For the second time in under three years, we find ourselves saying goodbye to our pet.  We lost our pit bull, Cheeba, in January 2018.  Chris had rescued her after she was left abandoned in an empty apartment.  She was probably about two years old at the time.  It was intimidating that when he woke up, Cheeba would be standing over him, but with consistent training, she soon turned into a dream dog.

She lived a very long life (we believe she was 19 years old) and we noticed changes over her last two years.  She slowed down, her hair started to grey, she developed a sizeable growth on her side (nothing harmful, just a benign growth common in older dogs), and she wasn’t as vocal as she once was.  It was sad to see the changes, but she was healthy and happy.  Eventually, she began having bladder control issues, so we bought diapers for her.  We had several discussions as to how we would proceed “when the time came.”

That day finally arrived.  I won’t go into detail, but her happy, healthy, albeit slow demeanor turned into distress.  We made some phone calls to arrange her relief and were shocked at how many of the veterinarians we spoke to demanded that she undergo a physical.  One even stated that we were not qualified to make this decision for our very much loved family pet.  With the help of our good friends, we found a vet that would help us and understood that we, more than anyone else, knew what was happening with our dog.

Cheeba

While we knew it was the right thing to do, that didn’t make the actual doing any less painful.  Instead of allowing Cheeba to suffer, her life ended with a simple injection, cradled in her daddy’s arms, surrounded by the people who loved her.  It was heart-rending for us, and to this day, even though we know we did what was best, Chris still questions whether it was the right decision.

Back in 2005, our youngest son wanted a kitten.  After some research, I went to a cat rescue and brought home an orange tabby.  Kevin named him Max.  He was such a laid-back, incredible cat.  We bought a house the following summer and went back to the same rescue for another cat.  The rescue is fantastic, with no cages.  All of the cats are allowed to roam free throughout the house, with a room dedicated to the kittens.  Nick picked a sweet, fluffy kitten, Toby.  While they were getting acquainted, Joe found a little black runt of a kitten with a crooked tail.  He fell in love.  How could I tell him no?  Shadow made us a family with three cats.

They were lively, playful, joyful little kittens.  They spent most of December running up and down our Christmas tree, knocking branches loose.  Needless to say, we did not use ornaments that year.  As the kittens grew older, they started going outside.  We had a cat door, so they were free to roam in and out as they pleased, which made for some exciting moments as Toby was adept at catching critters and bringing them home to us.

As the kids got older, we no longer needed the large house, so downsized.  When we moved the cats, they immediately scattered.  We searched for them, put signs up in the new neighborhood, and contacted animal control.  We never found out what happened to the two boys.  While we were watching tv a few days after we moved, we heard Shadow outside.  She has always been a very timid creature.  She was scared and would not come to us.  Chris sat outside, calling to her for hours, with no luck.  He did the same when she returned the following night until we were finally able to bring her inside, where she has been ever since.

With the cats spending most of their time outside, they didn’t have much interaction with Cheeba.  Now that Shadow was an inside cat, the two of them became very close.  We often would come home from work to find Shadow curled up with Cheeba inside the kennel.

Shadow

In the last month, Shadow started showing the signs that she was nearing the end of her life.  Showing no signs of distress, we chose to give her palliative care at home.  It was a tremendous emotional strain to watch her become steadily weaker.  Shadow spent the last weeks of her life cuddled up with us most of the time.  She had moments where she wanted to be by herself under a chair, but after a few hours, she would always come back out for more cuddling.

I don’t know what is more formidable, deciding to humanely end a pet’s life when they are suffering, or allowing a weakened, but otherwise happy (she was still purring) one to go peacefully.  Hospice care, whether for a person or a pet, is very difficult for the caregiver.  Either way, there is tremendous guilt.  Did I make the right decision?  Was there more that I could have done to help them?  Should I have intervened in the process?

We raised our pets from babies or rescued them when they were older, but either way, we have devoted our lives to taking care of and loving our fur babies.  We need to stop second-guessing ourselves.  We know, in our gut, when it’s time, and we will do our best to ease their pain, keep them comfortable and let them know that they are loved.  We do the best we can, and that is good enough.

Shadow