Time for Goodbyes

There is an arising, a persisting and then an ending…

picture of Max, by author

For fourteen years Max has been an endless joy.

There was a time back not so long ago when the passing of the family canine wasn’t so big a deal. After all, they’re just dogs, right?

If I had a wish it would be that our fellow dog family members could live lives as long as ours.

Over time, an added awareness of the culture seems to have evolved. We are slowly learning the true significance of our beloved family dog member. The hope is that we as a culture will regard the passing of our best friends with the importance and meaningfulness so richly deserved.

We are, if slowly, recognizing that our dog family members offer pristine examples of deep loyalty, unconditional love, never waning enthusiasm, endless inspiration, examples of equanimity, true friends and valued family members, on and on. We owe them more than words can convey.

Best to leave it to the language of the heart.

We are getting better. I see it. But we still have so much progress to make.

My oldest son suggested we try to program the day and hour for when we might send off our 14-year-old beagle, Max. He recently had to let go of his beloved Steven, his wonderful rat terrier. There wasn’t a day my son wouldn’t head to work in his pickup, accompanied by his best friend. Ash built a small stand next to him in the front to accommodate Steven.

Stevens’s constantly darting eyes had the perpetual look of endearing apprehension as if showing his willingness to ‘capture the damn prey…’

When coming down the street, it was heartwarming to see my son and next to him little Steven with his perky head and two pointed ears. Steve arrived home as enthused as he’d been at the day’s start ten hours before.

We’ve programmed with our very good vet so that he will come to the house tomorrow. The clinic has always stirred up Max’s nerves. Even though the staff at the vets knew Max well and welcomed him as if an old friend, there was always stress. ‘What are they going to poke me with today? What awful crap are they going to shove down my throat this time? Oh god, not another bath!’.

Lately the frequency of visits has gone through the roof.

Max has, amongst other maladies, an awful thing called papilloma. A grey, white cauliflower like growth around his lips and in his mouth and down his throat. The strain he has is resistant to everything the vet throws at him. Our vet has operated on Max many times, removing the growth making it possible to continue living and eating. The vet told us he could no longer operate for several reasons. It then became a waiting game.

Lately a rear end left flank tumor has become visible. After he started losing weight, the tumor became clear, and no doubt has added to his discomfort. The skin rash he developed during our time in Panama has been hell in his brief life. Panama, its humid, subtropics a virtual petri dish for all things terrible. Though manageable, he’s dealt with his skin bleeding, slowly, marking red all over the house.

He hates the cone we have to force on him when he can’t control the maddening itch. Vets in Panama had many theories trying to identify what the bug in his beautiful tricolor pelt was.

None ever really got it right.

For several years now Max has been on Apoquell, an extremely expensive pill that helps to control the painful condition so he can sleep some at night. Now, with the seemingly sudden onset of aging and the infirmity, this has caused Max to go downhill fast.

I mentioned my misgivings to my oldest son, but he quickly reminded me just how lucky our animal friends are in that euthanasia for them is legal. He stressed that, in fact, this is a gift and something to be thankful for. He’s right, of course.

An added concern for me, and I told Ash, is the idea of imposing me and my wife’s decision to put Max asleep. In other words, what right do we have to put an animal down before its natural time? Won’t he potentially be missing some precious final moments by sending him off before his life runs its course? Ash quickly dismissed this thinking by sweeping that sentiment aside, repeating how lucky our beloved pets are that they can go this way. He is again, right.

Max will leave us before the pain and agony of death really start. Even though he’s already miserable. This morning I called out to my wife to come see him trying to climb the stairs. His condition is literally degenerating hourly, it seems. His amazing effort at crawling up the stairs, besides being inspirational in the face of incredible discomfort, stole my heart.

It was as though each step was like a push up after having already run out of steam. The sheer will to get to the top so evident. Today, this morning, he couldn’t. I had to pick him up and carry him up. Even picking him up causes pressure against his little chest and belly, which causes pain. He turns his head as though signaling me he wants to bite me because of the pain.

His sad beagle face is impossibly even more heartrending. It’s as though all the pain he must feel is expressed through those classically sad eyes so beloved by beagle lovers.

Even his happy cry is now just a rattling whisper. My 24-year-old Johnny says ‘Walk, walk’ his signal to go for a stroll, and Max used to jump with joy and launched into his inimitable joy. His loud beagle moan filled the house with glee. No more. It’s all he can do to exit the gate for a five-minute, painful walk.

Six months ago, a red patch appeared in the middle of his chest. The vet immediately attacked this latest of maladies with creams, injections, antibiotics, painkillers. Johnny and Pablo, our other twenty something year old, ‘cure’ Max every night. A bloody ritual where they lay him out on his back and scrub the red, raw patch which has now grown to cover his entire underbelly taking in his genitals.

His four stubbly and misshapen legs up in the air, covered with bloody scabs, gnarled over as if old, resin oozing tree bark. His toes have solidified into four, unsightly clubs because of this latest growth. His soft moan and halfhearted growl tell us he’s in pain as Johnny sweeps over his body with oxygenated water and special medicated soap as he tries to bring him a measure of peace. No medication seems to make a difference.

I try to imagine what it must feel like putting weight on my feet were they to morph onto grotesque inflexible mallets. It tells me Max has incredible strength and endurance.

Imagine hamburger meat that doesn’t scab over. In fact, his entire belly and chest are shiny with blood. When I pick him up, it coats my arms a dark red.

We have decided that Max will be our last dog family member. We are no longer young. Our last two boys will leave the nest soon. Johanna and I will do more road travelling. Bottom line is we do not want to experience the deep pain of losing another beloved family member. Max isn’t our first, Coco, another beagle in Panama we had to put asleep.

Ash, my eldest in Seattle, found another rat terrier, Nigel. The name says it all, an incredibly exact copy of Steven. Ash told me last night that unlike Steven, who could hold Ash’s direct gaze for minutes without flinching, Nigel won’t. Each is different. They set off together every morning.

In the end, we have hoped to let Max live as long as possible but avoid the end-of-life agony. I remember another dog who lost the use of his back legs and was stricken with some unknown pain. His crying all night is something I still carry. We want to avoid Max this suffering.

As a family, we will let him go softly and peacefully into the warm and gentle final sleep.