Good-bye, Sweetie

 I've been dreading this day.

A month ago Susan called me and told me Sweetie was not doing well.  She was breathing heavy, pacing the living room, and acting confused.  We tried CBD treats but that only helped for a week.  A veterinarian friend of hers, who saw Sweetie, told Susan that dogs in pain will act restless.

The thought of euthanasia came up.  Susan wanted it done before her June trip to California.

Sweetie's DVM, Dr Watts, had her on Gabapentin and Galliprant but wanted to see her again after 30 days.  The 30 days were this week.  Susan commented that Sweetie should be put down as there was nothing else to do for her pain.

I was conflicted.  I visited Susan a few times in the past month just to observe Sweetie and chat with Susan.  While I did see her act restless, she eventually found a spot to nap for a few hours.  "You're not around her 24 hours" said Susan, reminding me that her insistence was based on her long-term observation.  Afterall, Sweetie had been with Susan since last June and Susan could see the gradual decline of Sweetie.  She had also never been around a dog with dementia.

It was either putting her down before she was ready, or waiting too long and let her suffer.

I arrived at Susan's just before 3:30pm, leaving no time at Susan's to chat or spend time with Sweetie. She opted not to join me.  That surprised me.  I hoisted Sweetie and placed her in the back of the cab shortly after my arrival. 

"She has no idea she will be dead in an hour" I commented, as Sweetie lay there peacefully, in back of the truck that she always enjoyed.  She probably smelled Kevin and that always calmed her down.

"It's better this way" Susan replied.  

I arrived at the animal clinic just before 4pm.

Sweetie's hind legs collapsed as we stepped on the sidewalk, a few steps outside the truck.  I had to hoist her up.  She peed one last time on the pine tree by the front door.  She sniffed around and then we went inside. This was her last act as a dog.

 She weighed in at 56.4 pounds.  The lobby was quiet, with three dogs spread around the lobby.

Sweetie paced in the lobby as I held the leash.  The lobby slowly emptied as we waited. We were called in at 4:40pm and she paced some more in the exam room, walking in circles and panting.  There had to be something else bothering her for months besides the osteoarthritis and the dementia.  Unlike Sadie, Sweetie never "sundowned" late at night.  

When Dr Watts entered the exam room, she commented that Sweetie was walking better than from the previous visit over a month ago, that the medication was working, but then I repeated Susan's words about the dementia, heavy breathing, and restless pacing.  

Dr Watts said Sweetie wasn't ready to go yet and gave me time to "think about it."  She left us alone and Sweetie paced some more.  When her hind legs gave out and she had to sit up, I took her last photo (below).

I was honest with Dr Watts: if I had my own place right now, I would take her home to spend a weekend with Sweetie.  But I don't have a home right now, she would not be safe around the other dogs, and she wouldn't have a comfortable bed. This is why she has been with Susan this past year to begin with.  Susan gave Sweetie a good last year, free from the stress of the other dogs. 

I apologized to Sweetie numerous times.  "I'm so sorry Sweetie, I'm so sorry!" Sweetie tenderly licked my right arm.  If only she knew she had less than an hour to live.

At  5:30pm Dr Watts took Sweetie to the prep room.  I could hear her cry out in pain when the  catheter was placed in her leg.  It was a deep howl I had never heard from her. "She is in pain" the doctor agreed as she returned to the exam room with Sweetie's front right leg bandaged with blue medical tape holding a catheter.  Sweetie perhaps had the beginnings of heart disease, or cancer, for her to be in such pain, she added.   

Dr. Watts then explained the euthanasia procedure and what to expect.

At 5:38pm Sweetie got a sedative as I held her.  Within seconds her body went limp. I let her collapse in my arms as I gently laid her on the blanket. I made her comfortable.  As explained, she began to breathe heavily.  By 5:42pm she got the final shot.  She convulsed a few times as her chest heaved, as if she were choking. Her hind muscles contracted a few times, and then her heart stopped.  Her fur is so thick I couldn't even feel the heart at all, but Dr Watts confirmed via a stethoscope.  She was very gentle with Sweetie.  Watching Sweetie die was much more graphic than watching Sammy die seven years ago.  He, too, was heavily sedated, but when that final shot was administered, his heart simply stopped and I could feel it. 

So there she lay, restless but at peace finally.  My princess warrior was no more.  And surprisingly  I didn't wail.  I didn't cry.  She had been such a fierce fighter to other dogs and animals in her younger years that I never thought I'd give her a humane end.  But she was Kevin's dog. Letting her go meant letting the last connection to Kevin go.  I had to do this for Kevin.  He would have wanted this. He wouldn't want to see her in pain.

I was one of the last customers that day and the sun was low when I left the clinic.  I came in with Sweetie, but left alone.

I remained in the truck for almost an hour after I left the clinic. I felt catatonic. It was already past sunset when I left. I got home by 9pm and was too sad to even go out and explore the Northern Lights that were visible in the night sky.  I took one photo of the northern sky and then went to bed.