I told the folks on Twitter about our decision to euthanise Casey right after I hung up from the Vet. Something about typing an event makes it more grounded in my mind–a life lived on the keyboard, I reckon.
We’ll be taking him in on Saturday morning Friday evening. We’ve decided to leave him there and not be with him for the injection. I had always thought–until I read about the procedure’s nuts and bolts–that I’d hold my animal children as they passed away. However having read that they tend to groan, urinate and defecate as their muscles relax I decided that those dreams would haunt me forever and I couldn’t let that be my last memory. We’ve also decided to have him individually cremated so we can receive the ashes and sprinkle them under the weeping willow tree where he spent all his time (and once got sprayed by a skunk).
The call to the vet’s office where I discussed all this was quite possibly the grisliest conversation I’ve ever had with another human being. Not the vet’s fault–they were kind, understand and professional. I guess I’m just not accustomed to talking about what to do with earthly remains, etc.
In some ways the decision was a hard one to make, but I’ll be honest–I’m kind of relieved. I’ve known for 9 years this moment was coming, and now that it’s here I know it’s time. Casey has declined so rapidly that you can almost see him wasting away before your very eyes. By the time we made the decision this evening–8 hours after we left our vet with bottles of narcotic palliatives (for the dog) he was able to do little more than lift his head, whimper and cry. And that’s with a full load coursing through his system. There is no kindness in prolonging this.
As I told him an hour ago–there are many kinds of okay, and soon you will be the best kind of okay there is.
Adversarius ultimus quod vincetur mors est
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well
He looks like a good dog.
OMG. I am so so sorry to hear this. For me, putting Jake down was the hardest thing I ever did, I have still haven’t recovered.
I’m still on antidepressants from it. But, in my heart I know it was the right thing to do, just like you know in your heart it’s the right thing to do.
I know how much your “kids” mean to you, and my heart goes out to you.
Please be prepared to go through all the phases of grief. I wasn’t, and it’s really taken it’s toll.
I assume you’ve seen the poem the Rainbow Bridge, but I’m going to look for it and post it for you over here.
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….
Author unknown…
Thanks, Sharon, for posting that. I’ve seen it around but never wanted to read it because I didn’t want to think of the implications. Now that they’re here, well, it’s good to read about them.
I thought of you and Jake today when we made our decision. I knew then, but was reminded again today, of just how hard it was for you. I’m sorry you’re still struggling. I imagine it’s a long road.
I wish I weren’t headed down it, but I’m glad to have understanding from folks as I do.
Kat,
I want to validate your decision on not being there. It can be horrific and you do not want your last memories tarnished with that image. I still get choked up thinking about it and it was last May when we had to put our dog down.
I’m so sorry about Casey.
I am a dog person and can’t imagine my life without them. When I saw your Twitter comment, my heart ached for you.
I know this is more than difficult and wanted to let you know I was thinking of you.
We sometimes love animals so much that we subject them to agonies to keep them with us — something we’d never do to another human being. It’s a painful decision to put them out of their pain, but it’s the caring and generous one. I feel for you, and for Casey.
I am so sorry that you are having to go through this and make these kinds of decisions. If there is anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.
Oh, Kat…I am so very, very sorry.
Kat~ I’m so so so so sorry to hear about Casey. I certainly understand what your going through and the toll such choices can take on you. My heart just aches for you. Please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. If you need me, you know where I am.
There’s really nothing I can say but that I’m so sorry to hear this. I’ll be thinking about you.
Kat, I missed this on Twitter last night, somehow. I am so incredibly sorry to hear about Casey. Let me know if there is anything at all I can do for you.
I’m so sorry to hear about Casey.
For whatever it’s worth, I couldn’t be there when we did it either. It’s OK.
The whole family grieves along with all of you. You are in our prayers. Casey will be missed. No pet could have lived a better life, and no pet could be loved more.
God blessed you all with Casey, and He blessed Casey with you all.
And, as you certainly know, He is with you always.
There will be some serious puppy snorgling going on in Heaven tonight. The angels are already lining up (and possibly shoving each other to be first) to keep him busy and loved until you all see him again.
We’ll continue to pray for healing and comfort for you all. Kiss and hug each other, two- and four-legged alike, for us.
I’m very sorry to hear this. After losing our kitty two months ago, I know it won’t be easy … the quiet house after was extra hard (but our cat was really really loud). I’m thinking about you right now as you’re probably there with kind thoughts and sympathy.
I’m sorry for your loss and wish you solace in your grief.
I’m so sorry! I never knew I could love a dog as much as I love our Cooper and this breaks my heart. Thinking of you and Casey.
I’m so sorry about Casey! He was such a big sweetie.
Thinking of you, and of Quinn.
Ohhhh, I am so sad for you. This is such a hard thing to do but so good you recognize it is time to stop prolonging pain. I should have put my Cinder down long before I did. I couldn’t bear to let her go even though she was in incredible pain and was truly wasting away. She couldn’t even walk down the stairs to go out to pee. I tried to talk her into peeing in the house. I had just lost my daughter and birth and I couldn’t handle another loss. Cinder kept me going when I didn’t think I could go. All dogs go to heaven. Take care