My sisters Lisa and Aylee
My sister had to have her dog put to sleep tonight. Always a sad thing. Aylee was a female Boxer that my sister had rescued from a shelter. She drove about 300 miles to get her. This was about 7 or 8 years ago, I would guess.
Aylee was a “problem child.” Perhaps due to whatever symptoms she suffered prior to being rescued, perhaps genetic…who knows? She loved humans, but hated other dogs. Except, fortunately, for her adoptive brother Griffin (who is another Boxer, alive and well)
Aylee could never catch a break. She would assert her dominance, sometimes to the point where she would attack other family dogs. She would constantly have to be sequestered. But put her in a “humans only” environment, and she was a gem. Tail (or in her case: entire hind quarters) always wagging, always eager for attention. Never (that I saw) agressive toward people, always just wanting her ears (which were perpetually cold to the touch, in contrast to other long-eared dogs) scratched, or maybe a back scratch.
In short: she was a pain in the ass. My whole family are “dog people” and whenever we visit (which can be frequent) our dogs are invariably along for the ride. Which meant Aylee (or the other dogs) would have to be sequestered from each other. We learned this the hard way, I assure you.
Does this make her a “bad dog”? Not at all. She was the best dog she knew how to be. (again remember, this was a rescue situation of a dog that was already 3 or 4 years old) She’s been in the company of at least 3 newborn infants and never had an incident. She was protective (as most dogs are) and loving (as all dogs should be) of “her family.”
Aylee was mature, by boxer standards. I’m not sure if anyone knows for sure how old she was, but I would say 12 years old would be a fair estimate. She began developing a tumor (as MANY dogs do later in life) and eventually it began to take over. Her pain was visible (and audible) and eventually it was “her time.”
Euthanasia is perhaps the greatest gift we can bestow on our beloved pets, and yet at the same time, the most difficult, and sorrowful. Our pets are, for all intents and purposes, family members. How hard it must be to decide that “death” is preferential to “living another day.” It’s an impossible choice, yet in many cases, a necessary one. It’s nice to know that we can “choose to end an animal’s suffering,” but it’s made far more difficult by accepting that responsibility.
How many of us would be willing to make the choice between “this is your last day” and “maybe you can withstand another day?” Of course, having no idea what pain your pet might be in, as Dogs have been cursed/blessed with not only a lack of speech, but even a lack of “expressing chronic pain.” (To wit: a dog with a broken leg will not howl about it all day, as a human might. They might “yelp” at the time of injury, but after that, you won’t hear about it again.)
For me I guess this all hits particularly close to home, as my own pet “Basil” is beginning to show his age (and genetic predispositions) and I know that inevitably, if I am lucky, I will have to make the decision to give him the “Pink Shot.” I dread it with the same fear a father having to disconnect his son from life-support might. This is the promise we all make when we adopt a pet, though. It may be unspoken or maybe not even comprehended, but in my opinion, when you adopt a pet, you had better be willing to stand there and hold them when they go to sleep. I hope I get the chance, and, I’m ashamed to say, I also hope I never have to make that decision, because I am a coward.
But I know he deserves better.