Sometimes Euthanasia equals LOVE
Almost exactly a year after my husband died our dearly loved, old Labrador retriever began growing more and more feeble. She had the traditional "lab lumps" which hurt when touched. The vet said removal would probably kill her a lot sooner than the lumps would.
Bonnie Sue also became very arthritic...another aging Lab tendency. This was just before shots and other arthritis medication became used for dogs. I would have spent the money, and it is expensive, to have made her days more comfortable.
Only Bonnie became truly erratic. Always afraid of thunderstorms, she grew wild that last springtime and early summer. After dancing, jittering and crying, she would run upstairs and hide under what was once my husband's side of the bed. He had protected her-and yeah, she did love him best, but she loved me, too.
Only he wasn't there, and even when the thunderstorms and early tornado scares ended, Bonnie Sue just wasn't the same. It had been a few years since she'd had muscle strength enough to jump up and into the stock tank where she used to love cooling down. This summer she needed help getting into the kiddy wading pool I bought for her.
She began to forget things...like where her food and water dish were. I took her to the vet, of course, several times. He finally said, "I hate to tell you this, but she really has what I would call Doggy Alzheimer's."
They could try to treat it, and I bought the meds. They didn't help much. Soon Bonnie began wandering and could not find her way home. Especially near evening (when many elderly humans suffer from something called "Sundowners" and lose grip on reality along with the waning of the sun), Bonnie became so erratic that she had to be closely guarded. Neighbor children often felt sorry for her whining at the back gate to get out...and let her out. This began several months of my children, myself and my friends frequently went on "Bonnie" hunts, sometimes finding her in unsafe situations. Bonnie Sue no longer watched for cars.
One thing Bonnie remembered was the comfort of hiding beneath that bed upstairs where my late-husband had protected her. Only...even after I moved the bed downstairs and there was no bed there at all, Bonnie continued to climb those stairs and try to find it. Then her arthritic legs gave out and she began falling down the few stairs she could manage. I had to block out her last "haven" so that I could protect her.
Friends kept telling me, "It's time to put her to sleep." But even if she was mainly my husband's dog, I loved her dearly and just could not let her go, too. I tried to protect her, and I certainly loved her. She loved me, too. Those huge, liquid brown Lab eyes followed me everywhere I went. The eyes were so sad now, but they were loving eyes. I think she knew I'd care for her always.
One night when it was raining Bonnie got out of the dog door and into the fenced yard. I found her the next morning in a catatonic state...totally stiff, unmoving, but still breathing. She was so heavy and totally inert. I couldn't lift her. I had to call my son-in-law to help me get her in the back of his pick-up truck and on out to the vet's.
Bonnie had suffered a severe stroke. There was no hope of her regaining any motion, probably not even mental motion. I worried about that, though. What if she knew and hated being trapped inside a casing that was her body without any facilities whatsoever?
Then the vet said something that has stuck with me ever since. "We can end the suffering of our animals even if we cannot end the suffering of our human friends and relatives."
I don't believe in euthanasia for people. Too many options there for families to go down the slippery slope of "Aunt So-and-So really wouldn't want to live." When they really want Aunt's money or are just tired of her old-aged tantrums. But animals aren't quite the same. They trust us and love us and expect us to take better care of them than I now feel that I cared for Bonnie.
My own wish to hang on to Bonnie Sue put her through several months of dwindling abilities, arthritic pain and, toward the end, confusion. I should have had her put to sleep when it became apparent that the senility medication was not helping.
My son-in-law and my daughter (who took time off work when we called her) and I were with Bonnie to the end. It was a simple shot. A few minutes later that rigid, stroke-ridden body relaxed, and she was gone.
Twelve years later, I still miss Bonnie. I just wish I'd had the sense not to keep her alive for that least her last, dwindling four to six months. I didn't want to face another big loss. I was caring about myself, not my dog. Like my vet said, we can do things for animals that we cannot do for each other. Sometimes euthanasia is kindest for our loved animal friends.