Losing a Pet
This morning I took Eva to the vet for the last time. She would have been 17 in December.
She was such a small thing when she came into our lives. John used to carry her, and her litter sister Peanut, in his coat with him everywhere. The waistband of his coat was tight, while the rest of the coat was loose, so they when they weren’t poking their heads out through the open zipper, they would nestle down and go to sleep.
Eva was full of energy. She could run up and down the stairs of our home several times without tiring. Sometimes she would be “full of beans” according to John, and would run circuits around the living room and dining room furniture. When Leo was alive, it would turn into a race. She would sometimes run the same circuits around the backyard.
She became independent, but she wasn’t always. In the beginning, she would need to be with us, in the same room. She would follow John everywhere he went. Around two years old, she became comfortable being upstairs in her bed, or looking out the window. She would come when we called her, but she no longer needed to be attached to us.
She was our only dog for her first two years. When we moved into our current home we adopted Leo, a stray who showed up on our neighbor’s back porch late in December of 1998. He was with us for ten years, until he succumbed to liver tumors in 2008. For another three years, Eva was once again our only dog. Then in 2011, just as I was retiring from the Navy, we adopted a rescued dog who we named Joey.
Over the past few years, Eva had begun to slow down. She retired from circuit running. She didn’t bark as much. Earlier this year, her litter sister
Peanut died.
About a month ago, Eva developed an inner ear disease that made her walk in circles. Although unrelated to the chronic kidney failure robbed her of her quality of life, it did seem to herald the end.
We didn’t wait until it became unbearable. We did our best to keep her nourished, hydrated and comfortable. And we always loved her. But when she finally stopped eating, and the kidney failure was diagnosed, we didn’t want to prolong the inevitable.
The choice to let your pet die with dignity is one of the hardest choices to make. Back in 1999 or early 2000, I read a poem that stuck with me. I found a copy of it on a website called
petloss.com. It’s called The Last Battle.
The Last Battle
If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this — the last battle — can’t be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don’t let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn’t want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they’ll tend,
Only, stay with me till the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don’t grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We’ve been so close — we two — these years,
Don’t let your heart hold any tears.
– Unknown
I have found this listed as author unknown in a couple of places. If I ever find out who actually wrote it, I will add that information.
I know from having lost friends and loved ones in the past that even though each time it has seemed inconceivable, time does indeed heal. I know that we have done the best we could for Eva. In some way, she will always be a part of our lives.
