neurological disorder that has caused him to lose the reflexes in his hind legs. Sadly, at his age (approximately 9-10) and with his other problems, he's not a candidate for any additional surgeries or intense treatments; and after taking a turn for the worse this week, we've accepted that it's time to let him go. Deuce is being put to sleep tomorrow at 5:45.

Naturally, I'd always been wary of making this decision. I didn't want to make it too soon, while he may still have had some enjoyable time left; nor did I want to wait too long and reach the point where he was simply being kept alive without truly LIVING. Friends and vets alike had told me that "he'll let you know when it's time." I honestly feel like he's done just that. This week, he's been unable to stand on his own. He's clearly in pain, and he snapped at me last night when I tried to help him up--the first time he's ever snapped at anyone. I've had to carry him up and down the stairs, (not an easy chore with an 80 lb. dog, and he never liked being lifted even when he was healthy) and he just whines whenever he's left alone for more than a few moments at a time. He's not himself at all, and I see things only getting worse if we wait any longer.

We thought we were losing him 3 weeks ago, when he first showed signs of collapsing. I took him to his vet, who suspected that he was experiencing a heart problem and ordered overnight observation at an emergency facility. We feared that he wouldn't make it out of that facility. Instead, the next day, he showed considerable improvement! He was back home, eating, and even playing with toys. However, that was when we accepted that his long-term prognosis wasn't good at all, nor would it likely BE very long. Whatever was causing his loss of mobility was likely a spinal or brain condition, which would require a barrage of MRIs and risky surgery simply to diagnose--and we just can't subject him to that, let alone afford it. After conferring with Deuce's vet, we basically decided that we'd just try to make him as comfortable as possible in the coming days/weeks--and the next time he took a turn for the worse, we'd likely have to put him down. That's where we are now.

We're dreading what's about to be done in less than 24 hours, but anxious to get it over with at the same time.

We have 3 other dogs, besides Deuce. Ironically, he's not even the oldest. But I suppose being the biggest, and being a pure bred, he's just been prone to more problems. He's always faced them with the utmost stoicism, too. His vets were always amazed at how stoic he's been throughout it all. But needless to say, despite all the preparation I've tried to do for tomorrow, it's going to hit me like a ton of bricks when he's actually gone.

To this point, I've actually held up pretty well. I've accepted that it's the right decision at the right time. That became clear to me when I realized that hearing Deuce's crying and knowing that we could no longer do anything to help him was harder than the thought of losing him. I keep telling myself that this needs to be done; that this is the best thing I can do for my friend to ease his suffering. Those thoughts seem to help; but then I'll see something as simple as a favorite squeaky toy and realize that he'll never play with that again--and that's when I feel overcome with emotion.

I guess I just wanted to write in the hopes of hearing from those who've been through this experience before. Reading some of your stories throughout this forum has already helped a great deal.

It has also been a tremendously tough month on us. In addition to Deuce's problems, we learned that a close family friend committed suicide 2 weeks ago (a week after her 21st birthday), and on the very same day, another friend suffered a miscarriage. I almost feel like Deuce was somehow preparing us for both that grief as well as what we're about to go through tomorrow. After spending that night at the emergency vet, we were given this opportunity to spend more time with him and to prepare as much as possible for the inevitable. As difficult as it is, I have to think it's much easier this way--as opposed to losing a pet unexpectedly.

Any positive vibes you can send will be much appreciated... especially tomorrow around 5:45, as it certainly won't be much of a "happy hour."

[dobermandad]

Hello all,

I received Deuce's ashes yesterday, and am still surprised at how quickly this was all facilitated. He passed away on Friday, was apparently cremated on Saturday, and his ashes were ready on Monday. For some reason, I expected this to take several weeks--which I feared would have been even more difficult emotionally; because just whey you're starting to cope with the loss, there'd be that renewed shock that I thought would come with accepting the ashes. Fortunately, that wasn't the case yesterday.

I received a call from our favorite (and Deuce's favorite) vet tech, letting me know that his ashes were ready. Stephanie took the time to discuss how wonderful Deuce was right to the very end, and helped to ensure that I was in a positive frame of mind for receiving the ashes. I was, and drove over to pick them up shortly after our call.

It was a bit awkward going in for a couple of unrelated reasons. First, there was a woman and her young daughter standing outside the office crying. I felt horrible walking past them, just knowing that they must have been in the midst of a dire pet emergency. I would have liked to have said something to comfort them, but had no words whatsoever; so I looked down and kept walking. Fortunately, the office was relatively empty when I entered. I think there was one customer in the waiting area. However, the receptionist who spotted me first was one of the few new employees there who had no idea who I was or why I was there--Stephanie, who certainly would have wanted to be the one to deal with this--was on the phone at the time. So the other girl asks if she can help me; and after telling her who I am, I said "I'm here to pick up Deuce's ashes." That was a bit tough, because I didn't plan on having to explain my presence, let alone repeat it. (It apparently didn't register with the girl the first time I said it--maybe because I wasn't crying?) When I repeated it, I could tell that she instantly felt horrible for not realizing the purpose of my visit. I tried my best to play it off, so she wouldn't feel bad.

Stephanie saw me and quickly ended her call and took over. Thankfully, she was the one who delivered Deuce's ashes to me.

I was pleasantly surprised by two things: one, the container is a beautiful, simple, varnished wooden box that is slightly bigger than I expected. (But then again, Deuce was bigger than the average Doberman...) It's very elegant and understated, and found myself relieved that it didn't look at all like what I perceived an urn to be. Secondly, it came with something else that I wasn't expecting--a paw print casting they took from Deuce's paw. I recognized the print immediately, and felt a lump forming in my throat. What a wonderful, lasting, tangible keepsake--I hadn't thought to take paw prints of our dogs myself. Seeing it now, and with his name lovingly written below the print--it was really special.

The vet office also has a number of memorial rocks outside that customers have personalized over the years with paint, markers, etc. I asked Stephanie about this, as we would love to create one for Deuce. (Especially as he used to make it a point to pee on all the others!) She said to pick any rock we wanted and decorate it however we liked. One of the vets would varnish it when we were ready, and then we can place it in the garden with the others. That will be another lasting tribute for our Deuce.

As I left the office, the distraught mother and daughter were still outside. They had collected themselves, and were sitting on a bench. Again, I couldn't face them; but I thought I heard the mom sigh with grief--and got the distinct impression that she noticed the urn I was carrying as discretely as possible... I think she also wished she could say something, but as I'm sure all of you know, words aren't always necessary.

We have a small enclave in our main hallway that now seems to be the perfect spot for Deuce's little wooden box; It's right there in the heart of the house, where we will see it and pass by it countless times each day. We're also planning on adding a wall of photos in the space behind it, which I think will provide a wonderful little area for us to see and remember Deuce constantly.

By the way, Bubba--Deuce has already visited once in a dream, and it was great. He was running and jumping after his leash with that huge smile of his--something he hadn't been able to do in quite some time. It was like he was letting me know that he is happy, healthy, and thriving in his new form--which we already knew.

Richard