We have three dogs, the oldest of whom is a black cocker spaniel named Magic. We got her from the pound about 6 months after I moved in with CO and the boys. She was little over a year old at the time, was the vets best guess, so she grew up with the boys.
Oh and she was awesome with them...patience beyond measure.
Once, while I was making dinner, I noticed Yute, who was the only one at home with me at the time, was awfully quiet. He was right behind me, watching a video, but there were no sounds of toy trucks crashing or toy trains chugging or balls bouncing. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was cuddled up to Magic, quietly putting stickers all over her, while she gave me this long suffering, but exceedingly patient look that said, "You're going to do something about this, right?" She sat still and quiet while I tried to get the stickers out of her fur with a little pain as possible.
And through all of life's trials, she has been just as quiet, calm and patient. A few years later, we added a second dog, who grew to twice Magic's size, but Magic remained unconcerned. She survived three boys and their teenage angst. We moved a few times, added grandbabies who pulled at her hair when we weren't looking and even a third dog who is a whirlwind of energy, and through it all, she just looks at us like, "Oh okay. So this is what we're doing now. That's cool."
She was never the most affectionate of the dogs, nor the most playful. But she is simply the most "chill" being I have ever known...dog, human, whatever. No one rolls with the punches like this dog.
In May, she got an injury on her back that became infected, and she had to have surgery to drain the abscess. The vet insisted I take the cone home to keep her from biting at the stitches and the drains that were stuck in her, but I never needed to use it. She just dealt with it, like every other thing in her life, without worry or complaint.
I asked the vet then if we should even have the surgery done. Magic is estimated to be around 14 years old in people years, after all, and completely deaf. She has trouble with the function in her back legs. But her appetite is still in tact, and she is still happy to see us when we come home. The vet assured us we would know when it was time.
Now, a few months later, her back legs have only gotten stiffer and her movement more difficult. She still does not seem unhappy, but then again, she never did. Her personality is a constant.
So how will we know when we are being selfish by keeping her here? How will we know when she has had enough?
Dogs are so awesome. They bring so much joy. But this single moment in a pet parent's life...this one single, horrible moment is so completely awful, that I cannot stand to think of it. But think of it we must. She trusts us and believes in us to do what is best for her. But how do we know what that is?
HELP?
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4 comments:
Oh, Maggie, I feel for you. I've got an 18-year-old cat and I'm about in the same place you are with Magic. I've also gone through this painful time with family dogs and a couple other cats I've had in the past.
I guess it differs with every pet and every family...but I think it boils down to the animal's dignity and quality of life. We had a dog when I was still living at home who was about 12-13 when my parents had to make that horrible decision. Thistle had lost a lot of mobility and strength in her hips and back legs, she was deaf, and probably blind, and she'd spend her time outdoors just lying on the back deck and barking non-stop. When she became incontinent, I think that was when my parents finally made the appointment and we brought her to the vet and stayed with her as she drifted away. In later years - probably when I was first having to make the decision about one of my cats - my mother said she probably waited longer than she should have with Thistle, but it's just so hard to let them go.
The first time I had to make the decision, it was with a cat I'd had since he was born. He was eating okay, but mentally he was just not there, and he started to not use the litterbox any more. I was living in an apartment, he would just "go" wherever he was when the urge hit him. He'd never ever done that before. There were other behavior issues, too, and he also had stopped grooming himself. He wasn't that old, either - he was 14 - and he wasn't arthritic. He just stopped taking care of himself. I put it off for as long as I could, but I think it was my mother, talking about Thistle, who convinced me it was time.
I don't know if any of that was helpful. But I think what other friends of yours have said is true - you will know. Stiffness comes with age, but I think it'll be when she doesn't want to do things any more that will be an indicator.
Sometimes it's a clearer decision to make than others. But it's never completely clear when you're trying to see through emotion and tears.
I hope you don't have to make this decision for a long time to come. And when the time comes, I wish you peace.
I'll be thinking of you.
Thanks so much, Jayne. We still haven't done anything, but I feel it getting closer every day. It is so darn hard.
Magic sounds like a great dog. Which I'm sure is what makes it so hard. I'd second what Jayne said, and also that--and this may sound weird--but if you're the kind of person who talks to your pets, talk to Magic. Just be honest, even ask her to let you know what she needs. I think pets understand us to some level.
My parents have my late great-aunt's cat who is 17 and definitely showing signs of age. My mom cried when the doctor told her the cat needed hyperthyroid meds, but that was a year ago. The cat is pretty much our only link to my great-aunt, so it's hard to watch her grow old, too. We just take it a day at a time.
Do you have a good vet, that you trust? A good vet can help people decide when it's "time."
My parents had two very old cats. One of the cats steadily went downhill last year - various health issues, lost lots of weight. The vet said that she felt that as long as a cat will still eat, groom, drink, and seek human attention, they still have quality of life.
She also told my parents that if she saw the cat for a checkup, and she felt it was "time," she'd be honest with them and tell them. She also told them to call her if they had concerns, if they wanted to discuss the cat's condition and have help deciding if it was "time."
But one weekend, the cat lost control of her back legs - and stopped eating. My parents, much as they hated to see it happen, knew it was "time."
It sucks. It always sucks. If I'm in the wrong mood, thinking about it still makes me cry, a year later. I'll be thinking of you.
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