The Hound
Alive and well is my hound, a mix of Lab and Golden Retriever with a pinch of Whippet thrown in just to make her as much of a freak as possible. She is thirteen years old and I am proud of that. I got her from the pound when she was two and I have nursed and shepherded her for the last eleven years. She was my tryout before having kids and apparently I navigated her nurture well enough to have two kids and didn't manage to shake or otherwise mangle them, so she was a good teacher. But now she is thirteen with a tumor on an eyelid, a fatty mass near her leg that may or may not be cancerous, and an ear infection. And my five year old son, who seems to have second sight, is upset because he thinks she is going to die.
A lengthy discussion of life and death ensued. I got my son calmed down but I am worried that he might be right, that Dakota may not be long for this world. I explained to James that she was old, that she has had a great life and that we would indeed be losing her someday. I told him the story of how I adopted Dakota and how she was lucky to have lived these last eleven years with us. He insisted she would be leaving soon. I'm afraid he might be right. I then had to inform both of my kids that when it did happen, we would not be replacing her. Two reasons. One, you can't. Two, I won't.
One, you can't replace a dog like this. Two, I will not go through the death of another pet. I can't, I won't.
The vet wants fourteen hundred dollars to cut the tumor off her eyelid. The dog is thirteen and was free. I guess that makes me a jerk. But, I know from watching my grandparents die that you can prolong life long past the time where life is productive. I would prefer to leave on my own terms. I wish I could speak dog, but if I could, I'm sure Dakota would tell me not to keep her alive past her level of enjoyment. I believe that a perfect life is one where you spend your last dollar on the day you die and that you die the day you stop having fun. It's a moving target and I would prefer to err on the side of still living. Again, I wish I could speak dog so I could get Dakota's take, but I can't.
So, I have to make that choice for her. I know that she does not want me to spend fourteen hundred dollars to get rid of the cyst. I know she does not want to be propped up. I know that this is a dog that chased frisbees and is fast as hell. I know that this is a dog that wants to go out on top. And, I owe that to her. It will be difficult, but I will let her go, when she is ready, on terms that she is comfortable with. That means making her comfortable and giving her dignity.
I hope I am afforded the same dignity.
Spike
