Saturday I woke early to Duke moaning. He’s been getting increasingly worse the last two weeks. With little control of his back legs and the seizures occurring almost daily, we were losing him. Two days previous he stopped eating, and while we were daydreaming there was a way back for him—we all knew that wasn’t the case. He could no longer find his feet. In fact, ever since I got back from travel two weeks ago he’s been checked out. Staring into space for long stretches, with less and less of a connection to the living.
It’s pretty brutal to watch, and there may have been an argument for putting him down earlier, but such decisions do not come easily. But Saturday morning it was clear—despite the previous day’s brief recovery*—he needed to be set free from the confines of his failing body. Antonella found someone who came to the house and did the horrific procedure with us around him. We promised ourselves no more seeing our companions off at the vet given institutional endings are the most depressing. Add to this, our local vet has been subsumed by some “collective”† of Vets that’s made the whole thing just that much more impersonal and money driven.
It was hard for me to stomach him leaving us, I cried quite a bit. It’s like he became a stand-in for loss I’ve yet to deal with, namely my mom. Not only do dogs serve the amazing function of being awesome, but they help us manage those deep, dark struggles with mortality. We know this implicitly. When we get them it’s with the understanding that we’ll probably outlive them. We know we’ll have to watch them die, deal with their remains, and make sense of their absence as much as we took for granted their presence. It’s quite a commitment, and it hit me harder than I was prepared for as he was brought out of our house in a plastic bag.
Waiting for the end to come that morning was filled with an incongruous mix of relief to finally end the spiralling seizures, undergirded by a deep sadness that just beyond our best intentions stands an inexorable gulf of nothingness. It’s a gut wrenching glimpse at the end of this journey, and I can’t help but think how long until everyone is huddled around me, quietly crying their goodbyes? Just a parting gift Duke provided on his way out of the building 🙂
I’m not sure I’m emotionally ready for another dog just yet, but after this weekend I want one more than ever. Goodbye Duke, we love you!
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*Meaning he got up and walked briefly at one point during the day.
†The term collective is used intentionally to throw you off the scent that it’s just an investment firm buying up vet practices (not that different from the trend of hedge funds buying everything in America). They manage the financials so you can focus on the animals, but it never works out that way.
Oh, Jim. I send lots of love. How heartbreaking. Goodbye, Duke.
Thanks Maren, it’s a rough one for sure—all this almost dying, losing animals, and generally getting older is no picnic.
Oh man, I’m so sorry to hear that. It hurts like a fucker. Duke was such a dude. Sending lots of love Jim
It really does, I remember your heartfelt homage to Bruno very well. Another preparation for this moment. And thanks.
Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. My ex once remarked that dogs are “ticking time bombs of heartbreak.” He was right—and yet we decide to journey alongside them anyway. If your experience is anything like mine, I imagine there’s a dog-shaped hole roaming your home this week. Hugs to you for that haunting. Hold in your heart that Duke was lucky to have you, and you, him.
Damn, your ex nailed that one, absolutely right no. I think that journey anyway is the real powerful part, and the haunting is real. The other side of euthanizing him in the house is I keep looking at that part of the foyer thinking that was were he last lived. That is haunting. Also, how awesome to hear from you, you rule Leslie!
I’m sorry friend. Duke was a fine creature, and I’m grateful I got to spend time with all of you together. I was struck by the lift in you and your family’s spirits when he was around.
The last days can be so punishing. I hope the memories that endure for you are the happier ones.
Yeah, wasn’t really ready for how hard this one hit me, it was like a Mac truck. I’m wondering if I might need some of my own death therapy 🙂
Oh Jim, I’m really sorry. We had to do the same last year in almost the same set of circumstances and I was a wreck. We haven’t gotten another dog yet but we’re able to tell stories about Jo to each other and that’s helped us all heal.
Right, it is freaking serious. I feel for you, and I know some time will make it easier, but as someone said to me yesterday, it’s like losing a family member. We can pretend otherwise, “it’s just a dog,” but god damn that’s not true once you have your own. Duke was truly my first solo dog (although he was ultimately the family’s) but I kind of pretended to be the pater familia in this case, that was my first mistake 🙂
Oh Jim – that’s a tough read, and doesn’t touch the sides of your experience! I didn’t think I was a pet guy, but they work their way into your heart – and to be honest, them being there makes you a better person. Thinking of you and the family and wishing you all the best.
Ill tell you, your blog has been en fuego and a deep inspiration for me lately, so thanks for that, it has been a welcome distraction to some of the more painful bits. There is an after, and maybe we can figure it out together.
There’s little worse than making that call. Duke was big in all ways right to the heart. I understand that those who love and lose dogs, knowing the life span limits even ahead of time, yet still I find that how much they give in life surpasses everything.
With you in spirit and in memories. It says everything about what these creatures mean to us how hard it is to go through this, still always worth to have dogged and lost. Run for the peaks, big shaggy Duke!
Then never to have dogged at all, damn you are good. Faulkner good!
Man it’s hard losing a dog. I still catch myself thinking Ida is walking along side me, even though I know she’s not. I’m thinking of you, and I expect Duke’s still with you all in spirit. Lots of love to you and the family!
One of the things we talked about over the Duke tribute lunch is a nice piece of art commemorating all the lost animals over the last 18 months. It was inspired by the picture of Ida you all have. I’m still negotiating price and timelines with Tommy, but having some kind of loving reminder will be welcome. Tommy already did a St. Duke image that I love, and we are going to see how we can make that even more of a hagiography 🙂
lol price
Same as everyone has said. We know that deep feeling of loss—these creatures bind to our experience of life, so when they go, they take a part of that life with them: Italy, life on that crazy farm, your kids when they were younger, time outside with your spouse. And somehow, too, your mom. WTF. Right?
It’s crazy, the mom piece was rough, and I think it might have been behind more than one crybabycast. Duke did not tell me about this before he went. I like talking to you about things like this because you are a wise soul, much like Antonella.
I’m so sorry, Jim. I look at my aging dog and I know she’s holding for me some of the tears I haven’t shed for my father yet. So I feel that particular part very keenly.
Joe, Hug that dog for me, will you? 🙂
Jim, my apologies for not sending this earlier, but better late you know. So sorry to hear about the Dukester. I had dreams of meeting him in Italia. He seemed like a great dog for the region you live in. Of course the Giro is going on as I write this, so I think of you daily and see many of the other Italian dogs along the roadside. Losing a furry mountain companion, well, there’s no easy way to let go. Nothing like the love of a dog! Mourn properly, remember the good times, and maybe in time find the spirit of Duke in another pup. Cheers and love you, bud!
first rule of the bava, never apologize for commenting. The very fact you are commenting is magic, and shows that you are a true blog friend. I am starting to pull my self out of the Duke death doldrums. Was not very fun to suffer through it, but as you note, the fun memories are starting to surface and that impulse that makes us indefatigable humans is taking over. Thanks Andy, you rule.
We had to put down our elderly Duke a few years ago, but he remains front and center in our family memories and photos. We often wonder what our other dog — Rayna, who we got when we had Duke so he could teach her some of his heartwarming tricks — remembers of him, but she’s not talking! I am sorry for the loss of your Duke, Jim. Dogs are special creatures.
Kevin
Sorry to hear that Kevin, and pretty awesome dog name btw. We had another dog, the great Daphne, and we also wondered what Duke remembered of her—but that cabal of non-communication is tight.
Daphne died two years ago, and that was just as rough. Being animal-less for the first time since 1997 seems really odd. I’ve had cats or dogs since grad school, so I almost feel like I’m doing something wrong. There is a big hole in my heart. Right after I’m done traveling this year we are probably heading to the local pound. I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE 🙂