Toby’s Last Day
I wrote this in my journal almost a month ago. Before then, it never really occurred to me just how devastating it could be to lose a family pet. I was so grateful for how kind people were to us. I share this so that maybe someone else will know just how much it hurts and offer kindness when it happens to someone in their life.
November 12, 2015
Our journey with our family dog ended tonight at 6:09pm.
He had been sick for over a week. He had stopped eating and then stopped drinking water. The vet ran tests and tried an antibiotic, but deep down I knew this day was coming quickly.
My wife and I talked on the phone during my lunch break and we decided the time had come to help our friend. I would take him to the vet one last time when I got home.
We agreed to tell our kids so they could spend the afternoon loving on him. I remember growing up when our family pets died. I felt closure for the ones with which I knew the end was coming. I hurt much longer for the ones that I wasn’t prepared for. I hope we made the right choice by telling our kids so they could say goodbye, even though their first experience with death broke their hearts.
I drove home and found myself hoping that Toby would just pop up and be healthy when I got home. It was unrealistic, but I couldn’t stop thinking and hoping for it.
Of course, it didn’t happen.
Instead, I walked in to see my wife and children sobbing. They were all sitting on the ground circled around our pet. Crying, petting, saying goodbye, telling him he was a good boy, saying I love you. I didn’t fight back the tears but I did fight back the hard, sobbing crying I wanted to do.
I sat down with them. I held them and petted our dog. I didn’t want to say the time had come but I knew I had to. I asked if they wanted to say a prayer for Toby first. They did. So we held hands and thanked God for the ten years we had with Toby, for how much we loved him, for him protecting our family, and asked that God would give our dog peace and take away the pain. Then I said amen.
I got up, put a collar and leash on him, and grabbed a hand towel for me. My oldest daughter wailed and kept saying “No! No! No!” She wasn’t angry but helplessly pleading. It wasn’t even me or my wife she was pleading with, she was just pleading. We walked outside slowly. I didn’t want to leave them. I didn’t want to do this alone. But I’m the dad and I had to take care of my family. All of them. I had to protect my wife and my babies and not put them through watching what I was about to see. And I had to care for my Toby and make his pain go away. We all cried in the front yard and they said their last goodbye.
I got in the car and drove away as my family sobbed in front of our house. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. And I was about to do another one.
I was acutely aware that I was alone and taking our dog to the vet to help him die peacefully.
The office is nearby so we arrived in minutes. I walked in and couldn’t speak. They knew who I was so I didn’t have to. The vet and staff were incredibly compassionate and kept reassuring me this was the kindest act I could do for him at this point.
I’m so thankful for that kindness.
In the room I sat on the floor with Toby while we waited for his time to come. I kept petting him and kissing him, telling him that he was such a good boy. Telling him thank you for taking care of us for the past 10 years. Telling him I was so sorry that he had to go through his pain and that it had all come to this. Every now and then he would wag his tail ever so slightly and look at me. Those big, sweet Toby eyes.
They asked if I wanted to stay with him while it happened; I said yes. Then they took him back to shave his leg and put a catheter in his arm for the medicine. The vet said it would be very quick and was basically OD-ing on anesthetic, which meant there would be no pain. I don’t know if this is true, but I don’t want to know if it isn’t. When he came back, the vet set Toby on a blanket on the counter. It was red flannel with little black and white dogs on it. He gave me another moment to pet him and tell him how much I love him. I told him I was sorry and again the vet was so gentle telling me this was the kindest thing we could do at this point in his journey. I lifted my dog’s head to look in his eyes and told him that he was a good boy and that I loved him.
Then I nodded to the vet to say I was ready.
He began the injection and I kept repeating over and over how he was a good boy and how much I loved him. His head started to droop and I kissed it one more time to say goodbye. Then it fell softly on the counter and he was gone.
His body was still. It was 6:09pm.
It had happened so fast the drug wasn’t even fully injected. I let out a loud, hard cry and buried my face in the towel I brought for just this moment. I brought it to muffle that sound I knew I’d make. I wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of them, but I hate how awful that sound is. How hopeless it is. How deep of a pain it is. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold it back. And I didn’t.
The labored breathing of the past week was gone. The light wagging of his tail when I said his name had stopped. His body was still there but Toby wasn’t.
The nurse who had come in with the vet left the room. The vet was compassionate and told me again how kind this treatment was. He assured me that when a dog goes that quick, before the medicine is even fully injected, that his body was truly weak and ready to be set free. Again, I don’t know if this is true or just kindness offered to a sobbing man, but I chose to believe it. Then he shook my hand and said I could stay as long as I needed.
I felt like a lost little child and wanted to hug this grandfatherly man. I didn’t. Instead I let him leave the room and then sobbed some more as tears fell on my dog’s body. I just held my poor Toby and kept petting him. I tried to close his eyes a few times but only succeeded in making them look sleepy. I don’t know why I did that but it just seemed appropriate. Eyes don’t close as easily as the movies would have you believe. At least, not a dog’s eyes.
After a few minutes I calmed down. I told Toby I would be back for him in the morning to bring him home. I just needed to prepare a place for him first. Then I left the room, paid, and walked out the door. I cried again with my head leaning against my car’s roof.
I couldn’t bear the thought of him being cremated with a bunch of other animals he didn’t know. I’m not judging anyone who chooses that but I wanted to know where he would be. So later that night my brother-in-law helped me dig a big, deep hole in the corner of our yard. I picked that corner because Toby was always chasing some invisible squirrel up the trees over there.
In the morning I’ll go get his body and lay it to rest one last time. My wife, my children, and I will have a funeral in the backyard and say our last goodbyes. It’s really for closure for us. Toby is gone.
He is at peace and no longer in pain.
Thank you to all the people who checked on us, brought muffins, sent cards and books. We were overwhelmed by how kind and loving the people around us were. I will return the favor by doing so for others going forward!
