Probably not a subject for a car blog, but I guess I need
time and a place to just talk a little about life.
A week ago, my oldest granddaughter and her husband became
first-time parents of a healthy baby girl…our first great-grandchild. It made
me feel even older than I normally do, but it also made me thankful and
proud. Another generation for her parents and grandparents to love and nurture…a
generation destined to take my generation’s place in the family structure.
Sadly, most of my family lives over two-thousand miles away, so it will be some
time before I get to see more of her than pictures.
Then comes the kick in the gut to make you remember the
other side of life…the end.
It seems when a new life arrives, nature demands balance.
First, my granddaughter lost her little dog only a couple of weeks before he
could meet their new baby, and now, our fourteen-year-old Shar Pei...my dog by her choice...is gone.
A few days ago, she staggered into my office in obvious
distress. She had almost no control of her back legs and she was hurting. A quick trip to the vet, several X-rays,and nearly four hundred dollars later, we learned that arthritic
bones in her spine had bridging that aggravated her spinal cord. They could
treat, but not fix, so we came back home with three different medications and the
vet’s assurance she would improve.
She spent a restless night on the floor by my bed, and by
morning she could only stagger around in confusion and her right side appeared
partially paralyzed. We called the vet and said that since she was in obvious
pain, wasn't eating or drinking, and was spitting out the medications, we thought that maybe it was time for her to go and asked if they could come here so
she could die at home without the cold stainless steel of an examining room
table under her, and scary smells around her. The answer? “Sorry, we’re awfully
busy and can’t come until tomorrow”.
My wife asked if one of the vets could stop by after their office
closed, but they said no. Now, I certainly understand not wanting to inconvenience
other patients, and even to work after the whistle blows, but if not for one house across
the street, I could see their hospital about a half-mile away from here. I
guess animal pain isn’t a good enough reason for one of their three vets to
take a few minutes on the way home to stick a needle in a suffering pet.
The next night she was much worse, and I spent the entire night
on the floor beside her. As long as I was touching and petting her, she was mostly calm. Then, in the middle of the night, she had an episode that had her
groaning and wailing in pain. All I could do was hold her. I couldn’t ease her
pain, and I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her. All I could do was cry like a baby and curse the vet
who couldn’t spare a minute.
After an hour, she relaxed, and I thought she was
gone, but instead, she seemed to have passed out.
When morning came, she was still not moving, but she was breathing.
When she awoke, she appeared slightly improved,
and staggered around the house looking confused.
A different vet came at 8, and after seeing her said she could
probably still recover, but that she could, and likely would have another
episode that could be days, weeks, or months away. He asked if we still wanted
to euthanize her. That was a horrible decision to have to make.
She had gone deaf in the last year, and had cataracts that had already limited
her vision and were getting noticeably bigger. Her hips were arthritic,
and she had difficulty jumping down from the bed where she had slept by my feet
since she was a puppy. Her mind and her disposition were as sweet and loving as
always, but she had been getting old very quickly. With torn hearts we told him to go ahead, even
though there was hope we might be able to keep her a little longer.
As if I was being punished for that decision, as I was
driving her to the pet crematorium, my van had a blowout in a highway
construction area and I couldn’t get off the road for nearly a quarter mile. By
then the tire was shredded. AAA road service quoted an hour and a half, so I braved
the 100-degree temp and wrangled the donut from under the belly of the van and did it
myself. I was filthy, stinky and disheveled by the time I got there, but I didn’t
really give a damn.
So, that’s a long, unwanted explanation of why I have
nothing to report about my project. I haven’t been in the mood to do anything.
I question our decision and wonder if it was merciful, callous, or selfish. I
don’t know that I will ever accept that we made the right decision. She’s no
longer in pain, but ours is worse...at least for now.
The house feels empty and everything I try to do is missing
something important. I didn’t realize what a huge part of my life that old dog had
become. Bonnie was a good dog.
About one year old
A few days ago
