Goodbye, friend

Last fall, I wrote a post about our all-too-short time with the animals in our lives. At the time, my parents' little terrier-mix had begun having seizures and coughing at any exertion. For a brief while, Sandy improved but, a week ago, the seizure frequency increased, she became frightened rather than shaking off each episode, and she could no longer control bodily functions as she seized. It was time, and she told my mom in no uncertain terms.

Mom and Sandy

Mom said she felt at peace after she made the call to the vet. She, Sandy and my dad spent a lovely weekend together. The weather was good, I cut up steak in small chunks so her very few teeth could chew. Mom fixed her lots of scrambled eggs with cheese. They snuggled on the sofa and in their favorite chairs, with Mom massaging her for hours on end. I took some pictures on Sunday and will have one framed for Mom to keep.

When Monday morning came my dad, who was scheduled to go to the vet with Mom and Sandy, needed to go to the doctor.. So, I went instead. I used some lavender essential oil, as Sandy had had a couple of severe seizures overnight. I also began Reiki, as she was shaking almost uncontrollably, a habit that began about 18 months ago, and continued it throughout the next hour.


We both stayed with her and our vets - family friends we have known forever - were in tears, too. Sandy was most calm. Her eyes, always huge and brown, were calm as I held her. Her shaking was absolutely gone for the first time in months. She looked in my eyes the entire time the anesthesia was taking effect and she simply went to sleep. Once the second injection was administered, her heart stopped almost immediately. It was tired. It was time.

We planned to lay Sandy to rest in my parents' backyard, where she could keep watch over the neighborhood cats. But, a family friend who helps them a lot in the yard and house offered to take her to his home in the country and lay her to rest with all his animals. She is now among many friends and I know she is also sticking close to Mom, as she has mentioned hearing her footsteps coming up the stairs several times this week.

Thank you, Sandy. You were a beautiful little companion. The hole you left is huge. Keep watch over Mom and Dad and visit when you can. You are missed.

Too tired to even hold herself up for long

Resting

Painful Lessons

I euthanized Sully yesterday. I held him as life left him. It wasn't easy; he did NOT want to go. He tried to nail the vet as he was given the sedative, proving me right in insisting on a soft muzzle before we began. I hated being right, but it reinforced the decision I'd been second-guessing all day long.

Sully was 22 months old, an owner-surrender to the Oklahoma City shelter in September. I knew then he'd learned to be in charge in his household, a situation made more challenging by a traumatic injury when he was nine months old. A perfect houseguest for two weeks, Sully offered a glimmer of the future when he "went off on" my son one evening at home. It was a surprise and I honestly discounted much of his description of the experience. My mistake. But I was working with a TTouch practitioner and I have a lot of experience with behavior issues. I was pretty darned confident I could make a difference. Too much so, as it turned out.

Bits and pieces gave a clearer picture through the months. Sensitivity in his hindquarters, even more so in his groin area. Resource guarding. Wanting to be in charge. Inability to decompress once revved up. Management issues to be sure, but improvements were obvious. I realized I couldn't adopt Sully out but, as my daughter said, "Let's just keep him, Mom. We love him and he loves us. He's good here." And he was.

Then came Sunday. A good day, with much playing and stretching muscles after the snow. Sully had supper, went outside, came back inside and settled in for some personal time with my daughter and me in the living room. She asked Sully to get off the sofa. And then it all came apart.

"Sully, off." That was it. Next was a call for help. Sully was attacking her. He was beyond reason. I eventually re-directed him off her and onto me, telling her to go to her room and close the door. She did, but damage had been done - multiple bites on her stomach, back and arms. Three bite holes in her shirt. Serious emotional trauma. Sully nailed me, too, on my forearms and wrists, until I was able to grab his scruff and put him in a sit. I then held him for nearly 10 minutes before he stopped snarling, tension and breathing eased, and his eyes finally re-focused, losing that dull look. As I slowly released him, he shook himself all over, coming back into himself. As in the past, he was loving and cuddly, tail wagging like crazy and front feet dancing.

It was the point of no return. Not only could I not release Sully into anyone else's home (which wouldn't happen; he definitely was our dog), I could no longer manage - or even accurately identify - his triggers in advance. And so began our last hours.