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We've decided it's time to send our dog over the rainbow bridge.
It's a hard decision when there isn't a serious disease like cancer or organ failure--situations where you don't really have a choice. A dog that grows really old is a dog that sometimes stays alive longer than it should because no one likes to play God. The right time to say goodbye is somewhere between patience and compassion. And compassion has arrived.
It serves him better now to go off on his next adventure, though it doesn't serve us at all. And that's the sweet spot. There is no guilt involved. Just love.
Buddy is sixteen years old (and a quarter), which is really remarkable. Poodles often live a long time. Buddy is an athlete--he could have been in the circus. It's been a long time since I've seen him run like the wind, or do tricks, or show an interest in toys or being cuddled. He is mostly blind and mostly deaf. His days consist of sleeping, eating and looking for his dad in the house.
Somewhere along the way, Buddy seemed to pick his person to carry him through old age, and it was no surprise to anyone that he picked my husband. They are best friends. My husband has lovingly cared for him in these last years, with vigilance and grace. I'm happy he's been away for work this week so I could have some time to connect with Buddy myself, boil him chicken, sleep next to him and say goodbye before his date with the vet.
Our friends across the lake just said goodbye to their dog Harry last week. Buddy and Harry were best friends. It was always interesting to me the way they bonded, since Buddy has always been indifferent to other dogs. But he'd see Harry and off they'd go, running circles around my friend's house as if they were racing at a track. We played the fans in the stands.
When they were too tired to run another step, they'd collapse near the water bowl together before rising up for the next round, or just to hang out on the deck. I hope he sees Harry first thing next week so they can run together again. That would make for a great first day wherever it is dogs go when they die.
We have vowed to be dog-less for the rest of our lives. We're getting too old to start all over. And the cost of pet care is exorbitant these days. Teeth cleaning is $1,000! Buddy had to stay the night at the vet's recently, and $2,000 later he came home, his life saved from a severe case of pancreatitis. None of us mind writing those checks, but it's not something we're eager to do in retirement. So we will put away the bowls and the lonely toys and the dog bed for good, I fear.
I'll tell you, for dog lovers, there is nothing better than having a dog. I've had people tell me lately they like them more than humans. To be loved so unconditionally for so long is such a gift. Loyalty and what it really means is made clear to us. Dogs are literally in our lives to give, to keep us company and comfort us. I hope Buddy felt how much we loved him back.
My daughter has two dogs, and she reminded me this morning they are her whole life. Since people tend to treat dogs better than they did when I was growing up, her dogs go to daycare a few days a week while she's working. On weekends, there are long walks by the ocean in Rhode Island. They're rushed to the vet at any sign of trouble. She openly loves them, gushes about them and is unembarrassed to explain how important they are to her.
It's a beautiful thing to love something other than a human--a dog, cat, cow. We learn something about reciprocity, about caring for something life has entrusted to us and that is at our mercy.
When Buddy was a puppy, he didn't much like his leash. So he'd just sit right down on the sidewalk and wouldn't budge. No amount of coaxing would get him to his feet, so he often did his business wherever he was camped. Eventually, he came around by watching other dogs trotting along with their owners.
I like to think he felt indignant about the leash. He was a pup who liked his freedom. He was a runner--a true little athlete--and he wasn't going to tolerate not living on his own terms. So we'd take him to the fields and let him go. We'd stand on the sidelines and marvel at him.
Next week, after his final day, I hope he runs again in heaven--no leash. Big field. My mom and Harry will be waiting for him, and one day, I know he'll wait for me.
It's nice to think I will see this chocolate fluff ball again.