We’ve known for a long time that this day was coming. Right now, that doesn’t make it feel any easier. At about 4 am this morning, Dexter went outside to go potty, and when he came back in, I could tell he was struggling, and when I turned on a light, I saw why. He had a massive nose bleed, the big bad that we’d been warned about. We were able to stop it within minutes, but it was clear that this was the moment, the day to help him, time to let go. When his cancer was first diagnosed, he was given 2-3 months, and here we are, just a few weeks shy of a year later. We are so grateful for the extra time we’ve had.
He ate breakfast and went on a walk. He’s still here in this moment, asleep in his crate, his nose still slowly bleeding and his breathing loud enough that I can hear it from here. The vet is coming in a few hours and we’ll let him go. In moments like this, it’s hard to know what to do with yourself, waiting for the thing you don’t want to happen even though you know it will mean that someone you love won’t have to suffer anymore, even though you know it is the wise and compassionate thing to do.
I’ve been following him around all morning, loving on him, and while he appreciates it, at a certain point he wants me to leave him alone, wants to rest, so I’m letting him do that too. This is a big day, a sad day, but it also feels good to treat it a little like a normal day, and this is just what we do — he rests near me while I write.
If you could, kind and gentle reader, we’d appreciate some extra love sent our way at 1:00 p.m. Mountain Time today. I have always wished for him an easy death, and I’m still wishing that today. He’s been such a good dog, we’ve had such a good life together, and I am going to miss him like crazy.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.