I had a sad experience on Monday night. Rufus has a hygroma or fatty tumor on the “elbow” of his left foreleg. Never having finished (or, in fact, started) veterinary school, I decided to take him down to the vet to get it checked out. Also, I wanted to get him weighed, because I think he’s put on a bit of weight, but I can’t really tell. (To cut to the chase: the vet thinks the “elbow bump” is nothing serious, Roo is 81.4 lbs., up 3 from May, and the assistant found a tick behind his ear.)
So we drove down for our 7:45 appointment. Rufus got to meet a couple of dogs in the lobby, and also got to sniff at the cardboard Pet Taxi box that was holding a foul-tempered 13-lb. cat. When the cat hissed and jumped inside the box, Roo almost had a heart attack. The rest of us laughed.
The offices were pretty warm so, since we had to wait for a while, I took Rufus out to parking lot to walk around. He was happy that they had a fake fire hydrant in their doggie-area. Back in the lobby, he was pretty well-behaved, although I think he wants to get a day job in reception, since he kept trying to get behind the desk.
[You may find the rest of this post pretty sad or depressing, so feel free to punt on it. If you want to read on, just click “more”.]
A few other dogs came and went. Eventually, a woman and her two late-teenaged sons entered the lobby with their old, grizzled, very furry mutt. He and Rufus exchanged sniffs, and the cat owner asked about the dog. The woman was pretty quiet, but her kids were interested in Rufus, who tangled around them with his leash until they’d pet him.
I missed part of the conversation with the cat owner, but eventually the mom said, “Some days, you think she’s just fine. . .”
Then they were called in for their appointment. The mother started crying uncontrollably. The kids walked in with their heads down. Once the door closed, I could hear her sobbing in the room. I turned to Amy and asked, “Did she say what they’re bringing the dog in for?”
“They’re putting her to sleep, I think,” she said.
For some reason, this just didn’t occur to me. See, my experience of putting my dog to sleep (c. 1987) was the culmination of her weeklong stay in an animal hospital. The vets tried to fix her intestinal blockage, but when they determined it was impossible, we gave the word, and they put her to sleep. Because my mom was away, my brother was at college, my dad was working, and I was 16 with no access to a car, Jolie died all alone, (at the young age of 7 or 8). I was pretty wrecked by the experience; for 20 years, I swore I wouldn’t get another pet.
Listening to this woman crying in the next room brought all that back for me. But then I thought about how difficult her experience would be on me. It’s one thing for a medical emergency to lead to this end, but another when it arises from old age. I can’t imagine having to schedule the event, to load your dog into the car, to wait in the lobby patiently. I can’t imagine that state of knowing that it’s all for the last time. Maybe it’s silly or immature to get worked up like that over a pet, but it’s in my nature.
During our walks in the neighborhood these past few months, I’ve met two dogs of pretty advanced age and decrepitude. Their owners both told me that their dogs “aren’t in pain,” so they’re not putting them to sleep. After one of these encounters, I said to Amy, “If Rufus ever gets that bad, we’re going to put him down. Actually, if I ever get that bad, we’re going to put me down.”
Eventually, the two sons returned to the lobby. One said to the receptionist, “Our mom’s still in there.” She nodded and went back to her paperwork. She didn’t come out before we were called in for our consultation.
I just wanted to give that poor woman a hug. She was such a mess.
In 1986, our 6 year old dog Licorice became sick, and at first the vet thought she had swallowed something funny. When they operated to remove it, they discovered in fact that her pancreas had pretty much disintegrated (probably a genetic disease) and there was nothing they could do to repair it. My mother had to make the decision to have her put to sleep, and told me this as she picked me up from lacrosse practice. It is one of the very few times I have seen her cry in my life.
Very sad. If / when the time comes where we have to make that decision for our two, I can’t imagine how it will feel. On the other hand, after losing an in-his-prime dog very suddenly, one of the things I hope for is that our dogs end up getting really old and knackered….It will mean they’ve had a great, long life.
When I was 11, my parents had to have our cat, who was older than I, put to sleep because his kidneys had deteriorated so much. It was the first time I saw my mother cry, and the only time I’ve seen my father cry. Just terrible.
Growing up in the country, I never had to deal with deciding to put a pet down, only because they either ran off or were hit by cars. But I do recall crying for a full day when my cocker spaniel died after the exterminator (swear to god) ran him over. The worst part was my mom and sister spent the day laughing at me for being so upset over a dog. Awful.