I was driving home from work yesterday, thinking about my mother’s dog Shashi and how she suffered from hip dysplasia. And that got me looking ahead and wondering how long it will be before I’ll have to make a very difficult decision regarding Moose.
My imagination went to work, and I started to cry, thinking about what I would feed him for his last meal and what the people at the veterinarian’s office will say and do.
I finally understand the people who were jealous after Miko passed away in his sleep. I started attending a pet bereavement group run by the local shelter after Miko died — to deal with my grief and anger. Out of the group of six, I was the only person whose pet had passed away in their sleep. All the other people had been forced to decide it was time to let go.
At the time, I was somewhat envious of them. They had a chance to get used to the idea of saying goodbye. They got to share special last days together. They actually got to SAY goodbye. With Miko passing so unexpectedly, I had no time to prepare and no chance to say goodbye. If I’d known what was coming, I would have taken him out for vanilla ice cream — his favorite special treat.
Now that I can see myself on the other side — having to reach a point where Moose’s pain becomes too much to bear — I understand why they were jealous. I don’t want to have to make this decision. But barring a miracle, I will. Moose’s hip dysplasia will progress, despite everything I do to try to help him. Even surgery may not be able to help — he may not be a good candidate thanks to his age.
Hopefully, this decision is years off. I can’t spend every day crying over what is coming; I can only make sure Moose has the best life possible in the meantime. Every day will be a chance to show him that I love him… just like it was with Miko.