This has been a tough few days for my partner and I as we had to “put down” our very beloved dog of almost a dozen years this past Sunday. Just about a week ago, I was at the veterinarian’s office with a complaint that our dog Homer was wheezing and coughing with more intensity from about a week previous. He had a diagnosed heart condition which the vet and we assumed was the problem, so I was expecting to get an increase in the heart medication and an appointment for another ultrasound. Homer was his usual unhappy self in the vet’s office. She decided to have some x-rays done to discount any problem with his trachea. After walking with him out to the back where this would happen, the vet’s assistant arrived back in five minutes with the muzzle she was trying to get on him. He fought it tooth and paw, as it were. Just as usual.
Despite our lack of success, the technician had other tricks to make this work, and was off again with him. A short time later the veterinarian returned with Homer and was unusually solemn in her demeanor. She wanted to show me his x-rays. A bit nervous given the seriousness of her manner, I traveled with him behind her into the x-ray room. There on the screen were his x-rays. She pointed to a large grey mass where his lungs should have been quite clear. She was sorry to have to tell me this but Homer had rapidly mestacsizing tumors on his lungs. Looking at them, he barely had about 15% remaining without disease. She marveled that he was as active and capable as he was.
I was clearly having a hard time digesting this news, based on the rapidity of the disease and how basically active he’d been up until then. She assured me of the diagnosis by demonstrating on a healthy dog’s x-ray what the lung would look like. The bad news became very real after that. My throat tightened somewhat as I asked her what kind of time frame were we looking at. Months? I asked optimistically. No, unfortunately; we were talking weeks worth of time. Again, I was almost dizzy from hearing this.
Homer, always eager to leave the vet’s office, was brought to the car as I dealt with the office work. Some discussion was had about putting him down if need be when the time came. I asked the vet was there anything she could do. There wasn’t. Mostly likely there was another site which was diseased as the lungs are usually a secondary site.
Back in the car, Homer had retreated into the back seat and gave me the “I hate it when you take me to the vet’s office” stare. I played along as I usually do trying to persuade him to come up to the empty passenger seat. He wouldn’t budge, so I started the car and did my best to keep a happy tone, checking on him in the back and chatting with him about the traffic going by. Eventually he figured he had “punished” me enough and came back to the front seat to be petted at the red lights.
Once I got home I called my partner at his office and told him the bad news. He left work right away, a very unusual event. We went over what the vet said and shared some tears and watched Homer as he jumped up on the couch, then off the couch, wheezed some and toddled off on his inspection of the premises checking for edibles and protecting us from rodents.
We both were saying that he didn’t look like a dog who was having a very bad time.
Four days later, the deterioration had indeed been rapid. On Saturday night he had what could best be described as an anxiety attack while he was struggling to breathe, It lasted a half hour or so; his whole body was shaking and the panic look in his eyes was very distressing. The following day he was having another episode when we both looked at each other and decided that given the prognosis to see him in such distress, literally struggling to breathe, we called the vet and made the appointment for the “procedure.”
We had been calling Homer’s “friends” to give them the news and encourage them if they wanted to visit to come soon. When we called and got the appointment, there was only two visitors who could make it. This was his former dog walker who took care of him when we went on vacation and her daughter. He definitely loved them. We were very happy they could come before the appointment as Homer brightened up quite a bit as he licked their hands which was his only sign to give of affection. We got some last pictures. They left. I asked my partner once more are we both sure its time and we both agreed so we got him to the car.
As usual, he wouldn’t walk into the vet’s office. Given his condition, he could not do it anyway, so I carried him in and got set up in the room.
I am not going to describe the final procedure for privacy. It was painless and ultimately quick. It was very hard leaving without our “diggidy-dog” that much I can say.
