Dean's World

Early in 2004 a lot of crap hit the fan here. Amongst other things, we discovered that the dog was a mess.

We thought he was dying. Then we found out it was "just arthritis." We got some pain pills, a special bed (sent from a blog-friend, who really helped!) and some advice on massage therapy. We thought he was all good and, at only 8 years old, maybe we'd have several more happy years with this dog. It looked pretty promising, anyway.

We got buttons when he was a puppy not all that long before Jake was born. He looked like this:

He was still basically a great big puppy when Jake was a baby. They grew up together, in fact.

Jake wasn't the only baby Buttons grew up with though. We're one of those kitten-magnet families: we're always finding stray kitties, and looking or homes for them. Probably a couple of dozen kittens have traipsed through this household the last half-dozen years. And more than once we saw scenes just like this:

buttons w/kitten

We also used to have a little ferret named Mindy. She's buried in our front yard now. But when she was alive, that little 2-pound fluffball was his favorite playmate. Rosemary and I will never forget the night we were in bed and suddenly heard the ear-splitting sound of Buttons yelping and screaching. We ran out, and found him laid out on his back on our ottoman with Mindy, that crazy little ferret, hanging on for dear life with her teeth clenched firmly to his lips--and him crying like a little bitch begging her to let him go.

He oughtweighed her by about 35 to 1. He could have snapped her in half in a second. But he'd never do that. We knew it, she knew it, and he knew it.

Yet I cannot tell you the number of times that he scared strangers who pounded on our front door, or who looked even a little threatening toward Rosemary or Jake. He had a deep, rumbling, ominous growl, and had one of those barks so forceful you could feel the air hit your face when he woofed. Many was the time when I had to leave my wife and child alone in the house, but was able to feel okay about it because I knew our big palooka dog would tear up anyone who messed with my family when I was gone.

But he was getting older and slower, and had been sick. We thought he was just arthritic. But late this summer we found out it wasn't just arthritis. On top of that, it was cancer after all.

So what do you do with an almost 9-year old, 100 pound dog with both severe arthritis and cancer? Do you put him through chemotherapy and surgery? Big dogs don't live as long as little dogs: you might get 15 or more years out of a little dog, but big dogs usually don't make it much past 10. So let's say we put him through extreme treatment: What would his quality of life be--arthritic and having trouble walking already, and now going through chemotherapy and maybe surgery?

No. Just: No.

So he got slower, and slower. We watched him every day. If he were crying and unhappy we'd act. But mostly he was okay. He was a little more sluggish and unenthusiastic all the time, but he still had some good days and was always still obviously happy to be with us.

But the blood in the urine, it got worse every day. Soon he was bleeding constantly. He spent almost all of his waking time lying down, and he ate and drank a little less every day. Then one day not only was he bleeding constantly, but he started coughing and gagging at random. Our vet, a good man, had given us antibiotics to fight off any secondary infections, but we could tell he didn't think they'd do much good. That was okay, neither did we. We gave them to Buttons anyway, hoping they'd help just a little. Eventually it became obvious that he was as tired of the ritual as we were.

Finally this morning we knew the time had come. The only question: what about Jake?

I mean, they were best buddies.

What to do, what to do? Play the Ol' Yeller game? Toughen the 7 year old kid up and make him be a part of the end? Or send him off to school one morning and let him come home to find his best buddy gone?

Yeah well. Life's tough. We opted for the middle ground. For the last few weeks we told Jake that Buttons would be gone soon, and that he should spend lots of time with him.

Which he did.

This morning we sent Jake off to school. Then I got Buttons' leash, and asked him if he wanted to go for a ride. Suddenly he was more energetic and excited than I'd seen him in weeks.

Yeah! I get to go for a ride!

Shit.

Robert Heinlein's immortal character Lazarus Long once said, When the need arises — and it does — you must be able to shoot your own dog. Don't farm it out — that doesn't make it nicer, it makes it worse.

Yeah well I guess I disappointed Lazarus a little. I wasn't going to use the family shotgun. Instead, we drove to the clinic and I told them what we needed. They asked me if I wanted to stay with him. I said "yes."

Of course I said yes.

So we walked into the little room together. The people at the clinic were terribly kind. They asked me if I'd seen this done before and I said "yes." But they explained what would happen anyway, and asked if I'd like to hold him. I said, "yes."

So I held him, and I made him sit, and I talked to him. He looked at me and made it obvious that he was happy to be with me as they shaved a bit of his fur off his front leg. He didn't mind that, he always liked getting a haircut. Then the very nice and sweet girl put the needle in his leg, and gave him the lethal injection of anaesthetic.

With a groan he looked at me. His eyes glazed over. He slackened. I gently laid his head down on the ground.

They asked if I wanted to stay with him a few minutes. I said no. I thanked them for being so kind.

I had trouble finding my way to my car. But then I came home and I waited for my son. When Jake came home, I sat him on my lap and told him Buttons was gone.

We sat together for a very long time. My son tried hard not to cry. So did his dad.