Goodbye, Sweet Boy
We had to put our precious boy Charlie down today. What follows is mostly for me as a way of memorializing him and how much he meant to us.
Our home feels so empty tonight. There's no little Charlie to greet us as we come home and we dearly miss that. His absence is deafening. Everywhere I look I reflexively expect to see him in his usual places but he's gone.
His health began to worry us a couple of weeks ago when he lost his appetite, something he'd never had an issue with before. He loved his food and his treats. We took him to the vet on Wednesday morning to see if there was something that could be addressed to help him be his normal self again. The doctor did her exam, focusing mostly on his bloated stomach, something that had very recently become noticeable. She said she needed a sample of the fluid in his belly to know how best to proceed. We waited while she took him back to the lab.
She returned to the room ten minutes later and I could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't good news. She said she found a large tumor in his stomach and that the fluid she had drained from it was bloody. She apologized and said that if it was cancerous, there was nothing that could be done for him. Two hours later, pathology would confirm our fears that it was indeed cancerous. It all happened so fast. She told us "Today isn't the day to put him down" but that his time was short. She suggested we buy a rotisserie chicken on the way home and see if that would appeal to his appetite. It mostly did.
We sat with him last night while watching TV and noticed that he was even more bloated than earlier in the day; plus, the fluid in his belly was leaking an alarming amount from the needle jab earlier in the day. It became clear to us that we needed to let him go as soon as possible while he wasn't in noticeable pain rather than get into a situation where he was suffering unnecessarily. To keep Charlie alive in that condition would have been selfish.
I called the vet's office this morning when they opened and took their first available appointment for 1:30 this afternoon. It gave us time to sit with Charlie and just be in his presence, giving him ear rubs and hugs and telling him how much we loved him. There were a lot of tears. So many tears.
Putting down any of our pups is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I paid over the phone earlier in the day, not wanting to try and contain my emotions at the desk when we brought him in. My voice kept breaking up as I gave the woman on the other end my credit card information.
We made a slow drive to the vet's office in Farmington with Charlie in my lap, as that's where he always liked to sit when he rode with us; sitting up at times while trying to look over the steering wheel when he wasn't trying to find a comfortable position in which to lay. His bloated belly made it difficult for him. I wanted to time our arrival so we didn't have to spend any more time than necessary waiting to be seen. The vet's office always made Charlie nervous.
The doctor was prompt in seeing us and after some small conversation, she administered a sedative to Charlie, saying she would be back in a few minutes. We spent that time petting him and telling him how much we loved him. Charlie was mostly sleeping when she returned 5 minutes later to administer the shot that would take him from us. I tried to suppress my tears but it was pointless. Tammy was leaning against my right side as I held him in my arms while we waited for his life to slip from him. Doctor Jenny checked for a heartbeat, taking her time to be certain before telling us he was gone. I could feel some small tremor-like vibrations from his legs but she told me that it was normal and assured me that he was gone. It was 1:40. She helped us place him on a blanket on the metal table and then left the room so we could be alone with him. I read recently that when a person dies, those present should remain and not be in a hurry to leave their loved one—that their spirit is in a transition phase and they're still with you. If that was true for Charlie, I wanted us to remain there for him as he transitioned to his next life. We stroked him and kissed his lifeless, limp body, whispering our love to him and thanking him for being such a good pup and being a part of our family. Again, lots of tears.
We made our way to the door but I had to go back for one last kiss on his head.
I made eye contact with the receptionist as we were exiting the room on our way out of the building. She could see we'd both been crying and gave us a sympathetic look. I got to our car and texted Rachel, "Charlie is gone." It was all so emotional and painful. We loved our little boy with all of our hearts and feeling that deep pain was appropriate and not something I felt the need to suppress. It was 7 years to the day that we'd made the same drive to have Allie euthanized.
Saturday Morning
Toby wasn't at all keen on having Charlie around (he would eventually warm up to him but not in a playful kind of way) but Allie enjoyed his company and the two of them would play together quite a lot. I had actually found a friend at work who was going to take Charlie off our hands but when it came time for me to follow through, I backed out. I couldn't let that little rascal go. He was such a dickens—Charles Dickens, as we'd sometimes refer to him. He was worming his way into my heart in a big way.
On one of our first walks that spring, Charlie found a Greenies (dental chew) at the bottom of someone's driveway and carried it in his mouth the rest of the walk, occasionally bumping into Toby with it as if to taunt him. He was so funny. He waited until he got home before devouring it.
Tammy and I took him to the Renaissance Festival in 2012 to show off his Charlie Horse costume that Tammy had made for him with a knight. He wasn't thrilled with it but he did get lots of attention for the hour or so that he wore it.
Often if I was preparing something to eat, Charlie would be at my feet with his front paws on one of my feet to let me know he was there in case I felt generous and wanted to give him a small bite to eat. How could I ever say no? (See photo.)
He loved the dog park and being able to run to his heart's content—always looking back to make sure we were keeping up with him.
I loved taking him on walks and letting him lead the way. He had his routine of places to stop and sniff before leaving his calling card. He would often have a bounce to his step and I would get comments from other walkers that he had a happy walk; I actually had a neighbor make that exact comment to me last week. I had no way of knowing last Sunday that our walk that afternoon would be our final walk together. I rarely took videos of him out on a walk (photos, yes, but videos, not so much) but that day I decided to. God, I miss this little guy.
We're two days removed from losing him and the wound is still so fresh. His routines were my routines. I instinctively thought to freshen the water in his drinking bowl this morning before instantly realizing he was gone. I'm so easily brought to tears at the thought of him no longer here in his usual places around our home—sitting on the ottoman between my legs, sleeping securely by the warmth of the fireplace. I never imagined just a few days ago that he'd be gone so soon.
Tammy came downstairs this morning and saw me sitting in the chair by the fireplace without Charlie. She burst into tears. We made a trip up to Excelsior this afternoon to get out of the house and the sadness we've been consumed by but all the while I was thinking of our little guy and missing him. In the back of my mind, I was still thinking that we should hurry home to be with Charlie. I never liked to leave him alone for long in his senior years with his limited vision and diminished hearing.
Sunday Morning
It was nice to get together with friends last night and get our thoughts away from the sadness we've been feeling. But coming home afterward, it still evoked emotions as Charlie wasn't there to greet us as he always had been for the last 15 years. It's going to take some time before that coldness diminishes.
I recall driving home from work late on a Sunday night close to 30 years ago and listening to someone on the radio. He had just lost his faithful companion, his dog, after a life well lived. His voice was breaking up as he eulogized his pup and my heart went out to him. It struck me that you don't normally hear someone take time on a national radio program to talk about their departed pet in such a way. I admired him because it speaks to the strength of the bonds we have with our pets—at least for some of us.
For Tammy and me, this is the close of a chapter in our lives as the last of our little loves leaves us. I spent several hours yesterday and a few more today going through my Google Photos collection and making an album of photos of Allie, Toby, and Charlie. It's nowhere near complete but it's a start. I'll keep adding to it over the next few days. It was bittersweet looking back and I broke down several times. What I wouldn't give to do it all over again—to live with our pups and their unconditional love for eternity.
For the past 20 years, we've always had a pup or three to come home to. This isn't going to be an easy transition but that's as it should be. Our plan was to not get another dog but to occasionally provide respite care for people who are fostering dogs and need a break for a few days. That's been our plan for years but I sense a strong desire from Tammy to bring another little furry love into our home. I'm not opposed to that but I would like to take some time before we do, and if we do, I would like to consider adopting a senior dog that is languishing in a shelter with little chance of finding a forever home. I would love to be able to do that and give a pup in need another shot at life.
We shall see.
Dogs are the best!
Comments