Final Farewell: Saying Goodbye to a Beloved Dog

Actually, no.

It’s part of what can only be called “New Normal.”

The term “new Normal” is a cop out. It means something has happened, you won’t like it, so deal with it.

I don’t know if we ever will.

Friday, Shadow (aka the Vampire Dog) died. Unlike Olaf, we knew this was coming. Eighteen years old is old for a dog. And he was in almost perfect health until almost the very end.

We knew something was going on. About two months ago, his bathroom habits changed. Our dogs sleep in the room with us. And because we leave his kennel open, we put pads out for him to pee on. For years, I picked up a lot of pads. I started putting away a lot of dry pads.

And he slowed down on his eating. I’d normally feed him about nine every morning and he’d race right through whatever I gave him. He started thumbing his nose at the food and wouldn’t eat till evening. I continued to give him food in the morning. And I gave him more when he ate that. But more often then not, he’d blow off the evening food.

He began losing weight. We tried everything we could think of to increase his food intake. Sometimes it worked.

Sometimes it didn’t.

He went to the Vet. His blood work didn’t look good. “He’s simply getting old,” was the verdict. “There’s very little we can do.”

And when he couldn’t even keep water down without throwing it up, it was bad. He’d thrown up before, but not in pain. He was in such pain that he cried out.

Knowing he had hours, maybe days, and all of it in pain, we made a decision we didn’t want to.

We had to put him down.

We’d lost dogs before. Lai-Fu we took to a clinic and had him put to sleep. He was with us when he died, but he wasn’t home. Olaf died in a pet hospital among strangers and away from home. We decided we’d let him pass here at home.

I contacted our vet who gave me a phone number. And with a simple telephone call, the die was set.

We did a couple of last things with him.

One thing Shadow loved was to go for a walk. He was far too weak to make it far on the leash, so I got the pet stroller. I put him in it, and he and I went for one final walk around the block. I took my time, telling him about all the walks we’d taken. And about the times he’d gotten out the gate. I always found him in the same place on the path we walked.

Then it was home to be loved on.

When the vet arrived, I was glad to see she wasn’t wearing a white coat. In fact, she looked more like a hippy that had blown out of the 60s. Fancy and Shadow both took a liking to her. She was careful to make sure we knew what was going to happen. Finally she gave him what she called “A doggy cocktail.” It relaxed him and after a minute or two, he drifted off to sleep. Not only was there a drug to sedate him, and some stuff for anti-anxiety and pain relief.

When she was satisfied he was sound asleep and relaxed (on cloud nine as she put it), she gave him the final injection.

He took a couple of breaths, and then was gone.

The Vet placed his body in a nice basket and covered him up with blankets. We made our good byes, and I placed Fancy on the floor. She went over to him. I might be guilty of reading human reactions into an animal, but she leaned over into the blanket and touched his nose with hers.

I then carried the basket holding Shadow out to the Vets SUV. The back had a nice blanket over it, a sign showing Rainbow Bridge and a star with the name “Shadow.”

The ashes of our companion will be coming home sometime next week to join Olaf in our room.

But like Olaf, he’s left a big hole in our lives.