One Month Without a Dog.
It’s been one month since Samba died. She died of old age and had a full, exciting life and when it was time to shorten her suffering, we did.
What a difficult decision to make. Dogs do communicate the way they are feeling but they also hide pain, not to be left behind. In the wild rules of survival are harsh, ailing members are left behind so they cannot weaken the pack. In the human world this would be considered inhumane, as we hope for recovery and have medical solutions available. Animal care is a huge industry and in the US highly trained vets are available for top dollars, as in the rest of the world but for considerably less money. Samba was saved twice by emergency vets a couple of years ago when they controlled two onsets of debilitating seizures. She survived on seizure meds for another 2 years.
We knew it was coming. Dogs have a certain life span, for Welsh Terriers it’s 12-16 years, and she was close to 14 years old. A full life. Since her recovery from seizures and adjustment to the meds, she had good days and bad days, which turned during the last year into more bad and some good days. She slept a lot, slowed down in general and cuddled a lot. The last week before her death was eventful, she visited several beaches, socialized with lots of other dogs (see perros amorosos ) and enjoyed many showers to fend off the heat by keeping her fur wet.
It went downhill hill fast within her last couple of days. Her last night, I slept in the cockpit with her, held her close, caressed her all night, suggesting to her in my mind to let go. She held on. By morning she couldn’t breathe well anymore and was softly panting. When I took her out for her walk, she wouldn’t stand nor walk. It was high time. We found a vet available on a Sunday morning and went to end her suffering. Watching her trying to hold on was the worst for me, it broke my heart how she fought quietly to stay alive. I had to let her go and wanted to end her suffering. All I could think of was to end it for her as fast as possible.
We had prepared ourselves for the possibility and had a 6 months stash of her seizure medicine, Phenobarbital, on board. Vets in the US cannot suggest euthanasia for legal reasons and I had asked the vet for a kit in case Samba had a severe emergency like seizures while we weren’t near land or near a vet. Instead of answering, he glanced to the camera recording the visit. I researched that Phenobarbital is not only for controlling seizures but also wildly used as a suicide drug and consequently highly regulated. So, I concluded, I would give her several months’ worth and let her go to sleep. I had pictured that it would happen on a beautiful beach somewhere remote.
It was high time that Sunday morning on July 3rd and we were in a city. It was too late to get somewhere remote and she was in such horrible state that it had to happen at a vets office and fast. We went and soon she was first sedated and then got the second, fatal shot of Phenobarbital directly into her veins. She died in less than a minute. She was released but it was tough on us. Seeing her without pain made me feel relieved but she was also gone.
I miss her daily. She was with me everyday and I took her everywhere I could. She was always fun to be with, stubborn, cute, loving, cuddly. Caring for her was never a burden. She made freezing temperatures bearable, having fun, romping around in the snow. In heat, I hosed her down and put her on my belly as a cooling blanket which she enjoyed too. She didn’t have many needs besides food, walks, company, exercise, play and socializing with other dogs. She was easy going and life with her was simple. I never knew how much pleasure a dog could bring. And healing and wisdom. During my treatment and recovery from thyroid cancer, she was my Zen teacher.
Life without her will adjust in time. Loving her was so easy. Letting her go, for good, is the hard part.