[LMB] OT: A hard letter to write
A. Marina Fournier
saffronrose at me.com
Thu Oct 27 08:23:31 BST 2016
The second of the two older dogs, pair-bonded poodle mixes, we adopted on the 2009 anniversary of the Moon landing is to be euthanized this Thursday. We have a 10am PDT appointment at our vet.
The first one, Maxi, the elder, who had instantly bonded with my son, left us 30 January 2014, two days after my son celebrated his 20th birthday. Maxi had been very sick very early the day before, and he was dx'd with pancreatitis. It would have been a couple of thousand US$ to treat, and maybe give him a few more months of life if the treatment was successful. Arthur chose to let him go, as he had been showing signs of being ready to go for a couple of months, and to prolong his life would have been cruel.
Cody, for reasons I appreciate but don't understand, decided I was His Human. I've never lived with dogs, so I really didn't understand that devotion. As time went on, he seemed to be more like my cat of 20 years, who died in 1995, than my idea of a dog. A friend said that poodles are the cats of the dog world, and that Maine Coons are the dogs of the cat world. He liked taking naps next to me, and we said that the dogs generated sleepions, the essential particle of sleep.
Earlier this year, I was sent a renewal notice for Cody's license, for a half year, which hurt enough to make me cry, even though I knew it was unlikely that he'd last out the year. We think he's 13 and some months.
A month ago, I realized that he was fading fast: he couldn't bark, didn't whine either. I hadn't had my face licked in months, he never showed up at the door to greet me, and he was largely lethargic, as well as very blind, very deaf, incontinent, and couldn't really smell anything anymore. I wondered then if it was time to let him go. I cried a lot that day, and spent time with him along side me in the bed while I read.
Since then, his ability to move well has been erratic; he often turns in circles and runs into things, is unable to figure out corners he wedges into, and there's been less interest in eating, even treats of human food. We can't tell if he's in pain, but comfortable he's not.
After a day of several bouts of fecal and urinary incontinence, and vomiting yellow bile, my belle-mère asked if it was time, and while feeling like a careless and unseeing pet mother, that I hadn't done it earlier, called the vet, having a hard time getting the words out to ask for an appointment on Thursday.
So I cried a lot more today, and I'm likely to be weepy, at least intermittently, tomorrow. I'll hold him, because I think he deserves that, and I'll ask Hecate to ease his passing over that bridge beyond the veil. I'm hoping lunch with a friend a little later will ease the grief for a bit.
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