Saying goodbye

We said our last, cooing, words of love to our tiniest doggo this past Monday evening.  AJ, the little dog who came with my husband when he and I met, created a life together, and married, has crossed the rainbow bridge.  When we met, there were three dogs; my little Joy, who was 10 years old at the time; Dusty, his 4-year old dog; and AJ; who was only about a year old at that time.  AJ was the last of the three that were part of the family pack we created when we met and became a family.  She was 15.  I feel so fortunate that we have a pack here at home that we came home to after saying our goodbyes to AJ.  If we hadn't, the house would have felt so much more sad and empty.

Saying goodbye to our best friend; the creature that has loved us unconditionally for years, is devastating.  There is no sugar-coating this fact.  When we lose a family member, often we can put our grief in a place that makes sense and feels like a "right place" for that grief.  Yet, losing a devoted animal companion, large or small, can seem like the greatest pain the universe could smite us with.

I've loved so many animals in my own life; horses, dogs, and some cats, rats, a mouse, and a few others.  I feel I owe it to the animals to be there for their care for the remainder of their natural lives once I've committed to their care.  I never really considered my choice on that, but it's essentially the commitment a good rescue organization makes for the animals they take under their care.

Throughout my life, I've worked with animals.  Even as a teenager, I was a volunteer at our local animal shelter for about a year or so.  I was faced with the reality of euthanasia at that age.  Yes, I had had pet rats that had developed cancer and eventually had to be "put to sleep." but at the more tender age I resided when those events occurred, I think I was insulated from the reality by my parents.

Now, in my 50's, I have loved and lost a number of animals.  Along the way, I have learned something else about myself: I am an empath, and a very sensitive one, in regards to the pain others feel at my hands, or the hands of another.

I have found that I have been called upon to help in times when others are struggling with this time in the life of their pets.  Perhaps they are just unable to know how or what to do for the pet, or how to make the choices that they are faced with.  What I know is this: this is hard for us, but very often, it is harder and more scary for your sweet pet.  And in that moment when they need us more than they ever have, and more than they ever will again, it is so very important to be there for that precious companion who has spent their life devoted to loving us.

The quote on the top of the blog says, “Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made.”  (Roger A. Caras)  Any of us who are at the end of our dog's life with them know just how accurate that quote is.  There is little we can ever do to give our dogs all that they give us.  I have made my own peace with that; I know that my dogs will always be better people than me, and I have made my own pact to try to learn from each of them, and do better by each of them.  

This blog, and the behavior consulting I do, is a way of  "paying it forward" in honor of the dogs who have shared their lives with me, and taught me where my shortcomings lie.  That is, after all, what they do.  Having a dog in your life will clearly and unflinchingly show you how you could be better.  Our dogs do not know that their relationships with us will have that result.  They are both unapologetically able to see us for what we are, and, non-judgmental and willing to love us unconditionally.  We never had a better therapist than our dog.

And, so, I say, if it's time to say farewell, then I beg you to do two things; one of them will be for your dog, and one of them will be for yourself.

First, and above all else, don't leave your dog alone or in the hands of a stranger to be ushered into death by that stranger.  That is an unfair failing of all that we owe our dogs, on the highest order.  And, I get it.  If this is simply not possible, and I do mean, you've considered every option, then choose somebody your dog knows and trusts.  Not somebody your dog knows and has had difficulties with (like your neighbor who constantly sprayed the dog with a hose to get him to get out of their yard), but actually somebody who cares about your dog.  If neither of these options are at all possible, then look to a person who is a dog lover; an empath, and a loving source of gentle energy, who is willing to do this with your dog.  It will be the most important gift of kindness you will ever give, to have a "safe person" softly reassuring your dog as they leave this life.

Second, once you have said farewell to your beloved pet, please, remember, do not second guess yourself.  Do not ask yourself if you did the right thing at the right time.  Please, for your own sanity, accept the choice you made as a gift to your pet to help ease their pain.  We adopt our dogs and other creatures knowing that we will love them all of their lives, but, unless they are a tortoise or a parrot, we will be the ones who will need to help them through their last moments of life.  

I have found that, for every creature I have stood next to and calmed; telling them how much I loved our life together; how beautiful they are; how loved they are; that I have a memory that is almost photographic.  (I am blessed/cursed with that trait anyway).  When I sit in a vet's office with a dog, waiting for that last breath, I am engulfed in the memories of all other animals who I have helped through that last moment.  It is not an easy thing to carry those memories, but we humans make that commitment when we bring a litter of puppies or kittens into this world.  We make that commitment when we breed a horse, or a greyhound, or any other animal whose life we are responsible for.

What I want to say at the end of all of this is, if you are like me and many others, you will never forget.  You might even describe the memories that surge back into your brain at unexpected times as "PTSD."  I think I have recently realized that is what it is, of a kind.  Nonetheless, it is something I knew when I adopted each and every dog; when I bought each and every horse; when I rescued the mouse.  I knew that I was committing to being there for that animal for its life.  And, to be there for its end of life, too.  That amount of "PTSD," I have negotiated with myself, I can live with.  For there is simply nothing more pure and perfect than being loved by a dog.  I will do it all over again, endlessly, until I, myself, am at the end.

If you are in need of resources for end-of-life planning for your pet, click the highlighted text to view our post on this-- this post can provide resources in the Northern California region.