Losing a dog can be harder than losing a relative or friend

And I keep thinking that's how I want to go... not in a hospital, wasting money on last-ditch efforts. I want to be at home, surrounded by the people who love me, listening to them tell each other stories about me. And when it's time, I want a doctor to deliver a painless injection to stop my heart and let me go in peace.

There's something greatly fucked up about our society when we help our dogs die with more dignity than we do ourselves.

(fwiw, Rubucac died of hemangiosarcoma, a dog-specific cancer. It attacks the cells lining the inside of blood vessels, causing them to grow random, structurally deficient ways. It usually starts in the spleen, and spreads very quickly. The new blood vessels rupture, causing internal bleeding. By the time it is discovered (usually due to weakness from the bleeding, or often, the dog just dying right on the spot), it has already spread throughout the body due to circulation. Dogs only last a few weeks at best before they die of internal bleeding, heart attack, or stroke, and treatment options are invasive and largely ineffective. I'm glad humans don't get it.)

One aspect of the death of my dog that was very hard was that I had to make the decision to go ahead with euthanasia at the vet, because he could not longer get up and was in pain (he just lay on his side due to his extreme stage of cancer). That was hard, knowing that I made the decision to end his life at that moment, that haunted me and I wish he had just died by himself. That is hard, but it's the complexity of a human relationship and the critical feedback and love that we get from a human loved one that allows us to grow and learn and a big reason I think why I miss my human relatives more than my dog.

And he was such a good dog. "Obedient" doesn't do him justice: he actively tried to please us. He'd learn cues from us about our routines, and we'd train him without even realizing it. Like how he could lay in the bed with my Dad before my Mom came in and was ready to go to sleep, then she would nudge him off the bed. Within a month of this routine, he would just get off the bed on his own when he heard my Mom finish brushing her teeth, no matter how tired he was. And he had a special love for kittens, which we had in the house a lot because we provided foster care for cats, and he doted on them like a proud parent.

Rest in peace, boy

I've always just mimicked my dog's smile by opening my mouth wide. They seem to recognize and respond to that easier than an actual human smile, at least in absence of any vocal cues to work with.

In fact, the very last interaction I had with my previous dog was doing just that with the smile being instantly reciprocated, despite her severely labored breathing at the time.

>I remember making eye contact with Murphy moments before she took her last breath – she flashed me a look that was an endearing blend of confusion and the reassurance that everyone was ok because we were both by her side.

I had this exact same experience, up until whatever blue-colored fluid the vet injected my dog with seemingly hit the brain/CNS, causing her beautiful puppy dog eyes to suddenly flutter uncontrollably in the moment before death. The effect was rapid, but it had a certain unsettling violence to it that I didn't care for at all. God only knows what that shit felt like before it had fully perfused throughout the brain.

I suggest talking to your vet before any euthanasia and discussing exactly what they're going to use and how it works. If you have the money, opt for sedation that renders your pet gradually unconscious prior.

I grew up having both cat & dog. I was still a kid when they passed and I was gullible enough to believe my parents that they "got married and started their own families so they moved to their own houses".

A very touching comic (WARNING: extreme risk of tearing up): [1] http://anescapewithinthepages.tumblr.com/post/135364684513/c...

(apologies for the f-word on the URL)

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; And when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

More here: http://www.bartleby.com/364/335.html

In 2015 I had to euthanize my cat. He was the most dog-like cat I've ever met, which was amazing. The vet attempted to give me "one more weekend" by sending him home with relatively powerful pain medications so I could have two more days with him before having to say goodbye, but when I got home the pain medications were ineffective and he was in horrible pain. I walked him right back to the vet and went through the euthanasia process. It was easily the saddest I've ever been; I collapsed in the vet's office when they finally took him. They let me hold him the whole time, which, as a fiercly protective cat father, was the only thing I'd have allowed anyway.

Anyway, I'm really scared that I'll have to go through this or worse over the next few years. I don't know that I can handle it.

My brother, whose a burly, bearded car mechanic and tough as nails, was the one to break down. My sisters were the ones consoling him for once. The passing of that dog showed more emotion from my family than even my grandparents dying.

None of the grieving periods I've had after other deaths even comes close to the kind of grief I had after losing Milo. For a week straight, I couldn't get through a day without bursting into tears. A year later, we have a new puppy, but I still sometimes cry about Milo, and I am not someone who usually cries easily.

He was put down whilst I was spending a few months in America before university because he'd gone for my brother who, at the time was a little more than 18 months old. I was OK with it at the time; I understood why it was necessary, and I didn't miss him so much because I wasn't at home. That was 1995.

It was only later it hit me, in dribs and drabs of sorrow, and I still think about him today, and miss him quite regularly. I've never had a dog since because I always lived in rented accommodation where pets weren't allowed, and then when I did finally get my own place (planning to get a dog), I realised I still couldn't because I was out too many hours a day and there was nobody else to take care of it.

I still dream that one day I'll have a dog again, and be able to take care of it properly.

But about a year and a half ago we had to put an otherwise lovable, smart, super-trainable guy down for dangerous behavioral issues that just weren't going to get fixed. That devastated me. I always thought that with enough training, enough money spent, and the right environment that he'd come out of it. But after several years it was clear that he wouldn't. So for the safety of the community, and for our own safety as well, we put him down. I can't recall anything in my life that crushed me more. It's one thing to put down someone who's already on their way out. Quite another to execute your friend because you can't up with any other solution.

Granted, I may feel differently when the black day comes …

I am reminded of a column I read years ago about how people don't care much if an innocent man is killed by the police, but really care if a dog is. Human life is worth more; I'd hope that is self-evident.

My dog got cancer. We had to put her down. It wasn't easy. (The vet, in trying to be nice, made it worse. They sent us this sympathy card that had a dog on it that looked almost like ours. I just lost it when I saw that.)

But, you know, if you told me that someone in my household was going to get cancer and die, and I could get away with it being the dog, I'd take that in a heartbeat. It's not the same as my wife. It's not the same as one of my kids.

I knew a stray who was like a protective (but respectfully distant) shadow to another female dog. Then the female dog died.

I think I learned a thing or two about relationships from these two.

When I was 11 or 12 I had a dog that I really liked. I had raised her since she was a puppy, always gave her special treatment, and she followed me all over when I did my chores. Like just about every kid with their first dog though, I didn't do a good job of training her. She quickly developed bad habits -- she would jump up on people (knocking down kids), she would steal food from tables, and chase cats and chickens.

Dad let it slide because I really loved the dog, but as a compromise I had to keep her locked up in an old tool shed when we weren't home. One day she got out and killed just about every chicken we had... and a few cats. Dad told me to pick up all the half-chewed caucuses and throw them in the burn barrel -- there were about 50 dead chickens and 3 dead cats. And we'd been gone for probably 8-10 summer hours... the smell wasn't pleasant. It was clear that the dog had been killing for fun, she wasn't trying to eat these animals.

When I got done cleaning up the mess, Dad handed me a .45 and said, "Since it's your dog, you should be the one to take care of it." It was hard, I cried, and pleaded, promised to train her better... Dad wouldn't budge, "You know you can't fix this -- once she has a taste for killing, she'll do it again. Only a matter of time before she bites a person." I took the dog out for a walk around the place, gave her a bunch of meat scraps, and then, with Dad's help telling me where to aim, I shot her in the head. It was instantaneous. We buried her in the back yard.

The next day Dad said he heard one of the neighbors' dogs had puppies and wanted to know if I would like to go pick one out. I didn't want a new dog, I was still pretty shaken up. Dad pushed the issue, "Those puppies don't know about your last dog, and they need to be trained now. If they don't get adopted by someone with time to train them, then they'll just end up chasing cattle or killing chickens and getting shot. Who better to train them than you?"

That puppy I picked, a little Mutt Heeler, ended up being my best friend for over a decade (which is a very long time for a ranch dog). He learned over 50 commands, could work cattle, was even good at training other dogs... And when he got too old to work, he would still ride around in the pickup with us. Couldn't picture my life now without him in it. Dad had a strict "no dogs in the house" policy, and that dog was the only one who was allowed to break it.

On one hand, it's very sad to put a dog down. On the other, it's an opportunity to get a new dog. You're only going to have a finite number of dogs in your lifetime, there's no sense wasting time grieving. Did your old dog have a good life with lots of hikes and muddy feet and sloppy kisses? And do you have a lot of good memories? Great, then that dog accomplished his mission and he wouldn't want you to feel down. Who's to say you won't love the next dog just as much... or more?

There are a lot of dogs out there that need homes, and if you invest your time and affection you can turn just about any of them into an amazing companion.

* Jimmy Stewart Reads a Touching Poem About His Dog Beau on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show - YouTube || https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwGnCIdHQH0