My baby, sleep well.

For the last two weeks, Lucky has been getting weaker.  We watched as his appetite waned and then was gone altogether.  We watched as his body rapidly shrank and withered.  We watched as he struggled to walk only a few steps.

I came home Friday and he could no longer stand on his own.

I called Kas and told her that we were giving him until Sunday, then we would end his suffering.  Kas has access to Euthanasia, mercifully.
Howard and I spent the weekend cuddling and loving him.  I gave him a talk on Friday night telling him he could go.  To please not hang on for my sake.  We spent hours gazing into each others eyes.  I would walk around the house just carrying him in my arms.

We prayed he would just “go to sleep” on his own.  That he would pass peacefully tucked between me and Howard.

He always was a stubborn boy.

With a heavy heart, Howard and I prepared for his departure this morning.  Kas came over, gave him liquid Valium to relax him,  then she took Pepper outside and left Lucky with me and Howard.  We put him between us and kissed him, cuddled him, and told him goodbye.  Kas came back in with Pepper and he jumped between us and sniffed and kissed Lucky too.

When Lucky was clearly relaxed, I carried him to the kitchen.  We’d prepared my pillow (that he loves to sleep and drool on) and covered it with peri-pads in case there were any accidents.

I held him while Howard shaved his foot so that Kas could clearly see the vein, and I gently laid him down.  I sat at his head, looked into his eyes and burst into tears.  Howard asked me to stop crying because he and I made a pact that we would not let Lucky see us upset.  Lucky’s glazed over eyes reassured me that he was in no pain at all.  I sucked it up and told Kas I was okay.   Kas hesitated and then inject the serum.

It was the most peaceful thing I’ve ever witnessed.  I’d imagined awful things in my head like his struggling, his seizing up, his flinching at the very least.  But there was nothing.  I placed my hand on his chest and felt nothing.  Howard pulled me into his arms and we stood there with our arms wrapped around each other as Kas listened to his heart with her stethoscope.  I heard his last tiny breath expel.  Kas removed the stethoscope from her ears, and told us she’d never witnessed a more peaceful passing.

I lost it then.  My knees buckled.  Howard had to hold me up.  I went to my precious boy and covered his head with kisses and closed his eyes.  I cried and cried.  Howard sat down and tears came to his eyes.  Howard is more of a quiet cryer.  I sat in his lap and held his head.  Kas gave us both hugs and made a quick exit.  She was dreading it as much as we were.

And so we say goodbye to my sweet boy.  My Lucky dog.  My constant companion who was fiercely devoted to me and I to him.  He’s been with me since I was 18 years old.  His silky fur soaked up a lot of tears, his bat ears heard lots of laughter, his big bug eyes witnessed the good, the bad, and the ugly times in my life thus far.  And yet, his love never waivered.

I am heartbroken.  I am devastated.  There will never be another dog like him.

One Response

  1. Jen Says:

    I feel your pain honey.
    We are blessed that Taz and Lucky had peaceful passings.
    I love ya,
    Jen

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