I told myself to not write anything before the fact, because that would be time spent on myself and not hanging out with the Face. I still have no idea how people do this, where they schedule the euthanization of their pets, and then literally manage to operate their lives knowing there is a very real clock ticking down the remainder of their life.
Needless to say, the time between making the call to the vet and to the eventual saying of goodbye to my dog, has been real hazy, but fortunately for me, I’m the type of person who can throw themselves into work, just so that I don’t have to think about the anxieties of something like having to put my dog down.
Here’s a fun fact about me, Chase is actually the first dog that I’ve ever own, myself. Every pet I’ve had in the past was either inherited, temporary or technically belonged to someone else, but not actually mine. Chase was the first dog that I’ve ever adopted, paid for, and been solely responsible for in my entire life.
I adopted him on May 16, 2012, from the Atlanta Humane Society. My home had always had dogs in it, and when it stopped having dogs in it, it felt like there was something missing. I was single with no prospects at this time, so having a dog seemed like a no-brainer as far as unconditional companionship was concerned, and I wanted to adopt a rescue because I just felt that it was a more responsible thing to do, seeing as how the pet population is pretty out of control in general.
I had visited a couple of shelters leading up to eventually going to the Humane Society, and when I met Wind Chaser, I kind of felt pretty quickly that this was the dog that I wanted to adopt. Say what you will about my general preference in dogs, maybe it’s an Asian thing or maybe it’s just me, but this maltese/shih tsu mix just kind of spoke to me. So I paid the adoption fee in an Amazon donation, and shortened to Chase, was now my dog.
His history before mine was murky and not necessarily the most positive, but at least I can probably say without much debate that his quality of life was better in my care than it was prior to being rescued. He was owned by an animal hoarder in Alabama, who basically was running an illegal puppy mill. Chase came to me skittish and weary around people, but when I brought him home and presented a crate, he hopped right into it as if he knew it was the safest place in the world for him.
But the real gateway to gaining his trust was when he met the cats in the house, because being around other animals immediately calmed him down and warmed him up to the house, as it was clear that he was around lots of other animals in his past life. From there, it didn’t take him long to settle in, and he immediately fit right into his new life with me, and things were pretty good basically the whole way.
His ambiguous past led all the way to his general records, as in he really had none. His approximate age is something that was never truly known, but taking him to the vet, something about his bloodwork said that it was a good guess that he was between 6-7 years when I had adopted him. That being said, he was 16-17 years old to this point, so it’s safe to say that he had lived a pretty long and life expectancy life, but it’s still never heartbreaking to when it’s time to say goodbye.
Over the last decade, Chase has been a constant in my life. He followed me when we sold the old house, and he and I dove into apartment life for a few months before I would end up buying another home. He was always there throughout the years when I was a mopey, ronery single guy, to when mythical gf came into the picture, and then I got married and had a kid, and then had another one.
Naturally I knew that he wasn’t going to live forever, and as the years passed and the number of priorities and responsibilities grew and increased, it wasn’t lost on me that Chase was getting older all the while. I have a distinct point where I realized that he was truly a senior dog, which is when I would take him outside for my after work walks in the yard to try and get him to poop, but he wouldn’t sprint in circles around me like he once did. Accidents around the house started happening more frequently, and I’d get mad about them, but more mad at myself than him, because I knew that these were primarily occurring because my life was getting too busy to help him get outside.
The year my first child was born, I actually had concerns about if he’d live long enough to get a cute picture with my daughter. I saw a shirt at the store that had a little maltese on it that looked a lot like Chase, so I bought it with the full intention of getting a picture of them together. It was a size 6 months, so Chase had to keep it together to make this happen. Not only did we succeed, but we actually made it to the point where my second child was on track to be able to wear the shirt and get a picture with the Face.
However, this is the point in the journey where the lump was discovered and it became very real, very quickly of his remaining mortality. Fortunately for the sake of making good memories, I was able to get my desired photo of my loyal dog with my second daughter, wearing the same maltese shirt, but there’s no mistaking the physical toll that cancer and the years had done to Chase.
I knew that I told myself that I wouldn’t drag out the end, because I don’t want to keep him alive for my sake and when the day is over, I know that I made the right call. If I didn’t make the call, the cancer would have eventually gotten him, especially since it was growing at a rapid rate. I wanted him to go out on his terms, while he was still together in mind, and physically capable of moving.
But that doesn’t at all reduce the pain, the hurt and the guilt of making the decision to end a life. In a way, it’s almost worse that I pulled the plug when I did, because he was still eating, even if it was significantly less than he should be and was dropping weight, he was still eating from time to time. His bowels and urination was still working, and he was very much still there in mind.
However, like I said, if I didn’t do it, the cancer would have gotten him, and then I might have gone out in pain and I’d have come home to a dead dog one day, and I applaud his tenacity at finishing strong, because among the things he had working against him, aside from the cancer, was a high-grade heart murmur. But even all the way to the end, my good boy’s heart never gave up. He ate his last meal of real people chicken mixed with bacon grease. He went into the yard after I got home from work and took a poop like a good boy is supposed to do.
We played with my daughters for a little bit before it was time to formally say goodbye for the last time. I’ll never not be able to forget my daughter saying “bye bye chase” and waving. The cries she made before I walked out the door. My oldest isn’t yet two years old yet, but she had taken a big liking to Chase in the last few months as she grew into recognition, familiarity and coherence. Some of my favorite sights over the last few weeks has been giving her the leash and watching her walk Chase, and Chase being the ever-gentle and compliant pet to my daughter.
And then while at the vet, they made me wait a tremendous amount of time before it was time. The worst part about it all was that I had let Chase down on the ground so he could wander about, and he was clearly having one of his better days, moving around the room and investigating all the scents and furniture of the exam room. His hips weren’t giving out and he wasn’t physically deteriorating in front of me at that moment, he was just being a dog and looking around.
But then it was time, and the doctor didn’t waste much time. She asked if I’d been through this before, and I told her I had. But never with my own dogs though, and minutes later, I had set Chase free. No more cancer. No more anxiety of dad being too busy to let him out to pee. No more field trips to Jen’s place because my life was getting too hectic and I was drowning.
I said goodbye to my dog today, but I already know he’s in a better place. But his family here already misses the heck out of him.
It’s going to be a little rough for a few days, being reminded that he’s not here anymore. I already turned the corner into the dining room where the dog crates are, and still expected to see him hanging out in his crate, comfy and content in his bed, with the door open, so he could wander if he wanted to, but chooses the safety and security that it provides him. But he’s not there anymore. He’ll never be there anymore. Eventually, I’ll pack his crate, his beds, and all his effects up, and that’s going to break me all over again.
Undoubtedly, this is the worst part about owning pets, as all pet owners inevitably learn in their lives. But the unconditional love and companionship, and memories made from having them invariably makes it always worth it, even if causes tremendous pain when it’s time to say goodbye.
And just so that I’ll always remember those good times, the following is a smattering of photos from over the years of my trusty dog. I love you Chase and I will always miss you.
