Let a Sleeping Dog Lie

I got called out of school early that day, I wasn’t too sure why. I left school and got in my dad’s truck, and asked him why I was being picked up. He just gave an opaque answer; “We’ve got stuff to do.”. We went to pick up my sisters from school, and they were curious as to why we were being picked up as well, once again, “We’ve got stuff to do.”. When we got home my stepmom was already there, and it didn’t look like we were in a hurry to go anywhere quickly. I went over to my dog to console her needs for attention as I always did, and sat down with her while I waited for my parents to tell us what we got taken out of school for. As soon as my father had us gather around in the living room I knew what was happening. I knew before either of my parents said a word, because I had been thinking the same thing for awhile now. My father said “Now, we all know the dog has been in a lot of pain lately…” My sisters butted in saying “Yeah, so we just have to be extra careful with her so she doesn’t hurt as much.” and “Yeah, so we just have to play with her gently” my father started to choke up, and I’d silently told myself I’d keep my composure when this moment came, but seeing emotion show through my father broke through that barrier. I put my head down into my dogs shoulder, and my sisters knew as soon as they saw our reactions that there was much more to it than they’d thought. Everyone took a few minutes to grieve and come to terms with what was happening. I knew it was for the best, the life our dog was living was only going to get worse, until it wasn’t much of a life at all.

She had torn both of her ACL’s and we only had enough money to have one of them fixed. For year afterwards she was fine, with random spurts of time where he leg bothered her, but never anything major. A few weeks before the decision to put her down, she went upstairs into my room and wouldn’t go downstairs. We tried everything, giving her treats, tempting her with food. She would come down reluctantly to go to the bathroom, but even then we had to carry her sometimes. We had to bring her food and water upstairs to her, as she refused to come down even to eat. I kpet her company upstairs while she was in my room. Every once in awhile she would howl in pain from laying on her leg wrong, and it was a heartbreaking noise. Eventually we carried her downstairs and blocked the stairs so she couldn’t go back up. She was still reluctant to get up to do anything, and we ended up taking her to get laser therepy and pain medication. Before she could undergo the laser therapy, she was required to wear “Doggles”, over her eyes. To this day the picture of her wearing them makes me laugh. She loved the laser therapy, and the pain meds made her get up and move again. She was up and about the house in no time, and seemed to be acting normal.

It wasn’t until the day of her euthanization that I was made aware that we’d been giving her double the medication she was supposed to be getting, just to get her to be able to get up and eat. I accepted that fact that she needed to have this done, it was more humane than letting her suffer, or pumping her full of expensive medication that she was getting way too much of. She was laying in my lap, something my stepmom had apparently been trying to do all day. I had arguably the best bond with the dog in the family, she’d generally choose me when it came to playing or being comforted. I spent the next hour or so petting her while she layed her head on my lap, giving her all of the treats we had left in the house. When the time came for her to go to the appointment, I told my father that I wanted to go with him. He told me that he wanted to do it alone, and that he didn’t want me to go. We said our last goodbyes to the dog, and I watched her excitedly looking around in the car as they drove off.

She had spent almost twelve happy years with our family, being with us since I was about six years old. Within those years, we had many experiences that are able to bring a smile to my face whenever I think about them, and others that make me laugh. The way she’d desperatly supine and snake her way across the ground when it was becoming spring and the last snow was on the ground; as though she could make the snow stay. The way she’d raise her upper lip and expose her teeth if you spoke to her in spanish. The way she’d never steal food from the trash, only paper towels, and she’d rip them up and strew them almost systematically. (The last one made me mad all of the time, but I look upon it as a foible now). Laughter helped me get over the grief, and was what got me through the rough transition. Being able to laugh and remember the good things that have happened instead of dwelling on the bad are what are needed to overcome an emotion hurdle. Sometimes it is easier than others, but laughter can really be the best medicine. (Cliche on purpose, don’t worry)