Those of you who know me well know that I seldom cry, but I am crying right now, because Lisa and I lost a very dear and beloved friend and companion last night, in a completely unexpected and sudden turn of events. We knew that his time was growing short, but we expected that we would be the ones to decide when it would happen. Last night that choice was taken away from us -- a small mercy, but one that I can appreciate, having not looked forward to having to make such a difficult decision based on own arbitrary interpretation of his quality of life.
Last night, there were no difficult choices to make, only heart-wrenching certainties. It was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Baron's time to go. I only wish he could have done so without all of the pain that accompanied the hour or so before the end. Last night, around 9:30 pm or so, Baron developed something called Torsion - also called 'The Mother of all dog emergencies', or so I have been reading. Basically, for reasons not fully understood by anyone who has studied the condition, the stomach becomes bloated to several times its normal size and then twists, cutting off the dog's esophagus and the blood supply to the stomach and spleen. From what I've been reading, it is one of the most painful, and THE most urgent medical emergency that a dog can encounter, because it can be fatal within minutes or hours, as well as because of the pain.
I take some solace in the fact that Baron's first instinct when the pain began, and he didn't know what to do about it, was to come to Lisa and I. I know that he knew how much we love him, and that he trusted us, and was comforted by our presence. He wasn't a terribly active dog for the past several months, because of his Degenerative Myelopathy, but he always seemed content just to be in the same room as us, and even though it took a great deal of effort for him to get around some days, he would still get up and come to wherever we were. He was our dog, and we were his humans, and he knew that as well as we did.
I'll always laugh when I think about his goofy "smile", and his one loppy ear. He was a puppy at heart, no matter how old his body got. I'm glad he never lost that, and I'm glad we had the opportunity to have him for the last 3 years or so of his life. They were good years, and I know that he appreciated them as much as we did. He was a good boy to the end, and he deserved to be relieved of his pain.
I guess it was a bit of a no-brainer then, when at the emergency vet clinic they told us what had happened and what his options were. Basically, something had to be done immediately, and the only treatment option was a potentially $7000 surgery, from which he would only have a 50% chance of survival at best. Even if we'd had the money, it would have been a selfish thing to do - he needed to be set free. After seeing the kind of pain he had been in at home and on the way to the vet, we knew it was the right decision. They gave him something for the pain, and some sedative, so when we were with him at the end, he seemed to be relaxed, and not hurting. He went out doing the thing we most loved to watch, when he would get really tired and his eyes would roll back as he fell into a peaceful sleep. It always made us laugh, and maybe he figured he would leave us with a good memory, though he'll have to forgive us if we didn't laugh this time.
Oh well, I'm just rambling now, trying to process everything that has happened in the last 12 hours or so. What else can I say - it was sucky, crappy, shitty night, and I'm really hurting right now. I don't know if dogs go anywhere when they die, but I hope I'll get to see him again one day.
