Max was 16-1/2, and it was time. My dread the last couple of months (ever since this visit to the vet’s) was that we would have to, someday, make the very difficult decision to put him to sleep based on some nebulous and ill-defined calculation of his health, our home life, other things, and then maybe decide, “yeah, I guess it’s time.” The decision turned out to be much easier than that, although it still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.
Since his heart trouble, we found that he had lymphoma of some sort. Based on x-rays and ultrasounds it looks like it probably started in one kidney and then spread to a number of locations. A week-and-a-half ago the pictures showed that one kidney was very enlarged and essentially non-functional (although the other seemed just fine), and there were a few other enlarged lymph nodes. The doc put him on some painkillers to relieve what she said was almost certain discomfort from the kidney, and said there wasn’t much else to be done unless we wanted to explore some pretty aggressive chemotherapy. To me, that sounded like a cure-is-worse-than-the-disease scenario.
Over the weekend he was having some digestive issues (I’ll spare y’all the messy details), so I took him in this morning (he was due for a check-up this week anyway). The cancer was much more aggressive than we had gauged; the affected kidney looked even worse (and could rupture virtually any time), some of his small intestine appeared to be cancerous, and two lymph nodes near his tail had swollen to where they were constricting the colon. So, we made the hard, but correct, call. I take comfort in the fact that the vet never once tried to talk me out of it, ask if I was sure, or offer up another treatment option. She was on board right away.
Fortunately, my wife was actually home today. She was able to join me at the vet’s office, and be there with him. We didn’t stay for the entire procedure, but the doc gave him one injection and within a few minutes he just laid his head down on his front paws. If i didn’t know any better I’d swear he was just napping.
Max loved everyone he ever met (although was a bit stand-offish with some dogs). He loved popcorn. He hated the water. I will swear to my dying day that, when one of us was eating ham, he was able to actually change the shape of his face to shorten his muzzle, enlarge his eyes, and instantly transform into an irresistible puppy so he could get snacks.
I have said in other arenas that, when I die, if the only thing anyone can think to say of me is, “he was a good man,” I will be content, and consider it a life well-lived. Well, Max was a Good Dog.
Good hunting, buddy.
