When a Pet Dies - Dealing with Life, Death, Grief, and Healing
Posted: Wednesday, August 23, 2006
by Danny Davids
In Loving Memory of Cinder (1987 2005)
I've been putting off writing this article for several weeks now. I'm not lazy. I simply know that I'm dealing with a subject that's bittersweet, and one that touches off many emotions for me. It's been difficult trying to figure out where to begin, so I guess I'll just do it the old-fashioned way and start at the beginning. And please excuse any rambling on my part.
August 26, 1987 was a red-letter day for me. I just didn't know it at the time. While I was going on with my life, there was a pregnant dog giving birth to a litter of pups. The smallest one in the litter was destined to become a vital member of our family. In the process, she would drastically change my life.
Fast forward eight weeks. I was trying to come up with a unique birthday present for my wife. We already had a dog, Jingle, my Christmas present the year before. I'm the canine person in our family, and my wife tolerated Jingle. There was no way she was going to go for a second dog. So I wasn't even thinking about a puppy as a potential present the day we went window shopping and walked into a pet store. One of the puppies in the window caught her eye. We asked to see it. This little bundle of black, brown, and gray was brought out and placed in my arms. She was adorable, wagging her tail slowly, smelling my face, licking my nose and cheeks. Then my wife took her for a few minutes. Puppies usually reacted much less enthusiastically with her than they did with me. However, what happened next surprised us both. The puppy laid in her arms for a minute, looking at her. Then she crawled up my wife's chest and nuzzled her neck. She sighed and stayed there, not moving, just content. It was almost as if she knew she had to win my wife over if she wanted to go home with us.
It worked. Two days later she took a car ride and became part of our family. Happy birthday, honey!
She was a mix of Alaskan Malamute and Golden Retriever, the runt of the litter. She was almost all black, but faded into gray and white on her legs and paws. That coloring earned her the name "Cinder", because she looked like she might have gone running through the ashes in the fireplace. The girls joked that her middle name should be "Ella", and they tried that for awhile, but it didn't stick (thank God).
Jingle accepted the newcomer with a bit of trepidation at first, but it didn't take him long to realize he had a new playmate. Cinder found herself with a self-appointed babysitter, as Jingle would follow her everywhere, making sure she was all right and not getting herself in any trouble. They got along incredibly well.
The first change that occurred in our family because of Cinder was where the dogs stayed. Jingle slept in the house at night, but was usually outside during the day when the weather was good. He had a well-insulated dog house with plenty of room, and seemed pretty happy about the setup. With Cinder in tow, it seemed a good time to let the dogs stay indoors more when we were home. Jingle was already housebroken, but my wife ended up working with Cinder, taking her to the papers by the garage door after each meal. She picked up on it very fast, and we were all thrilled. She would only whine during the night if she had to go to the bathroom, and that was usually only once. She had her share of accidents, but they were few and far between.
As Cinder grew, it became obvious that she had the Malamute look. The black on her face gave way to black-and-gray all up her muzzle and around her eyes. She had the pointed ears, but while one was always erect, the other would flop over as though it were too tired to be bothered. Throughout her life people would ask if she was part wolf. While she may have looked the part, when it came to personality she definitely sported the Retriever. She got along well with people, but didn't jump all over them or go ballistic. With Cinder, it was a casual walk up to a new person, a sniff or two of the extended hand, maybe a lick if she particularly liked the individual. I guess it was that slow meandering approach that made people fearful of her. They never had anything to worry about.
Several months later Cinder found herself an only puppy. Jingle's experiences as an outdoor dog led to some trouble with a neighborhood kid, who thought it was fun to tease him through our fence every chance he got. He became much more aggressive, not only to people walking by the house but to us as well. The end result was that he had to be put down. It only reinforced our commitment to making Cinder an indoor dog.
As she grew older, we toyed with the idea of letting her have a litter of pups, preferably with a Malamute as the father. The decision was taken out of our hands one fall afternoon when we discovered Cinder had a suitor in the back yard. The black Lab had hopped the fence and was making his intentions very clear. Sure enough, a few weeks later it was obvious that she was going to be a mommy. When the time came for her to deliver, it was as if she welcomed our presence. She let us help deliver all eight puppies, and even let friends of ours assist. Of course, she was the devoted mom, taking care of all her kids and keeping them in line. When the time came for them to leave home, I think deep down she was a little relieved. Needless to say, we made certain she wouldn't have to go through that again.
For the next ten years she was our only canine. She was living life with us, watching our daughters grow older, surviving a family move from Colorado to Texas , adapting to a new climate, making new friends, and always taking things in stride. Nothing seemed to faze her. New situations didn't freak her out; new people didn't bother her. She was absolutely the perfect dog. And nobody ever had to ask whose dog she was. She was mine. My wife's birthday present from 1987 now belonged to me through osmosis or ownership or whatever you want to call it. I couldn't have been happier.
At the ripe old age of 11 she found herself reliving her past, except on the other side of the fence. This time she got to be the babysitter for a new puppy, a stray that my wife for some unknown reason took compassion on and wanted to keep. The white Shepherd/yellow Lab mix was shy and nervous around other dogs and people, but there were two she had no problem my wife and Cinder. In particular, she seemed to think Cinder was her own personal plaything. While we worried that RiCA was going to go too far in her playtime, looking back we realize that she actually revitalized Cinder. Old age was taking its toll, with cataracts on her eyes, arthritis in her joints, and deafness. We both believe that RiCA's presence added several more years to Cinder's life, keeping her active as she aged. (Yeah, pup, I owe you for that. Don't get cocky.)
Shortly after we moved in the summer of 2004, Cinder came down with what was eventually diagnosed as age-induced hepatitis. Without even seeing her, our vet suggested it might be time to put her down. (After all, she was nearly 17.) Aghast, we went to another vet instead. They made the diagnosis and gave us several options. We chose one and Cinder recovered. She was weak and tired, but she was still getting up and around and wasn't in any pain. We were grateful that the vet gave us an option that allowed her to be with us for a little while longer. The one change I noticed was that she would occasionally cry out as though trying to locate us (she was almost completely blind and deaf by this time). I'd go to her, call her name, and pet her for a little bit, reassuring her that we were still here.
A little over a year later we were getting ready to move again. Cinder hadn't been eating or drinking for several days. Concerned, my wife took her to the vet. After several exams, we were informed that there was nothing wrong, that she was just "getting old". Her body was probably starting to shut down. I asked if we had to consider putting her to sleep, and was told that unless she was in pain, we could allow her to spend her final days at home being loved on by us. So we took her home and made her as comfortable as possible.
Early in the morning of August 23, 2005, I woke up and went out to see how she was doing. I laid down by her on the floor, discovering she was wide awake. She looked at me as if to say, "Well, it's about time." Suddenly she went into a seizure. While it couldn't have lasted more than 15 or 20 seconds, to me it seemed an eternity. When her body finally quieted, she looked over at me again, with a "What the heck was that all about?" look in her eyes. From that moment on, she was almost continually crying. Petting her didn't calm her down. She would flinch at sudden touch or loud noises. She was hurting. And so later that morning, I wrapped my puppy in a sheet to shield her from the light (she flinched at that too) and we drove to our vet. They were incredibly compassionate and explained the entire process. We were in the room when they administered the medication that would free her from her pain forever. We watched her body tense up, and then relax. And that was it. Cinder was gone, three days before she would have turned 18.
We cried a lot that day, and over the next few days. Less than two weeks later, I was alone in the now-empty house we were leaving. I'd met the landlord, received our security deposit, and given him the key. All I had to do was close the door and walk into the future. Instead, I stood in the spot where Cinder had laid her last few days on earth and wept uncontrollably. I mourned her passing, believing I had betrayed her by choosing euthanasia. I felt as if I was abandoning my dog, leaving the last place she'd shared with us and going on to a new home that would have no evidence of her presence. I cried until there were no tears left. And then I closed the door and left.
I've learned several things from Cinder's passing. As she grew older, and especially in the last year or two of her life, it was hard remembering her as anything but an older dog who was slowing down, playing less, sleeping more, needing more care from us. With her gone, I find myself remembering things she did when she was younger chasing a tennis ball, teasing us and getting us to chase her, begging for tidbits at the dinner table, racing into the kitchen every time my wife opened the bag of cheese. She loved cheese. She loved pizza SERIOUSLY loved pizza. She tolerated grooming, but only just. She could "sit pretty" and "speak" and roll over (two steps "belly up" and then "all the way over") and " gimme five". She smiled an awful lot. Memories just seem to pop up unannounced like that. It's a good thing, a comforting thing. It makes me realize that she did have a good life.
I've learned that grieving doesn't happen all at once. It spreads itself out over days, weeks, sometimes months. There will be periods when things seem to be going well, and then suddenly time doubles back and it's like I'm starting all over again. A few months ago when my wife and I rented the Disney movie "Eight Below", I found myself sobbing uncontrollably in one scene. The injured dog's cries carried me back to Cinder's last night in our home, when she made those same sounds of pain. I don't know how many minutes of the movie we missed, but it was definitely more than just a few shots of one scene. For the rest of the movie, I was yelling at the dogs in nearly every scene: "Don't go there! Get the door open! Run! Look over there, you're going to leave one!" (Good thing I didn't see this movie in the theater. They'd have kicked me out.) I'm still grieving, even as I write this article. But that's okay, too. You don't forget somebody that important in a week or a month or a year. Sometimes you don't ever forget them. And that's a good thing.
I've learned that she had a bigger influence on our family and friends than I realized. My wife's attitude towards animals has changed greatly since having Cinder. It made it easier for her to take in RiCA and give her the love she would never have been able to give before. I think the best epitaph for Cinder I've ever heard came from my father. Several times during the course of her life, he commented that if he ever got a dog, he wanted one just like her. That's probably the highest compliment she ever could have received, and one I'll always remember. Thanks, Dad.
I've also learned to appreciate our current pets even more. I've discovered that you don't get a new pet to "replace" the old, because it never does. (More on that in a future article.) I'm finding that it's okay to move on without having to feel guilty about it. Most importantly, I've learned the old adage "you don't know what you've got til it's gone" is uncomfortably true.
Old lady, I miss you so much. I hope you enjoyed life with us while you were here. I fiercely hold on to your memory and your spirit. I still love you.
I hope to see you again one day.
P.S. I've just been informed via email that this Saturday, August 26, we will be having ice cream and cake and pizza to celebrate what would have been Cinder's 19 th birthday. We'll be sharing our memories of and good times with her. I think Cinder would have liked that. Especially if it meant she got some of the pizza in the process.
I've been putting off writing this article for several weeks now. I'm not lazy. I simply know that I'm dealing with a subject that's bittersweet, and one that touches off many emotions for me. It's been difficult trying to figure out where to begin, so I guess I'll just do it the old-fashioned way and start at the beginning. And please excuse any rambling on my part.
Fast forward eight weeks. I was trying to come up with a unique birthday present for my wife. We already had a dog, Jingle, my Christmas present the year before. I'm the canine person in our family, and my wife tolerated Jingle. There was no way she was going to go for a second dog. So I wasn't even thinking about a puppy as a potential present the day we went window shopping and walked into a pet store. One of the puppies in the window caught her eye. We asked to see it. This little bundle of black, brown, and gray was brought out and placed in my arms. She was adorable, wagging her tail slowly, smelling my face, licking my nose and cheeks. Then my wife took her for a few minutes. Puppies usually reacted much less enthusiastically with her than they did with me. However, what happened next surprised us both. The puppy laid in her arms for a minute, looking at her. Then she crawled up my wife's chest and nuzzled her neck. She sighed and stayed there, not moving, just content. It was almost as if she knew she had to win my wife over if she wanted to go home with us.
It worked. Two days later she took a car ride and became part of our family. Happy birthday, honey!
She was a mix of Alaskan Malamute and Golden Retriever, the runt of the litter. She was almost all black, but faded into gray and white on her legs and paws. That coloring earned her the name "Cinder", because she looked like she might have gone running through the ashes in the fireplace. The girls joked that her middle name should be "Ella", and they tried that for awhile, but it didn't stick (thank God).
Jingle accepted the newcomer with a bit of trepidation at first, but it didn't take him long to realize he had a new playmate. Cinder found herself with a self-appointed babysitter, as Jingle would follow her everywhere, making sure she was all right and not getting herself in any trouble. They got along incredibly well.
The first change that occurred in our family because of Cinder was where the dogs stayed. Jingle slept in the house at night, but was usually outside during the day when the weather was good. He had a well-insulated dog house with plenty of room, and seemed pretty happy about the setup. With Cinder in tow, it seemed a good time to let the dogs stay indoors more when we were home. Jingle was already housebroken, but my wife ended up working with Cinder, taking her to the papers by the garage door after each meal. She picked up on it very fast, and we were all thrilled. She would only whine during the night if she had to go to the bathroom, and that was usually only once. She had her share of accidents, but they were few and far between.
As Cinder grew, it became obvious that she had the Malamute look. The black on her face gave way to black-and-gray all up her muzzle and around her eyes. She had the pointed ears, but while one was always erect, the other would flop over as though it were too tired to be bothered. Throughout her life people would ask if she was part wolf. While she may have looked the part, when it came to personality she definitely sported the Retriever. She got along well with people, but didn't jump all over them or go ballistic. With Cinder, it was a casual walk up to a new person, a sniff or two of the extended hand, maybe a lick if she particularly liked the individual. I guess it was that slow meandering approach that made people fearful of her. They never had anything to worry about.
Several months later Cinder found herself an only puppy. Jingle's experiences as an outdoor dog led to some trouble with a neighborhood kid, who thought it was fun to tease him through our fence every chance he got. He became much more aggressive, not only to people walking by the house but to us as well. The end result was that he had to be put down. It only reinforced our commitment to making Cinder an indoor dog.
As she grew older, we toyed with the idea of letting her have a litter of pups, preferably with a Malamute as the father. The decision was taken out of our hands one fall afternoon when we discovered Cinder had a suitor in the back yard. The black Lab had hopped the fence and was making his intentions very clear. Sure enough, a few weeks later it was obvious that she was going to be a mommy. When the time came for her to deliver, it was as if she welcomed our presence. She let us help deliver all eight puppies, and even let friends of ours assist. Of course, she was the devoted mom, taking care of all her kids and keeping them in line. When the time came for them to leave home, I think deep down she was a little relieved. Needless to say, we made certain she wouldn't have to go through that again.
For the next ten years she was our only canine. She was living life with us, watching our daughters grow older, surviving a family move from Colorado to Texas , adapting to a new climate, making new friends, and always taking things in stride. Nothing seemed to faze her. New situations didn't freak her out; new people didn't bother her. She was absolutely the perfect dog. And nobody ever had to ask whose dog she was. She was mine. My wife's birthday present from 1987 now belonged to me through osmosis or ownership or whatever you want to call it. I couldn't have been happier.
At the ripe old age of 11 she found herself reliving her past, except on the other side of the fence. This time she got to be the babysitter for a new puppy, a stray that my wife for some unknown reason took compassion on and wanted to keep. The white Shepherd/yellow Lab mix was shy and nervous around other dogs and people, but there were two she had no problem my wife and Cinder. In particular, she seemed to think Cinder was her own personal plaything. While we worried that RiCA was going to go too far in her playtime, looking back we realize that she actually revitalized Cinder. Old age was taking its toll, with cataracts on her eyes, arthritis in her joints, and deafness. We both believe that RiCA's presence added several more years to Cinder's life, keeping her active as she aged. (Yeah, pup, I owe you for that. Don't get cocky.)
Shortly after we moved in the summer of 2004, Cinder came down with what was eventually diagnosed as age-induced hepatitis. Without even seeing her, our vet suggested it might be time to put her down. (After all, she was nearly 17.) Aghast, we went to another vet instead. They made the diagnosis and gave us several options. We chose one and Cinder recovered. She was weak and tired, but she was still getting up and around and wasn't in any pain. We were grateful that the vet gave us an option that allowed her to be with us for a little while longer. The one change I noticed was that she would occasionally cry out as though trying to locate us (she was almost completely blind and deaf by this time). I'd go to her, call her name, and pet her for a little bit, reassuring her that we were still here.
A little over a year later we were getting ready to move again. Cinder hadn't been eating or drinking for several days. Concerned, my wife took her to the vet. After several exams, we were informed that there was nothing wrong, that she was just "getting old". Her body was probably starting to shut down. I asked if we had to consider putting her to sleep, and was told that unless she was in pain, we could allow her to spend her final days at home being loved on by us. So we took her home and made her as comfortable as possible.
Early in the morning of August 23, 2005, I woke up and went out to see how she was doing. I laid down by her on the floor, discovering she was wide awake. She looked at me as if to say, "Well, it's about time." Suddenly she went into a seizure. While it couldn't have lasted more than 15 or 20 seconds, to me it seemed an eternity. When her body finally quieted, she looked over at me again, with a "What the heck was that all about?" look in her eyes. From that moment on, she was almost continually crying. Petting her didn't calm her down. She would flinch at sudden touch or loud noises. She was hurting. And so later that morning, I wrapped my puppy in a sheet to shield her from the light (she flinched at that too) and we drove to our vet. They were incredibly compassionate and explained the entire process. We were in the room when they administered the medication that would free her from her pain forever. We watched her body tense up, and then relax. And that was it. Cinder was gone, three days before she would have turned 18.
We cried a lot that day, and over the next few days. Less than two weeks later, I was alone in the now-empty house we were leaving. I'd met the landlord, received our security deposit, and given him the key. All I had to do was close the door and walk into the future. Instead, I stood in the spot where Cinder had laid her last few days on earth and wept uncontrollably. I mourned her passing, believing I had betrayed her by choosing euthanasia. I felt as if I was abandoning my dog, leaving the last place she'd shared with us and going on to a new home that would have no evidence of her presence. I cried until there were no tears left. And then I closed the door and left.
I've learned several things from Cinder's passing. As she grew older, and especially in the last year or two of her life, it was hard remembering her as anything but an older dog who was slowing down, playing less, sleeping more, needing more care from us. With her gone, I find myself remembering things she did when she was younger chasing a tennis ball, teasing us and getting us to chase her, begging for tidbits at the dinner table, racing into the kitchen every time my wife opened the bag of cheese. She loved cheese. She loved pizza SERIOUSLY loved pizza. She tolerated grooming, but only just. She could "sit pretty" and "speak" and roll over (two steps "belly up" and then "all the way over") and " gimme five". She smiled an awful lot. Memories just seem to pop up unannounced like that. It's a good thing, a comforting thing. It makes me realize that she did have a good life.
I've learned that grieving doesn't happen all at once. It spreads itself out over days, weeks, sometimes months. There will be periods when things seem to be going well, and then suddenly time doubles back and it's like I'm starting all over again. A few months ago when my wife and I rented the Disney movie "Eight Below", I found myself sobbing uncontrollably in one scene. The injured dog's cries carried me back to Cinder's last night in our home, when she made those same sounds of pain. I don't know how many minutes of the movie we missed, but it was definitely more than just a few shots of one scene. For the rest of the movie, I was yelling at the dogs in nearly every scene: "Don't go there! Get the door open! Run! Look over there, you're going to leave one!" (Good thing I didn't see this movie in the theater. They'd have kicked me out.) I'm still grieving, even as I write this article. But that's okay, too. You don't forget somebody that important in a week or a month or a year. Sometimes you don't ever forget them. And that's a good thing.
I've learned that she had a bigger influence on our family and friends than I realized. My wife's attitude towards animals has changed greatly since having Cinder. It made it easier for her to take in RiCA and give her the love she would never have been able to give before. I think the best epitaph for Cinder I've ever heard came from my father. Several times during the course of her life, he commented that if he ever got a dog, he wanted one just like her. That's probably the highest compliment she ever could have received, and one I'll always remember. Thanks, Dad.
I've also learned to appreciate our current pets even more. I've discovered that you don't get a new pet to "replace" the old, because it never does. (More on that in a future article.) I'm finding that it's okay to move on without having to feel guilty about it. Most importantly, I've learned the old adage "you don't know what you've got til it's gone" is uncomfortably true.
Old lady, I miss you so much. I hope you enjoyed life with us while you were here. I fiercely hold on to your memory and your spirit. I still love you.
I hope to see you again one day.
P.S. I've just been informed via email that this Saturday, August 26, we will be having ice cream and cake and pizza to celebrate what would have been Cinder's 19 th birthday. We'll be sharing our memories of and good times with her. I think Cinder would have liked that. Especially if it meant she got some of the pizza in the process.
This Article has been viewed 4,428 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
More commentsps. Once the dr. told me false preg. i wasn't looking for signs, i knew her teats were still big but thought that i guess thats how they'll be. she had recently had a hair grooming, cause she had lots of longer fur under belly side, so i never really saw the bare anyway. And when Star died, when i looked at Dottie, I would always look at her face and the kids would feed her most of the time, so i wan't always outside with her. so i wasn't looking for her belly and also she wasn't eating much, which i thought was due to her grieving Star, my neighbor even said that too. Which i am sure she was, but she may have not been eating due to pregnancy as well, now that i have read about pregnancy in dogs. I appreciate you listening to me ramble and get some of my grief out. Thank you again.Cheryl, it sounds like Star had a wonderful life and you have many happy memories of her. As for Dottie's pups, you did what you thought was right based on the information you had at the time, and you can't blame yourself for what happened. I know you'll mull this over in your mind for awhile, but remember that none of us is superhuman and we can't always be second-guessing ourselves. I pray for you during your time of grief, but know that it does get better.
Thank you for this wonderful article. It has helped me tremendously. I am so heartbroken over my beloved akita Jada of 12 years, and it's so hard to deal with. She died 2 days ago and I have the most empty feeling in my heart. It helps to know that there are others who share that same type of love for their pets. She was a member of my family and I feel like a part of me died with her. You were blessed to have nearly 18 years of wonderful memories with Cinder. Tears started to flow as I read your story. I am looking forward to the day when my sadness disappears and I can just think of all of the wonderful memories I have of Jada without crying uncontrollably. I think the birthday celebration is a wonderful idea. A joyous occasion to keep the memory of Cinder alive. Thanks again.Dionne, you have those memories now. Don't put off thinking about them. Go ahead and cry uncontrollably. It is part of the process and it will happen eventually whether you want it to or not. And it's nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. My prayers are with you.
Thank you for a great article, and thanks to some of the readers for their comments. Tomorrow morning I have to put down my 21 yr old orange tabby. I got him when he was 3 from a shelter and when my son was 6. Now my son is 23. My cat has been with me a long time, longer than most of my human friends. It is tough.Making a decision like that is never easy, especially when it's being made about a family member (yes, pets are part of our family!). You and your family are in my prayers at this time.
Great article Danny, My wife and I had to put our beloved Natasha down on June 28th of this year, it was her 17th birthday. She was a pure bred red and white siberian husky, absolutely stunning dog. Through internet searches I found out she had Neosperosis, something I wish the vet had found through a little bloodwork that she never took, she thought Tasha was just old. she would just walk in circles with her head tilted to the side, she had a lot of trouble getting up from her bed but her sense of smell was still unbelievable. For months she would wake up and cry for help several times throughout the night. The toughest part of this is the fact that less than 8 months ago she was bouncing around the yard and acting completely normal, my head is still spinning right now, she was my "baby girl". I break down at least 3 times a day, I have my morning coffee sitting in a chair next to her grave and I spend 15 minutes or so with her before I go to bed at night. It is so hard to look at her grave and know that she is gone. I'm having a lot of trouble accepting what has happened and am still in disbelief that she is gone. I'll stare at an object and think to myself "this is for real, this isn't a dream, she's really gone". I'm also struggling with questions about whether or not she felt like she lived a long life. Pets see night and day just like we do, how am I to accept that she was 94 years old in dog years just because some chart tells me?For anyone else reading this please pay attention to your pets, it can happen so fast and it's devastating. Also, keep a camcorder and camera accessable throughout your pets life, I have probably 20 pictures of Tasha and no film footage. If I ever get another dog I plan on keeping a diary of it's life, there were so many events that happened and I don't remember the dates they happened, I knew her birthday but I do not remember the day I brought her home, I was just out of high school.Some other things that are tough when it's time for your pet to go are:-Burying your dog (I dug the hole with a machine and it was gut wrenching)-building a casket ( i wish someone had volunteered their services,)-moving on (I still can't imagine the thought of "deserting" her)-most other people are not very understanding (I thought They would all be in tears)-make sure the vet tranquilizes your pet befor Euthanizing it (wow, the last thing you want is for your pet to be in ANY pain in it's last moments, my vet couldn't find a vein in her first two attemps and was making a "wallowing" motion with the needle and that made Tasha cry. I've gotta tell you, that image is stuck in my mind and will not leave, I should have taken her off the table and gone somewhere else but my wife and I were too emotionally drawn to do anything.-before you put your pet down, sit down in a quiet room and get your mind right, try and prepare yourself for not only the day of but the months that follow, as time goes on I miss my baby girl more and more, if I had a penny for everytime I said "i wish I could go back to.... I'd be very rich. I thought I was strong but I was proven wrong.-ask for help, get some family members (who understand) help out with anything that could possibly help, building the casket, making the appointment with the vet, taking the pet to the vet, digging the hole, placing the dirt on the casket, fastening the lid on the casket etc...., I'm here to tell ya, it's too much, way too much, I've never had anyone close to me die, I love Tasha more than anything ever in my life (my wife is very close) it is hard enough to do any 1 of those tasks let alone all.I hope these help someone, it has helped me to read these articles and comments.Danny, I don't know how you were able to walk away from that house so soon, wow, my hat's off to you my friend.Thanks, Jeff. You've got me crying again. Staying in that house was not an option, as the landlord wanted to put it on the market and our lease was up. You do what you have to do. As I've stated to others who have commented, you do the best you can with what you have and know that Tasha loved you regardless. Hold tight to those memories. We're coming up on three years next month and it still hurts, but now we can look back at the memories with more joy than sorrow. Maybe Cinder and Tasha are playing together right now, waiting for the day when we come to join them.
I hope Tasha and Cinder are playing together, I hate the thought of ANY dog alone and scared. I'm glad I decided to do some internet searching to read what other people are going through, it's very similar to what i'm going through. I regret every single time I raised my voice with her, I know you have to teach dogs right and wrong but now that I realize that dogs aren't here for long I look at it differently. We have two other dogs presently, both are 8 years old, one is my daughters malamute and the other is a pure white siberian male that was a christmas present for my father, well, I had to take him back a few years after I gave it to him because he couldn't keep him. I feel sorry for these two dogs because I haven't wanted to be around them the last couple of months because I only want to be with Tasha, no other dog will do. My wife and neices fill in nicely though. I appologize for causing you to cry, I'm sure my story has dug up some of those old memories, I have had an especially tough day too, I've had to go hide in the garage a few times and let it roll, reading these stories and thinking about my baby girl has dropped me to my knees. I'm not supposed to be like this, I'm supposed to be a roughneck who can handle anything, well, I found out that's not the case when something this permenant happens to something you truley love. I can't tell you how much your website has helped me, thank you very much for this site and I hope it helps others too.Will be praying for you during this time, Jeff. I'm glad we could help, even if only a little. Oh, and love on that Malamute, man.
My baby just died yesterday at 15, a toy poodle named peanut, she was our kid we never had. I love and miss her very much, I can't deal with this very well. I have lost one of my best friends.Dan, I'm so sorry. OF COURSE you can't deal with this very well! Don't apologize for that! But you WILL get through this. Let the grief out and concentrate on the joy and love Peanut brought to your life. And find like-minded people who understand your love of your pet and who you can talk to about her.
I am still grieving the loss of my cat. He was 18 when I put him to sleep a few months ago. Words cannot describe the feelings of pain, depression, and longing that have accompanied his passing. Thank you for the story of your dog. I appreciated that you took the time to honor his memory and reach out to others. I am not alone and neither are you.As long as there are people out there who have lost a pet, you are not alone.
Our Salina died on Halloween 2008 and we still miss her deeply. Reading your story made me cry. I felt your pain. I raised Salina from a puppy. She was 14 years old when she died in my arms while we tried to rush her from one vets to the animal hospital. The night mare all started from a vet talking my husband into doing surgery she didnt need. I wish people had warn me to watch where you take your animals you love. Talk with people in your area. Make sure you search it out so you know you have your baby with a safe vet. We learned the hard way. I will now take my other shih tzu to Alameda east in colorado. I will never get over the last few minutes of her life. I know that today I would still have her if I hadnt let my husband take her to the vet. I had planned to take her to anther vet that day. How I miss her so much. She was our baby. Please dont ever let a vet due surgery if your dog had food or water that day. They get greedy. All the vets in Denver never did surgery on her when she had the little cyst. They woud put heat packs on and draw it out and clean the area then give her meds. This vet was greedy. I had never ever had an animal die. I still wake up and cry when I see she is not laying near my head.
I had to say goodbye to my darling, my heart, Kiley five days ago. I have literally not stopped crying for more than an hour since then. How long is this pain going to last. I want to remember her with the joy and love she gifted to me but I can't stop crying. I am so lonely without her.
OK, you.... just when I thought I stopped crying over Katy (our kitty who left us just about 3 1/2 weeks ago now....) I read your well written story - you grabbed this reader and drew her in and well.... I might short circuit the keyboard...thanks so much for sharing this wonderful dog and your heart! MarijoSo sorry for your loss, Marijo. It's hard but you do heal.
More comments
We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.