Thank you for all your kind words and your understanding of how we love our dogs and grieve them. Guido touched a lot of lives and I know I miss her, there is an empty energy and spirit lacking in her passing. She will be missed.
Bustednuckles
Documenting The Death Of America
I think most, if not all, of us have had a similar experience.
I’d rather dig out a tooth with a rusty screwdriver than to feel that pain again.
All the best from across the lake. People who aren’t animal people just don’t get it . . .
I’m so sorry Mr. CederQ. I just saw all of this. For my wife and I, the best healing is to get another one. Helps as a distraction and numbs the pain.
Always there with a mixed Australian smile on his face when I got back, even if I’d only gone out to get the mail. Ever happy to see me and ready for whatever I had in mind for breakfast, even if only dry kibble.
Sometime after his 14th Christmas with us, he began having trouble sleeping. Doc had previously discovered inoperable tumors in his lungs and advanced arthritis in his hind legs, among other things. Apparently he could block out the pain while awake, but the twinges that came while he was asleep made his legs jerk and twitch with increasing frequency. Aspirin with morning and evening meals helped for some time, but the degeneration progressed inexorably. His eyes were glazing over with cataracts, and he was becoming deaf as a post.
This spring he began falling. He d get up right away most times, but it got harder and harder for him to keep his hind legs under him. Lately he couldn’t walk more than about 50 feet or so without pausing to rest, very likely to let the pain subside. His feet caught on throw rugs and threw him off balance. Getting rid of his wastes became a major struggle which he sometimes lost, making it necessary for me to wash him off before allowing him back inside the house.
Through it all, though, he seemed to enjoy being here with us, thrilled to see us come in when we d been gone, happy to get a handout or a bowl to lick or a plate to clean. His breathing was becoming labored, and his bathroom habits were as painful to watch as they must have been for him to perform. He tried to show a happy face, but things were piling up on him.
Last Sunday he couldn’t walk at all. I’d been carrying him for several weeks to avoid the slippery floors and throw rugs as much as possible, setting him down in the grass or the driveway where he could get traction.
It was about two years ago that I realized he had become older than I was. Seems like only yesterday that he could run for hours, hurdling shrubberies and lawn chairs to evict trespassing varmints from his domain, turning on a dime chasing an unpredictable toy football, then crashing for a few seconds to get his breath before leaping off into another adventure.
But one hot day on our normal Sunday afternoon walk, he stopped and sat down on the cool concrete of a stall in the Tom Thumb car wash about half a mile from the house. “Gotta get my breath,” he said. “These long walks on hot afternoons take it out of me these days.”
Even though the weather turned cooler over the next few weeks, it was clear he no longer could walk the two miles of our regular route without at least one five-minute rest somewhere along the way. So I shortened the route a bit for him, and he was O.K. with it for a couple months. But finally I could see that even though he didn’t actually say anything, walking anywhere near a mile had become painful for him.
Last fall about this time I got some nice wood and made a simple box. Stained it with dark walnut and finished it with polyurethane veneer. Brass screws all around, about 80 of em, and shiny brass handles on each end. Lined it with a nice, soft mat of foam rubber in heavy cotton casing on bottom and all four sides. Put it in the loft.
Each morning for the past year when I went for my morning walk or bike ride, he d give me that look of eager anticipation, ears up, eyes wide, head cocked to one side, and hurry to the door to go with me. But I knew he d regret it after a few hundred yards and spend the rest of the day recuperating. After he finished with his inspection tour around the front yard, I’d bring him back in.
Eventually he’d simply collapse again each time I stood him up. He could stand with my assistance (holding up his rear end by the fur near his tail), but without it he went down like rock.
His face was a mixture of confusion, frustration, pain, and disbelief. His big eyes looked up and pleaded, “What’s happening to me!? I don t understand!”
Everything that had brought him joy his whole life was denied him, and he couldn’t seem to completely block out the pain any more. The aspirin wasn’t enough help, and the whimpering was a harpoon in my chest. “Anything you can do to help?” he said, weighed down by the bewilderment and now-constant pain.
It was time. I cushioned his head on a pillow and stroked his face and neck. He sighed and looked away sadly but peacefully as I cradled his neck in my arm and kissed his forehead. With one hand I patted his side and with the other I took away his pain, ended his frustration, gave him peace. Looking at him was unbearable, but I couldn’t help noticing that his tail softly wagged three, then three more, then two, then one time . . . and he was still.
He s sleeping now, out by the back fence, and I put a 4X4 slab of construction ply over the freshly turned soil to keep the neighborhood cats from using it as their latrine. Tomorrow I’ll get a couple of red giant camellias to put there and carve a marker on a ceramic tile. This is really a hard thing to do, but it’s in that category of duties that friends do for each other. I know he’d do the same for me if he could. Damn . . . something keeps getting in my eyes, and it burns.
There isn’t enough alcohol in the world after reading something like this. I understand all too well.
My Bobo got throat cancer in 2022. Made it to Feb 6th 2023. I still miss him so bad. I feel your pain. Every day. I have 2 German shepherds now and the big male is my dude but try as much as he can he’s not Bobo. I’m so afraid of the day I’ll lose him
Sorry for your and all our losses as well Bocopro carry on friend.
I do understand the pain, too damn well.
You can get another but you will never have a replacement.
I cried as I read the above, it brought it all back to me, again. I’m not crying because they are gone, I cry because they were here and words do not suffice for that missing. Yes, I was blessed as were you and others suffering the same.
I pray that the Rainbow Bridge is real….
CederQ, i’m sorry i mistook who’s post that was. Phil and his wife got a few more prayers yesterday (NEVER wasted). But you will get more today. Very sorry for your loss and very thankful for all you do here! There will come that time when “He will wipe away every tear” (Rev:21:4) from His children’s eyes.
Scarecrow
I just remember a line from Rumi whenever this subject pops up. It’s really the same with pets as it is with people.
“The price of kissing is your life.”
Those who don’t pay it… well… who wants to know them?
Again, so sorry for loss. I know how you feel CederQ, bocopro, all. I did bocopros journey, again, 3 years ago ish, with Maxine. A valued family member, that gave us 18 years of awesome love and companionship. Ended exactly the same way as roberto’s. Plus three, (4?) others over the last 40+ years. Never gets easier. Sucks every time. It helps a little to live with a pack, we have 4 best mutts.
In my 74 years I’ve had dozens of dogs and it hurt to lose any one of them. Right now I have a ten year old Husky/German Shepard and she’s slowing down some and when she’s gone I’ll have to find another buddy. They’ve all been different and all have been great.
I’m so sorry, Cederq.