Dear Darwin...

 Dear Darwin –

 

Yes, yes, I know you’re dead. And even if you weren’t you’re a dog and can’t read this anyway. But this is one of those “coping mechanisms” people use to deal with loss. I’m hoping it helps me sort through things with you. I’m already tearing up a bit so probably shouldn’t be writing this while I’m in the office. To be continued when I get home.

 

So about your last day, 3/12/24… When the day started I didn’t think that was going to be it for you. We had a vet appointment, you were to have surgery to remove some abscessed teeth you had. And as part of that get a better idea of what that bump on your nose was. So I dropped you off early that morning for the surgery, and Dr Williams called later that morning with the prognosis. She said you were handling the anesthetic very well and she didn’t have concerns there. But that bump was a tumor, and it was eating away the bone of your upper mandible. It was the cause of the tooth you’d had fall out, and there were several other loose teeth ready to fall out. It was also why you gums kept bleeding and why they wouldn’t heal, the tumor was causing the flesh to turn necrotic.

 

Dr. Williams said she could proceed with the extraction of the loose teeth but couldn’t guarantee how well the gums would heal even with sutures. I told her not to proceed. We talked more about the tumor and what that meant. Treatment wasn’t really feasible, or even possible. I asked he about time left, and she said something about “probably a matter of weeks.” I told her to go ahead and suture up where your one tooth had already fallen out in hopes that would stop the bleeding, and that I would come and pick you up and bring you home.

 

I left the office on the verge of a complete sobbing breakdown. Thankfully Megan was there to help me get out. You never met her, but she was very kind that day and had heard all about you. She has an old dog of her own so we jokingly said we were an old dog support group for each other. On the drive home I was thinking about how I wanted to make sure you made it to your 15^th birthday. It seemed important and was only 5 days away. Plus I’d wanted to arrange to have the end at home because I know you hated the vet’s. And who can blame you?

 

But on the drive home I had a realization that it didn’t matter what I wanted, what mattered was what was best for you. The tumor wasn’t going to magically heal. It wasn’t going to get better. Your teeth were only going to get worse. It was already difficult for you to eat, and your gums were bleeding every time you did. And that blood was clotting causing you to cough up blood ever couple days. That was only going to get worse.

 

If I brought you home, then what? Just wait for it to get so bad I had no choice? Make you suffer cause I couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go? I didn’t want you to have to go through that just because I didn’t want to make that decision right then. I didn’t want to make you wait for relief. I didn’t want to make an appointment for someone to come to the house and just wait for them to arrive in a few days.

 

Then I’d thought about the previous weekend. I realized you’d done almost all the things I would’ve wanted you to do.  On Saturday you got to bark at the mailman, which you hadn’t done in awhile cause it was hard for you to look out the window. On Sunday we went for a walk. Not far, you wore out so easily, but your ears were perked up and you were still looking around. Curious to check out the world around you. We even got to play with the ball in the backyard, which you hadn’t done for a while. The new pain meds for your arthritis were working. Granted, you didn’t fetch anymore, just ran to the ball and waited for me to come over and kick it again. And you’d chase it again. You were still jumping into the tub after your Kong. On Sunday I made you your usual dogfood omelet. On top of all that your ear infection had been treated/cleared up and you had a LOT of peanut butter in the prior weeks. I made sure of that.

 

Sure, a list of simple things really. But you seemed to enjoy them all. I just wish I’d taken you down to the basement one last time. Every morning when we’d come in from your first trip outside you always wanted to go down and check. You’d walk around the perimeter, sniffing everything, deeming it safe from murderous mailmen (or whatever threat you were looking for) and we’d head upstairs for breakfast. But you hadn’t been down there in a while, I just didn’t trust you to get down the stairs without falling. So I wish I’d taken you down there that morning.

 

I decided I wasn’t going to bring you home. I got home and called your grandma and asked them to come over. I could barely get it out, sobbing on the phone, I think I freaked mom out a bit. She and dad came over and I waited for Dr. Williams to call. She did a little while later to let me know you’d come out of surgery and were ready to be picked up. I let her know the change in plans, that I’d decided not to bring you home that day. I asked so what’s next, and she gave me an overview. I don’t really know what she said to be honest, but I said I’d be up in about 30 minutes or so. Dad drove and we headed up.

 

We talked a lot about you in the car ride of course. Remembering things you’d done, what a great dog you’d been. We arrived and they took us into the room where you were. You were laying on the floor, very still. One of the vet assistants was sitting with you so you wouldn’t be alone. I appreciated that, thought it was nice of her. I kind of just expected you to lie there – you’d just come out of surgery after all - but when I came in you immediately got up. Excited to see me. You walked up to the closed door, signaling you were ready to leave. It killed me. I just wanted to open the door and get you out of there. You seemed FINE. (You little jerk, you seemed fine!!!) You know, other than the big bump on your nose from the tumor growing there.

 

This is how clueless I was about it. When I’d taken you in a few weeks earlier, I had a list saved on my phone of things to ask the vet about. “Lump on his nose?” was number 8 on that list. I’d noticed it maybe a month earlier, I didn’t think at first it was a lump thought your skin was just kind of wrinkled or loose. Old age ya know. But it was much worse than that obviously.

 

I got down on the floor with you, petting you, saying no we can’t go (even though you were deaf). Grandma and grandpa were there too. Dr Williams came in and she kneeled down on the floor too. She explained what was going to happen. One shot to sedate you. Then a second to stop your heart. She assured me once sedated you wouldn’t feel anything. You snarled as the assistant held you so the vet could sedate you, I said “good boy,” fight until the end. You quickly fell asleep, laying on the floor front legs out, head resting on one of them. Dr Williams asked if I was ready, I nodded, and she gave you the second shot. I kept my hand on your back, stroking you, clutching your fur repeating “I’m so sorry buddy” and then I asked if you were gone. Dr Williams put her stethoscope on your side and said you were. You were gone.

 

Nearly 15 years you were my near constant companion and in barely a minute that was over. They left us with you for a while. I don’t know how long, probably just a few minutes. I took your collar off to keep that. We eventually got up and walked out of the room. I looked back before closing the door. You looked like you were just sleeping peacefully on the floor. Just sleeping…

 

That was three weeks ago now. Seems longer. I’ve thought a lot about it obviously. I’ve come to the conclusion it was right. The time was right. Had I brought you home, you would’ve have just continued to decline, gotten worse, probably stopped eating due to the pain. The tumor kind of made the decision for me. Could you have “made it” a few more days, weeks, maybe even a month? Sure. But I didn’t think it’d be easy for you, you would’ve have declined quickly probably. It still broke my heart to do it. I hope you can understand that buddy. I still miss you terribly.

 

For the first few days after I continued to “take you out” in the morning and at night before bed. I’d stand just inside the gate for a few minutes, thinking about you. Sometimes I’d talk to you. Orion was still visible in the night sky. I’ll always associate that constellation with you I think, it was always straight ahead when I’d take you out before bed for a few months in winter. I even took you on a walk. Well, I carried your collar around the neighborhood. I’ve been finding it hard to sleep since too. I know you were never a sleep in bed kind of dog (you always seemed to prefer the hardwood floor next to the bed) but I guess I could sense you weren’t there, and it’s kept me up.

 

I still look over expecting to see you laying on the floor near me. Less often now, but still do sometimes. I was carefully opening the front door when I’d get home for a while too cause of how you’d taken to sleeping against it. I assume you slept there so you’d know when I got home since you couldn’t hear me come in anymore, and you didn’t sleep in that spot if I was home. Heck, for several days after I’d suddenly realize I hadn’t seen you in a while and would think “Crap! I left the dog out!”

 

I cleaned up a few things right away. Picked up your food and water bowls. Collected your toys. I set your most prized possession, your Kong, next to your photo on the bookshelf, along with your collar. I left your bed on the floor in the living room for more than a week, I just couldn’t bring myself to move it. Eventually I did, tossed it out actually. You know, it was old and probably should’ve been replaced. Sorry about that.

 

I still think about you every day. Every hour, every minute really. It’s impossible not to, the house is nothing but memories of you. You lived here almost as long as I have after all. Now those memories are more likely to bring a smile than a tear, though I still tear up often enough too. Multiple times while writing this. I’ll always miss you. You were my weird little guy. I wish I believed in that whole rainbow bridge thing, in an afterlife where we’ll be reunited. I don’t. (Would love to be wrong about that though.) You’re still with me though. Thank you for being the best dog ever.