Yesterday, I had Quigley, my canine companion of 13 years, put to sleep. A couple of years back, she had developed a tumor in her throat. The vet gave her about six months to live. Our plan was to help her live a good life for at least that time period. She had other plans. She stayed strong for close to 18 months before beginning to slow down about six months back. Still, she got around well and wasn't above snapping at our other dogs when they got into her business. She even tolerated the new puppy we adopted a month back.
I still remember the day I met her. I was working in the yard and my wife called to tell me about a cute puppy her friend had found. Needless to say, I was not excited about getting another dog. One was enough. But, being a dutiful husband, I went along to see her, if only to say no to keeping her. What I found was a tiny little thing that was so small she would fit in my shoe and I fell in love instantly. She had been walking by herself on the side of the road and, according to our vet, was already at least three months old. She was malnourished, full of worms, but still feisty. When we took her home, our four year old dog growled and snapped at her. Instead of pulling away, she bit her tail and didn't let go for the next year.
Two days ago, after arriving home from work, my wife told me Quigley just didn't seem right. When I checked on her, her neck was extremely swollen. The tumor had ruptured and was filling her with fluid. We called the vet, realizing that she was suffering and barely able to get around. We made her comfortable in our utility room and then took shifts just loving on her. Mine included a 2:30 am crying session along with my son. The next morning, we called the vet and set up a time to have her put to sleep.
It was the longest drive. We were all in tears and she seemed to know that something was up. As we sat with her in the examining room, we tried our best to stay composed. Not an easy task. I kept having second thoughts, but her labored and raspy breathing was confirmation it was time. The vet gave her a shot that caused her to begin to sleep and then came back shortly after and administered the euthanizing dose. It took less than a minute for her heart to stop. I was reminded of sitting by my father's bed, holding his hand as life support was removed. Honestly, I think this was harder.
After getting a paw imprint, we wrapped her in a blanket and drove her to our property in the woods. After finding a suitable spot directly across from our deer stand, we spent the next 30 minutes digging her grave. My wife sat in the truck holding her while my son and I dug through the roots and clay. I gently laid her body in the rectangular hole, covering her with a mixture of dirt and concrete to keep out any critters. At three feet down, I didn't expect any, but just in case. After we had covered her up, I realized that we buried her right in front of a tree with two trunks, making the spot impossible to miss. We can look right at the spot as we hunt this winter.
As I got up this morning, it hit me again that she was gone. Tears flowed as I realized I wouldn't be opening another can of her soft food. I fed the other dogs and cried as they ate, then spent time loving on them. I'm not sure whether they even know she is gone, but I like to think so.
Losing a beloved pet is like losing a member of the family. I have to give myself and my family time to grieve and heal, remembering the good times we had together.
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