We have three dogs. Sadie, who is a large lab, Buddy, a small spaniel and our latest, Momo, a miniature Shih Tzu. They are all rescues. Buddy and Sadie were adopted when the kids were little. The dogs are now, each between 15-18 years of age. In dog years, this is considered elderly, or at best, inching towards ancient. Momo, who is three (and under 6 pounds) was adopted shortly after our youngest child went to college.
As of this writing, Sadie’s hips are starting to give way and Buddy, mildly senile, has greatly diminished hearing and sight. Currently, I let them in and out a number of times a day, and feed them, doing the larger part of care taking, as I have for years.
However, it has been at least 3 months now since I have lead Buddy in or out by ringing a bell. Initially, this seemed to be a stroke of genius, yet, now, merely serves to alert him, then confuse him, as to where the door is.
In the past few months, as Sadie’s hips are getting worse, I need to aid her in getting up the steps, and standing up. Today, however, I had to lift her off her bed, take her outside and lift her back in the house. Our recent trip to the vet suggested that some medicine may help, which miraculously has actually bought us more time. Yet, I know that this hope is merely delaying the eventual reality.
Caretakers and Guilt
So, I thought that I could use the feelings that I have had over the past few months, which I believe are the preludes to piercing the fog of denial about the end of our time with our canine family members. Using these feelings to reflect upon this unavoidable fact, I find that lately, as I go about my life, I am increasingly more unsettled about the kind of person that I am. Because, how I experience myself, in relation to my pets, is important to me. I love my dogs and try to treat them well.
Yet, it seems that lately, I often feel a constant underlying sense of frustration, sadness, and and self pity, accompanied by a general sense of forlornness and chronic nagging guilt. These feelings pepper my days, as these routine tasks become more difficult, time consuming and arduous. For they demand much more grace and patience, than I generally possess, as a general rule.
So, today, after bringing in Sadie, with our new furry lifting strap, and calling Buddy from two feet away (for what felt like a long time). I held the leash in front of him and waited. He can’t see clearly, yet responds to movement. Also, I didn’t want to go outside barefoot in the rain. So, I waited, debating between the time it would take to get my coat and shoes, and the time it would take him to hear my claps, calls and the bell. When he came in the door, my frustration and guilt finally awakened me..
This is really no life for a herding dog and regardless of my wrestling with my own efforts are spiritual growth, I must accept the sad truth that this is likely be our last holiday with these two. And with this, comes the recognition of the upcoming onslaught of grief and mourning and it’s unknowable impact on our family.
When I say “awakened”, I mean that I became aware that this recognition about my self esteem and shortcomings was running parallel to accepting and making difficult choices for another being. This is complicated by the fact that my husband and I will be responsible for making the unavoidable end of life decisions for two of our beloved pets within a very short time. And my feelings about who I am, and how I feel, as self aware as I try to be, are merely preludes to anticipating the emotional consequences of some very concrete and painful decisions.
I have been a good pet owner, all in all. I have petted them, walked them, fed them, took them to the vet (who said that for old dogs, they are remarkably healthy, despite the current problems). My husband and the kids played, loved and cared for them for many years. I also know, that I am probably not the greatest dog mom of all time. I wasn’t raised with dogs and have been slow to learn a lot. Yet, I do love them and have treated them well.
So, as I brought in Sadie, laid her on her bed, putting on those humiliating rubber boots to help her stand better, I petted her and gave her a bone.
Then I said to myself, at least I have been kind.
Now, I can’t say that has been true all the time, by any means. I have yelled and grumbled, I have complained and been impatient. But, this refrain, “at least I have been kind”, strikes me as the best we can do, as caretakers, sometimes. Sometimes, because, we aren’t always our best selves.
This is what has led to this awareness. I am not my best self, because, my “best” is being challenged by a sadness and a need for total selflessness, which is being translated through feelings of frustration and impatience. This is what makes me think that this all applies across the board, to anyone we love. For loving someone is complex in the best of times, and in the worst of times, it demands more of our spirit and our best selves, than we often possess. So, I write about this care taking experience to try to both be honest, as well as clarify two different issues. One is my feelings about myself, as a care taker, the second is to make the best decision for my canine friends, as I have the responsibility and power to instigate the decision about this final phase of aging companion’s lives.
I also write this as a wish and a hope. A hope that this experience, and the accompanied awareness, helps to provide me with a greater sense of patience, and compassion. And a wish that I do it with compassion and proper respect.
For, as we talked this over with our children, we found that they had both been concerned for some time about what we had planned on doing, as the dogs continue to become less of their “doggie selves”. For my husband and I have the luxury to methodically make the best decision on how end our journey, with these loving creatures who have formed the back drop of our lives. And it is very sad. And, making this doubly difficult, they are so close in age and it will create lot of change. Change for us and change for Momo, so used to living with a pack and being their most ardent fan.
I know that the sadness that I feel with their growing difficulty at home will morph into their absence which will leave an emptiness in our hearts and home. It will ultimately result in having one sad little dog home alone more of the time. It will also open up the next stage of our family life as it rises up to greet us, with new openings, questions and decisions.
Yet, these are actually the good times. For we have loved. And how we say goodby can be a testiment to this, if we can try mobilize the best of ourselves to direct our next steps.
