When Your Much Loved Dog is Dying…again
the story continues
Last December I wrote a post here, in all certainty that our lovely dog Rosa was in her last hours of life, sharing what it was to like share that precious time with her.
Rosa surprised us, however. The vet had said she was in acute kidney failure and there was no way she could survive. She had been on a drip feed overnight but shown no response. We brought her home in a seemingly lifeless state. However, she suddenly leapt up and slowly started being interested in life. She started drinking again, and then eating, and over the following weeks gradually put back on the three kilos she had lost, and was her old self. We were overjoyed.
Fast forward to April 2020 and Coronavirus lockdown; Rosa is still doing well. But at the beginning of May, she suddenly seemed to lose the strength of her back legs; she couldn’t support her back end. The vet couldn’t say what the problem was, but prescribed painkillers. We believe she had experienced a low back injury. We devised a belt system under her rear waist so that we could support her so she could walk. She began to improve, and after some days could move on her own.
After another week, however, the improvement seemed to reverse. She was evidently in more and more pain. One night, despite the pain relief medication, she was so distressed that she was continually crying and barking and getting up incessantly to walk round. I had never seen her tormented like that.
We came to the difficult decision that euthanasia was needed. There was no real joy left in Rosa’s life now; it was all suffering. But as others know, this is an excruciatingly difficult decision to take. You’ve spent fifteen years keeping this member of your life alive and well; you’ve helped her recover from illness and injury; you’ve got her out of scrapes — and Rosa certainly got into scrapes. On one occasion I pulled her from the jaws of two giant mastiffs who were determined to pull her to pieces. Taking this step is completely in conflict with that instinct. Yet we felt clear that it had to be done, and quickly.
We booked a lovely vet who came to our garden. It was a gloriously sunny day. We spent our precious last time with her. When the vet arrived, Rosa went over to him, greeted him and wagged her tail vigorously, then sat on her bed outside. Dogs are so innocent, aren’t they?
Rosa was duly sedated and lay in our laps. Then it was time for the final injection. It worked quickly. Rosa’s very last action, with her last breath, was to give a final single wag of her tail — how very like Rosa. Her life had been spent wagging her tail.
The vet departed, and we sat in the sunshine holding Rosa in our laps. Her body, which had been full of painful tension, was now completely relaxed; she looked so alive, but at peace. We sat with her for three hours, talking to her and to one another, and her body stayed soft; rigor mortis should have set in by now. More precious time with Rosa. Finally we took her to the pet crematorium and left her for cremation. The whole day’s events had been very tearful, but very beautiful, and pervaded by love.
The next day we collected Rosa’s remains and brought her home. We kept her bed in the usual position in our home and placed the sachet of ashes there. Who knows whether departure of a creature’s essence is immediate? I’m inclined to believe it isn’t, but in any case this helped us to come to terms with Rosa no longer being physically present. We decided to buy a rose bush bearing her name, and place her remains at the roots as a living memento.
It’s very painful, many of us know, when your much loved pet departs. You don’t want it to happen, and it’s hard to accept that it has happened. But we know Rosa had a great life, and a long one; she reached the human equivalent of 106 years. She loved every bit of being alive, right up until the last days when she suddenly couldn’t take it any more. And we had that bonus extra five months after her near-death experience and miracle recovery. Every moment of that was savoured as a precious gift. Now we’re endeavouring to continue to live every moment in the present, with the emotions that are coming up. We’ve received a huge number of supportive messages on social media, and that helps a lot. It’s all about love, isn’t it? And that thing people say — about how helpful it is to bear in mind the happy memories — is absolutely right.
One other thing helps me too, unexpectedly. During my daily practice of meditation I sometimes fleetingly experience something which is known in the trade as the ‘field unified consciousness’ — when you find yourself going beyond the material realm and the mental realm of thoughts and separate self, and feel united with everything. It’s a feeling of unlimited spaciousness and light.
On the odd occasion since Rosa’s passing, on some nights when I’ve been lying awake and thinking of her, I find myself momentarily slipping into that state. I am in that place where Rosa is, because that is where everything is; separation has dissolved away. For a time, everything seems to be just the way it should be; I’m no longer wanting things to be different from how they are. It’s helpful and comforting. It’s a valuable lesson for life as well.
If you’ve experienced any of the above, I’d love to hear about it. Thanks for being with me in this.
