This week, we offer ourselves the same supports we’re giving our old mate – comfort, reassurance, time – and as much deli meat as we’d like. Photo: Nick Burrows.
We must put our dog down this week.
I know every animal-lover’s heart dropped reading that.
Anyone who has been through this experience can attest it is deeply painful being present as your companion’s life ends. A pain compounded by the fact it was, ultimately, your decision to end it.
Our old mate is 16. A commendable innings.
Fortunately, he isn’t in pain, so we can “enjoy” our last few days together.
Roast chicken for breakfast. Shaved ham for lunch. Prosciutto and doggy Prozac dinner.
We’ve sat on the couch, drenched in the sunshine, savouring the gentle breeze and any aromas wafting our way.
At night, we’ll light the fire – whether it’s necessary or not – and move his bed into prime position.
I’ve taken off his collar.
Anything that makes him uncomfortable can go and everything he enjoys will be embraced.
As we wade through our last week together, I’m trying to use gratefulness as a crutch.
This is the price we pay for their companionship. And it’s steep, but not unreasonable.
As I prepare for my first week without him, I’m resolved to support myself as I have him.
I’m reassuring myself that I have always acted in his best interests – until the end.
It’s always struck me as a heavy responsibility that we – their human counterparts – routinely euthanise our companion animals to save them suffering, protect their dignity and ensure a peaceful end of life.
While a contentious issue for humans, no-one questions the practice of peacefully ending an animal’s life “when the time comes”.
The vet has assured me that my dog is not in pain – just exhausted, with energy supplies dwindling by the hour. Theoretically, I could let this run its natural course.
But I can’t guarantee that, when he falls asleep for the last time, I will be there with him.
What if I’m at work? Or home, but making lunchboxes or doing the dishwasher? What if he takes his leave while I’m on the loo? I can’t have that.
So, I must schedule his departure – for both of us.
As a working mother, I also have to schedule my grief.
Somewhere between the kids’ soccer, drama, gymnastics, swimming and homework and the grown ups’ deadlines, meetings, accounts and appointments.
When you’re running a household, absolutely everything needs space carved into the calendar. Even this.
Sadly, there’s only so long the dead dog dam will hold before life’s responsibilities come flooding out.
I was early 20s when my dog arrived in my life, with no responsibilities other than scraping together rent and the occasional university assignment.
He was my first dependent.
I can’t say I was particularly responsible, but he got what he needed and went with the flow. Maybe that is why he was such a mature and low-maintenance dog. He was practically raised by a Teen Mum.
The “me” he ended up with couldn’t be further from the one he started with.
At 40, life has become full of responsibility, rules and routines – which, sadly, increasingly limited our quality time together.
But old mate still got what he needed and continually went with the flow, happy with whatever I had left for him at the end of a long day, even just a head scratch and dinner scraps.
So, as we honour and grieve our friend, we will let our schedules slip and rules expire – not just for our last few days together, but afterwards too.
Because he was here before the schedule existed and our grief is more important than sticking to the calendar.
We will allow ourselves to avoid what feels uncomfortable and embrace what brings relief.
For our old mate.
Original Article published by Hayley Nicholls on Region Canberra.
