His health issues had reached the point where keeping him alive was only prolonging his suffering, and there was no getting better at that point. Among other things, Finn was functionally blind, was having trouble controlling his bladder, couldn’t get on the bed or the couch anymore, couldn’t climb up the stairs anymore, could barely climb down the stairs, had to eat a special diet (if he was eating), and – which made him have to go to the vet – he was walking sideways. And he wasn’t coming to the back door when I got home from work or when Stacie and I would go somewhere. Little dog was sick.
We took him in to get him looked at and the vet said there was nothing that she could do because in addition to his ongoing concerns – he was essentially terminal for the last three years – he had probably had a stroke or two pretty recently.
I don’t think she was expecting our response. Howls of laughter from both Stacie and I, and I said “join the club!” Stacie had to explain to the vet that I had just had a pretty major stroke in October. The vet was aghast and started apologizing, but we told her it was OK – she didn’t know, and I hide it pretty well except when I don’t. It isn’t like I’m paralyzed, I just suddenly can’t talk or write, especially when I’m tired. Thank Elvis for spell-check on my cogitator and autocorrect on my phone.
She said there was really nothing that could be done at that point. Between his existing problems (which he had hit the wall on recently) and the stroke(s), he didn’t have much quality of life left, and wasn’t going to get any better. Which we had suspected. He was falling apart, and couldn’t hide it. And he was clearly suffering.
The vet recommended euthanasia. Which was what we were leaning toward even before she mentioned it. We had had the discussion about whether he had any real quality of life, if he was suffering, and other things. Honestly, we were hoping he would just die in his sleep. Hearing the vet say it was just confirmation.
So we did it. The doctor brought out Finn wrapped in a blanket stoned out of his mind on the dog equivalent of dilaudid (according to the nurse), Stacie held him, we talked to him and pet him for a while, and then the vet gave him the shot. It was literally like he just went to sleep.
A week or so later we got his ashes back in a little laser-cut coffin, along with a card from the staff at the vet’s office and his pawprints cast in plaster. Chewy sent a card and some flowers too.
He was a special little dog. Whenever I was released from the hostibule he was the first to come running when I came in. He would hang around in my office while I worked on Monkey Business, and I shared my meat and chips with him. Every night he would curl up in bed with us.
I loved that dog. I’m going to miss him, but we had to do it.