Three times in the last 15 months, I've made the call to Bubba's vet. As we talked about his legs losing strength, his Sund0wners, the loss of bladder control, and finally the loss of bowel control, I told her, "I don't know how much longer we should let this go on." And, she very carefully said, "I understand. We'll be ready when you are."
My "other" vet for my long-departed dogs Blue and Kara told me when I put Blue to sleep that it's owners like me that end up in this situation - putting to sleep a dog that is technically not in any pain, but has gone past the point where life is worth living. In other words, owners like me who are very attentative to their dogs, and especially their health, usually end up with dogs way past their normal prime (of course issues such as tumors and cancer happen regardless of what type of owner you are). But making sure they are on schedule for shots, making sure that their fur is in good shape, making sure that the little tiny sore on their leg is just a sore and not the beginning of something bad; the reward for that type of vigilance is longer time with your pet. But on the flip side to that coin is being the one to drive the dog into the vet and being with them while the ultimate sleep is given to them.
The last few times I took Bubba into the vet, to deal with the heavy breathing / panting occurring last summer in the heat, the vet and I talked at length. She said to me last time and this time,
"You know, ever since you came into the picture, I think the Dalmatians have gotten better. They've gotten more....ummm.....structure to their lives in and think that's really benefited them."
When I repeated this to Wifey, she rolled her eyes. But hey, it is true. Wifey can....ummm...let things slide. Me, dogs are not just a pet, they are family. For instance when we were first dating, I asked Wifey how often she bathed her dogs. She had to think of that phrase "how often" and she offered, "Well....ummm, about twice a year I wipe them down with a wet towel? Nothing sticks to their fur so they're....you know pretty clean."
Ugh. (but it is true nothing sticks to their fur).
I washed my dogs every week - rain or shine. In fact, one of my best friends first noticed me because he was a neighbor about 8 houses down. He noticed that I would be washing my dogs in my drive way rain or shine (literally I sometimes washed them while it was raining on us when it was in the summer and hot).
Although I essentially took over as the primary caregiver of the dogs when Wifey moved in with me 11 years ago, they were still HER dogs. And I couldn't make the decision for Mr. Bubba - she was the Momma and she had to make the call.
There have been some good days (hey, he looks like the old Bubba!) and there have been some bad days where both Wifey and I cringed at his physical struggles.
Also, I got real good at checking for pee on every surface he walked on and had a stash of old towels and a spray bottle of bleach water ready to clean up his trail.
Then two weeks ago he had a really bad night. It got to the point where he didn't care that he was sleeping in his own waste. Finally, Wifey said, "This can't go on." I told her that he was her boy and if she was ready to make the call, then I would do the rest (and after all, I took care of him for the last 10 years so it was me in the end).
So, I made an appointment with the vet. As with both Blue and Kara, I planned to take Mr. Bubba to the dog park one last walk before we went to the vet. I wanted his last memory to be a long walk where he could sniff everything to his contentment. However, a little blip popped up. Robert, who gotten his layoff notice wanted to get together with me and do the handover of his responsibilities. He was one of the more professional folks who got the axe. Others stop returning email or just dumped their jobs on others and said, "You talk to them." Robert was trying to be a good guy and not bitterly dump his old job on me. I had to put Robert off because...well, it was Bubba's day - regardless of the bad news for Robert.
After his walk, with him panting very heavily, we waited for an excruciatingly long time in the private room (30 minutes). The vet apologized profusely as they had temporarily lost track of some Federally controlled drugs and they were frantically turning the practice upside down to find the bottle of liquid Valium.
And so, she gave him one shot to cause him to calm down. At one point, she said, "By now, he's probably having visions of purple hippos dancing in the air". And then, finally the syringe of pink stuff to stop his heart.
He was very stoned at that point, and I don't think he even cared I was there. But we both sat there on the floor with him. I stroked his head and ears and she confirmed his heart had stopped.
It's the ultimate gift that we could give him, to make sure he passed away with peace.
Sorry buddy.
