Elwood was 13 years old, but, for such an old guy, he was in remarkably good health. He was goofy and funny and affectionate. He had friends all over the neighborhood. His dog walker once told me that most dogs are happy, but Elwood was one of the happiest she'd ever seen. He was my guy. He followed me everywhere - when I went into the bathroom he would scratch on the door to be let in. He loved my husband, but I was his mom.
Several weeks ago he suddenly started to have some problems with walking - he would suddenly be almost unable to keep his balance, and would stagger all over the place, and finally sit down and refuse to get up. I couldn't get him to eat anything, not even peanut butter. He was panting and wild-eyed, obviously in pain. Yet, the next day he would be fine. I'd take him for a walk and he'd trot along just as he always had. But I took him to the vet, who discovered that he had arthritis, and that too much activity made it worse. So they gave me pain meds, and we went home, and it seemed to help a lot. In fact, I started adding salmon to his food, and I think the fish oil really helped his joints, because he seemed even perkier than ever.
I knew, of course, that at his age, I was going to lose him sooner or later. And I planned for the time when it was clear that his quality of life had deteriorated enough that I would help him pass on. I pictured having the vet come to the house, give him the sedative, and have Elwood fall asleep in my arms. It made me teary to think of it, but I knew that, having given him a good life, I would be able to give him one last gift, a peaceful death.
Sunday seemed to be one of his bad days, worse than usual. He wouldn't eat, and seemed very lethargic. He didn't even want to go outside to potty. I knew that the time had probably come, and I planned to have the vet come the next day.
But around 10:45 pm he suddenly started panting harder, with that wild, frightened look in his eyes. The panting was worse than it had been before, and I was really alarmed. All of a sudden he groaned and got up and staggered into the bathroom where my husband was brushing his teeth, fell over, and arched his head back, obviously in great pain. Then he convulsed a couple of times, and was gone.
It's only been a couple of days, and I'm beside myself. I know that, even if I had been able to put him to sleep, I would still be grieving, but that it would eventually pass, and become bittersweet. But I can't get the image of his last few seconds, terrified and in pain, and gone before I could do anything for him, out of my mind. I can't sleep. I can't bear the thought that I will never be able to remember the good times, knowing that his terrible end is clouding everything. He was my best friend, and I can't bear the thought that I won't be able to remember him without pain.
If anyone has anything that might help me cope with this, I'd love to hear it.
