The beginning of the end

Lance,

I hope you only remember the good times up in dog heaven. It was a year ago I made the decision to email our behavior vet. You had a couple of times where you attacked Lili and then we were in the car together and you were getting growly at me and everything told me you were going to bite me, but I moved so you only slightly grazed my arm when you tried biting me. I know it was the pain talking. I know this and that’s why I wanted to get you more pain medicine before we did your treatments.

I realize now I wasn’t being fair to you. I finished taking my companion animal end of life doula course…not that you need to know any of that…but one of the vets said something to me that I’ll never forget. And it hit me in my core. While talking about a pet’s final days, she said “hope is not a plan.” And I realized that was what I had done with you. I hoped you would magically get better. I hoped we would have years together. I hoped, hoped, hoped…but I couldn’t see what was really happening in front of me. You were in pain. I’m going to hope for you again and hope that you no longer feel pain in dog heaven and you get to be the dog you were not able to be here on earth.

But after the incident in the car, I went home and wrote an email to our behavior vet. I wanted pain medication to help you feel better. Instead, we had the talk that it was time to let you go. I was so torn, I’m still torn, even though I know it was the right thing to do. You were still so smiley, so loving, but you were in pain. And putting you through experimental procedures, knowing how difficult it was for you every time you went to the vet. I had to stop hoping and put what was best for you ahead of what I wanted.

I still selfishly ask myself what if I hadn’t written that email? What if we went through with our plans to get your blood work done on the 24th and procedures done in September? A year later and I still have complicated opposing feelings about all of this, but I know we made the best decision for you. To let you go. To have the opportunity many pet parents don’t get and to give you a wonderful send off. Food, food, and more food. To be able to say goodbye to those who were on your team. To have that final walk with you. To be able to sleep with you for two more weeks and give you hugs and kisses. Those are the things I should focus on.

You could never get close enough to us.

I love you and miss you,

Woman