We lost our Doberman Lilith to bone cancer a few years ago. The worst of it is, I think we kept her too long. She was so stoic, and we could always say, “Look, she’s eating all her treats!” or whatever. But I know she must have been in pain. Every day we were trying to push ourselves to the decision.
I’m so sorry this has happened.
I’m so sorry about Luca. Life is so precious and so are all our loved ones.
I’m sure that’s the logic we’ll be using and we have used it in the past. You look for any little glimmer of hope. Even now, my husband will say - did you see how good he’s getting around? He’s looking for any little sign that Luca is getting better. Which is not going to happen.
If she was still eating, and still moving around reasonably well –
if she did have some pain, consider that many humans who live with some pain nevertheless think their lives are overall worth living.
It’s difficult of course with creatures who can’t discuss the matter in human language to tell whether they feel that way or not. But I would consider an animal who’s not eating and is hiding in the back of the closet to be expressing one opinion, and one who is not only eating but is at least most days asking to go out for walks (or equivalent) and appearing to enjoy them to be expressing a different opinion.
Cancer in a pet is devastating to the owner.
Pets are our “fur kids.” We talk baby talk to them, we include them in conversation, and they own such a huge part of our hearts.
But cancer!
We WANT to cling to every hope, we try to disregard the enormous cost, and we think, “if there is any chance…”
But the reality is, the cost is typically prohibitive. If we love that pet enough, though, shouldn’t we try anyway?
Honestly? No.
Pets don’t have the reasoning we do. All they will get from chemotherapy or radiation is pain and sickness. And we will suffer that pain and sickness with them, ten-fold.
It’s best to simply love and cuddle and spoil your pet for as long as you can. And when the pet is clinging to you seeking something, anything, because you are everything in the world to that pet, you will know it’s time to say goodbye.
Oh, God, it hurts!
I love the “Rainbow Bridge” story. I draw a lot of comfort from it.
~VOW
I’m so sorry you got such shocking news about your sweet Luca. About him letting you know…This will sound strange, but as sad as it is, there’s a certain beauty there. I went through this with my beloved lab–not bone cancer, another big dog ailment. My vet said those same words: “She’ll let you know.” I was sad and afraid. I didn’t want her to die in pain and desperation. What if I missed her telling me? How would I know? It wouldn’t be as obvious as her “Wanna Walk” dance. And what if she didn’t let me know? How could the vet be sure?
Then one day, I looked in her eyes, and I knew. She was telling me it was her time, and she needed my help. I can’t explain it, but it was pure, direct communication. I’d thought I’d be crying too hard to drive, but that look in her eyes steadied me. She was headed to the Great Perhaps, to use Larry McMurtry’s fine phrase, and it was my duty and honor to make the trip smooth, comfortable, and loving. It’s the first time I took her to the vet that she didn’t balk or seem nervous. At the last, I wrapped my arms around her, thanked her for all she’d given me, and told her I’d love her always. She drifted peacefully away.
I still miss her. I still love her. I’m at peace.
Blessings on you and Luca.
We had a black lab who loved going for walks. At age 13, he had a melanoma in his mouth. The vet said that treatment would only prolong his life by 4-6 months. We opted not to treat it, and just made his life as good as we could. One day, when we said “want to go for a walk?”, he got up and went to the front door. He took the lead, as usual, but his head was down. He wasn’t looking around. It was very obvious that he was not feeling his usual energetic self. We made that tough decision. He was a very good dog.
I am also so sorry for you, the family, and Luca. I liked the way you described him as “squishy” My dog Mauser is smaller, a dachshund, and he is not squishy, but solid.
Sounds like you have a good vet there.When it’s time lean on us.
I’ve made the heart wrenching phone call to the vet just moments ago. It’s time to say goodbye to my sweet, sweet boy. My heart is pounding out of my chest and I feel like I can’t breathe. The appointment is for tomorrow morning at 8:00. We could have taken him today, but it was too soon. We need one more night with him.
He’s been doing so good. He’s been eating and still wanting to go for walks out on the trail. His right hind leg is basically useless now - it just kind of dangles. But he did his hop run down the trail so fast that he was always ahead of me.
Yesterday morning he didn’t want to go very far on the trail. He kept stopping and just standing there. Last evening he was panting more than usual and drooling. So I know he’s in pain (he’s taking meloxicam for pain). This morning he ate and was at the door to go for his walk as usual, but we didn’t get very far.
I know the old saying is that we all wait one day to long before we make this decision, but it’s so hard. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this, but it never gets any easier. I always feel like it’s soon. But I know he will never get any better, only worse.
Poor Romeo (the boxer) knows something is wrong. He’s been restless and will go into whatever room Luca is in and just stare at him. They grew up together, they play together, they sleep together so this is going to be hard on Romeo. I don’t know how he’s going to react to life without his buddy. I don’t know if he’ll be able to sleep at night without him.
TRC4941: it’s hard. It’s very hard, however it goes.
But it’s the only way we can have love; because somebody always dies first. It’s hard, but it’s worth it. And you know you’ve done, and are doing, your very best by him.
– Show Romeo the body if possible, when it’s all over. They do know; but sometimes benefit from knowing for sure what happened.
There isn’t any way to make this easier, but I will hold you all in my thoughts. You are the best kind of pet parent and I’m glad your family had these years together.
With tears in my eyes and compassion in my heart … I’m sending hugs and warm wishes to you, your family, to Luca, and to Romeo.
May your grief be mercifully brief, but may your memories of your beloved dog be sweet and everlasting.
So sorry. Will be holding you and yours in our hearts, me and 3 furry friends.
Bless you for giving your beloved pup such a good life and for helping him comfortably transition out of it. I’m sitting here crying for you and Luca and for my own dogs, whom I still miss.
I’m also sad for Romeo. I believe dogs can detect very subtle signs of illness/disorders we humans cannot, so I think Romeo already knows his buddy is at the end of his earthly trail. He also knows you’re sad and upset. Sending hugs and scritchels to both your Very Good Dogs.
Thank you everyone. It was so hard and even though I miss him so much and am so sad, I’m also relieved. I woke up every morning worrying about him. The last couple days I could tell he was in more pain and couldn’t get comfortable. This morning was the first time he didn’t want to go for a walk. I took Romeo but he wouldn’t go more than a few steps without Luca.
Don’t judge us but my husband and I didn’t stay for the whole procedure. We never have. Our vet first gives them an injection that puts them out before he gives the final injection. We wanted to remember him sleeping not dead. We stayed with him, talked to him and hugged and kissed him until we knew he was totally out. Before he was totally under I whispered to him to go find our son (he died 5 yrs ago). Besides telling him I loved him and that he was such a good boy, I also told him - mama will be right back, go to sleep. The same thing I said to him every day when I was leaving for work.
{{{{{To both of you}}}}} and :skritches:, as desired.
Long-distance hugs to all three of you.
Peace to you, dear @TRC4941.
I’m so sorry…2020 has been an awful year.
Sounds like his last lap will be his most loved