In memory of Dusty the wonderdog (1993-2010)

Dusty was already a senior citizen when he came into my life. 

At the time, I was working in a veterinary clinic in Las Vegas and three Pekingese were dropped off for adoption.  The owner had passed away and nobody in the family wanted to take them.  Their names were Snowball, Prince and Dusty.  Although they weren't related, they looked similar because they only had one eye each.  To be completely accurate, Prince did have two eyes but only one was functional.  Clearly, the previous owner did not do a very good job at looking after their ocular health. 

I love the Pekingese breed.  They are gentle dogs who don't bark a lot.  They aren't demanding of your attention but they love it when they get it.  Although they are prone to eye problems, they are generally low maintenance in the health department.  They are cuddly and cute and they make a blissful snoring noise when they are in a deep sleep.  No, they aren't intelligent or obedient but that's fine with me; I don't want a dog that needs to be challenged.  And Pekes are okay with being who they are. 

Prince was adopted right away by one of our clients and after a week had passed without any offers on the other two, I decided to take them home.  I wasn't looking for two dogs but I just couldn't separate them.  Snowball was white, of course and Dusty was black but the differences weren't only in their colors.  Snowball was extremely affectionate and mischievous (forget about trying to get pills down his gullet) while Dusty was skittish and shy but polite.  The two of them got along great and I was blessed to have them. 

Several months later, a Peke was brought into the clinic to be euthanized.  He had been hit by a car and had a broken leg.  The owners couldn't afford to do anything and wanted him "put down".  As luck would have it, my receptionist recognized the Peke as Prince and after an extensive surgery, he came home with me and joined his brothers. 

Here they are posing.  To get this shot, it took A LOT effort but I finally managed to get it.  You may have heard the expression "like herding cats"?  The same expression could be used for Pekes. 

I no longer have Snowball or Prince.  Prince developed paralysis of his hind end due to back injuries that he sustained after his accident.  Snowball lived to nearly 15 years of age and was euthanized after developing a neurological issue that made him walk constantly in circles. 

They were incredible dogs and both of them were very well loved, by me and by the people who knew them. 

Dusty always had lots of energy.  He loved to run and play, even as the years crept up on him.  I had an old couch in my backyard (yes I know, it was ghetto) but he loved to jump on it and sit on the top. 

I would like to say that Dusty missed his brothers but I think the opposite was true.  After they were gone, Dusty became much more outgoing and affectionate.  Of course, he got ALL the attention which he didn't seem to mind one bit. 

As the years passed, Dusty developed a lot of health problems.  His kidneys started to fail, he developed a heart murmur, his discs in his back deteriorated and he grew a cataract in the only eye that he had.  I figured I didn't have much time with him so birthdays were a big celebration.  McDonald french fries were his favorite and he probably wondered why every day wasn't his big day.

For another birthday, I gave him a dog cake from Three Dog Bakery.  Not quite as good as the fries but still pretty good.  Or so he told me. 

When I took off four months for a sabbatical, I really didn't think Dusty was going to be in earthly form.  I was wrong.  He was quite content to sit in the backseat all the way from Los Angeles through to Savannah, Georgia.  He then flew with me up to Canada for another month and finally returned to California. 

By the time Dusty reached 16, he was a sleepy guy.  Still, life was pretty good. 

Dusty left me when he was 17 years and 8 months.  Like most owners with senior dogs, I knew the day was coming but I didn't know exactly when. 

Clients ask me all the time when "it's time".  I tell them to watch the quality of life.  Is the pet comfortable?  Does he still play?  Does he still get around well?  How well are we managing the diseases that may be causing him discomfort?  These are easy questions that I ask but the difficult answers I leave up to the clients.  With Dusty, I knew exactly what they felt like.  How in the heck do you really know when to say goodbye??

Dusty developed pancreatitis and he quickly declined.  I suppose he made it easier for me although I briefly thought that he still had one life to use up.  But in my heart, I knew.  I knew that it was "time" and I hope all my clients have that peaceful feeling when they know that there is only one thing left to do. 

Being a veterinarian, I could never take one of my pets to another veterinarian and have it euthanized.  I suppose I consider it a blessing that I can do it myself.  There is a private grief that I have to have.  A final private moment between myself and the dog that has given me so much love and laughter over the years. 

Dusty lay on my bed eating his McDonald's fries.  When he was done, he quietly, peacefully and happily went to sleep.     

Dusty, you're my buddy and I miss you so much. 

How to end a life

I’ve been a veterinarian for 16 years and I’m quite an effective killing machine. I have a 100% success rate which is far better than Dr. Kevorkian and probably better than most assassins. My method of choice is lethal injection. It’s quick and apparently painless although none of my victims are capable of telling me otherwise.

I remember the first time I saw an animal being put to sleep. It was a big old black lab that had some sort of terminal disease. He laid on the floor, not moving except for the occasional heavy breath. The technician asked me if I was going to be okay and I said “yes” even though I wasn’t sure how I was going to react. The doctor gave the injection and within seconds the whole body became very still. The eyes glazed over and I didn’t need a stethoscope to know that the heart had completely stopped. I didn’t cry. I wasn’t even sad. I was frozen. Numb. Life had passed into death and instead of the walls crumbling and sirens blaring, there wasn’t even as much as a whimper. Wasn’t the ending of a life supposed to be more than that?

Since that time, I have euthanized more animals than I care to remember. Mostly dogs and cats but also a long line of pocket pets and birds. The number one reason I do it is because the animal is suffering; cancer, organ failure, severe joint disease, severe trauma and in some cases “old age” which is a term to describe declining quality of life at home. With many of the pets, it is clear that euthanasia is the best thing to do. I try to comfort the owners telling them that their pet isn’t going to get better. I tell them that if he or she were my pet, I would be doing the same thing. I tell them that, thankfully, we can end the pain in a calm, dignified and humane manner. It’s very important to not let the owners feel any quilt. Not let them feel like they are playing God. I tell them that I am very sorry. I’ve been through it myself with my pets and I understand what they are going through. Saying goodbye to a pet is a heartbreaking painful process and if you have ever experienced it, you know exactly what I am talking about.

After the decision has been made to say goodbye, I tell the owners about the process. If they want to be present, I insist on putting in a catheter (which is a direct access to the vein) because it helps everything go smoothly. The last thing the owners want to see is their dying pet getting poked multiple times because the vet can’t find a vein. I also sedate the pet and let the owners visit for as long as they want. Then I anesthetize the pet and inject the fatal solution. I admit it. I hate doing this. It’s usually very emotional and I’ve had some people literally collapse in hysterics or run through the hallways crying “Oh my God, oh my God!” The grief can be profoundly deep and even though we have offered to drive some people home, no one has taken us up on the offer.

I don’t get used to it. I doubt if I ever will but I don’t always feel sad either because I am not acquainted with the pet or the owners have waited too long and the pet is clearly suffering. There have been many times that I have gotten upset; I’ve known the owners and their pet for a long time and I share in their sorrow. I’ve never wept in front of an owner but I have gotten glassy eyed (that’s as much as my male hormones allow) and I only hug clients if they hug me first or if they look like they really need it. After I check to make sure that the heart has stopped, I ask the owners if they would like more time with the deceased. Sometimes they take over an hour. Sometimes they can’t wait to get out of there. Everyone is different.

And inevitably, my next appointment is a new client with a happy new puppy. It takes considerable emotional gymnastics to go so quickly from an old death to a new life. It’s like being a mortician one moment and being asked to teach a Kindergarten class the next. It’s no wonder I come home some days and want to stare at walls. And drink. No, I don’t drink but some days I think I should.

I deal with this stuff almost every day so why am I writing about this now? My dear Dusty, my seventeen and a half year old Pekingese who has been with me for only half his life, is coming close to his end. He’s had multiple problems for a while now; his kidneys are failing, he’s blind, he circles and his little frail body is wasting away. There are a few reasons why I’m holding on. He loves to cuddle. He’s still eating. And well, to be completely honest, I just don’t want to say goodbye. I love it when I hold him. And he looks up at me with his one eye. And he snorts and he coos and does all those little things that pets do that endear you to them. If I were his veterinarian, I would be telling me that it’s alright. He had a great long life. You don’t want him to suffer, do you?

It’s never easy, even for a veterinarian who counsels people about death almost every working day. I think a lot of people take comfort in the fact that I am the one telling them it’s okay to say goodbye. It makes them feel as if the decision is out of their hands. But for me, for my pet, there isn’t anyone else who can make that decision for me. I am the decision maker and the executioner. I have had to do it three other times with three dogs; Chin, my Chow Chow, given to me as a present for getting into vet school and Prince and Snowball who were Dusty’s “brothers”. I prefer to be by myself when I do this. Mourning for me needs to be private. An inward, closed affair. Then it’s time to heal and let the memories linger.

I know it’s time. He’s been so tough. Far tougher than I am. I have to let him go. For his sake. I know he’s not going to curl up in a ball and drift away, making it easy. I tell people that it rarely happens this way. I think the pets want to hold on too. There will always be a part of him that stays behind. Is that comforting? I say that to ease the mind of my clients but somehow my magic doesn’t work on me. The magician can’t be fooled by his own tricks.

I miss him already and nothing can soothe this pain.

Dusty. 
xoxo