When a Dog Dies

April 23rd, 2024

We had a dog named Shocky. Eight days ago, we put her down. My wife, Karin, and I had expected that we might have to do that, but the timing of the euthanasia was a surprise to us. Maybe it should not have been, but it was. We had to make a sudden decision about the dog, and we were not psychologically prepared for that. Honestly, I doubt that we were ever going to be prepared for it.

Shocky was a border collie. Our daughter got her when she was a puppy. The tiny dog had hair sticking out in all directions. She looked like she had stuck her paw into a light socket, hence the name “Shocky”. Our daughter cared for her pet for a while, but for most of the last decade, my wife and I have looked after the dog. Still, our daughter has always considered Shocky to be her “baby”. There has been a strong emotional bond between the two of them.

Shocky was very lively in her youth. She loved to run around the yard, even though we had no sheep for her to chase. I would take her long walks, and sometimes we went together for several miles. I remember going with her on a snowy winter night all the way to the railroad tracks. We saw a Union Pacific freight roll toward us through the darkness. Shocky got scared by the air horn. We moved back a bit and watched the train roar past us, kicking up a storm of white powder in its wake. Shocky was ready to go home after that.

Recently, the dog turned thirteen. Shocky moved more slowly than before. She slept more often. She started to have more trips to the vet. Shocky had three bad teeth removed. She had to take anti-inflammatory meds for a while. She got a cyst on her right eyelid that caused irritation. She was getting old.

About three weeks ago, Shocky stopped eating. She still drank water, but she had no interest in food, any kind of food. She used to inhale liverwurst if I offered it to her. That’s how I got her to take her medication. But suddenly she had no appetite. The dog only excreted something slimy and orange yellow in color. That was clearly not healthy.

My grandson, Asher, and I took Shocky to the vet fifteen days ago. The doctor examined Shocky, and took a blood sample. She wanted us to bring her a stool sample from Shocky, but that was kind of difficult since the dog wasn’t eating. The vet told us that she was concerned that maybe Shocky had a liver problem.

Two days later, the vet called me with the results of the blood test. Shocky’s liver was healthy, but she was not producing enough red blood cells. The doctor did not have enough information to know why that was the case, but she prescribed Shocky four different medications to at least get the dog eating again. We couldn’t administer the medications in pill form, so we got liquids that we needed to give to the dog with a syringe in her mouth.

Karin had to help me to give Shocky her medicine. It was definitely a two-person job. The meds seemed to have no effect. Shocky still refused to eat. She was listless. She only moved when she wanted to be near a human in the house. Then she would slowly get up and go to the room where I was or where Karin or Asher were present. She would drink a little water and later go pee. Otherwise, she laid on the floor and slept.

Karin and I did not tell our daughter about Shocky’s illness. We did not know how bad things were, and we did not know if her pet would recover. Our daughter was in a position where she was not able to help her dog or even to visit with her. Until my wife and I knew something concrete about Shocky’s condition, our comments would only cause our daughter undue anxiety. That was our thinking anyway.

Eight days ago, the vet called to get an update. I told her that Shocky was not responding to the treatment and that she was still not eating. The vet was livid about that. She told me,

“You should have taken her to an ER for more tests or called us to set up euthanasia. Shocky is suffering! We can’t just let her starve!”

Fair enough. We didn’t know when we were supposed to start panicking, so we had just been continuing with the meds. Now, the vet was adamant that we make a decision about Shocky, and make that decision right fucking now.

I understood the doctor’s viewpoint and I appreciated her intense concern for our dog. Unfortunately, our daughter had not been involved in the process and she needed to know what was happening. I didn’t want to call her after the fact and say,

“By the way, we killed your dog.”

No, that wasn’t going to fly. I needed to contact her in a hurry. Our daughter was in a place where it was almost impossible to get hold of her quickly. I had to leave messages, and finally she called me. She was clearly and understandably upset. I explained to her that we had to put Shocky down, and we had to do it that afternoon. She accepted my reasoning, but then what other choice did she have? She couldn’t be there with Shocky when she died, but at least she was aware of what was in store.

Karin, Asher, and I went to the vet’s office at 4:15 on April 15th to put Shocky down. Actually, we went into a side room that was furnished in a homey manner. It was like a funeral parlor for pets. Shocky was lying on a blanket on the floor. She was mildly sedated. The vet talked with us for a while to explain the procedure. She was empathetic and compassionate. She gave Shocky another sedative, and then she injected the dog with a chemical that stopped her heart. Karin and Asher stroked Shocky’s back as the vet did her work.

The doctor checked Shocky for a pulse. There was none. Then the vet gently bent forward and kissed Shocky’s forehead.

That’s when I cried.

Grief is a funny thing. When a person dies, the survivors often have mixed feelings: sorrow, guilt, maybe resentment. There is usually unfinished business that accompanies the sense of loss. When a pet dies, the grief can be profound, but it also feels pure. A pet can give people unconditional love and affection. I know that a dog can do that. I’m not sure about goldfish or snakes. I know that’s what Shocky gave to us.