We both grew up with dogs. We understood the responsibilities of owning one, but never had our own.
We were prepared for Denver’s arrival well before we picked him up. We setup his crate, bought the necessities, and mouthfuls of toys. We hopped in the car; five hours later, Denver was home.
All in until the end.
I expected to outlive Denver. Most owners do, but in the beginning, I wasn’t thinking about the end. That day was so far away. I had plenty of time…look! Puppy!
I hit snooze.
Two years later, Marco arrived. Another puppy!
Snooze.
We knew they would impact our lives, but didn’t realize how deeply. After they settled in, we finally understood the heartbreak that came with them.
Having been through it twice, here’s what I can tell you about euthanasia and pet loss:
Saying goodbye will never be easy – Both were equally hard. I was – and always will be – present. Even Marco was in the room when Denver passed. That wasn’t the plan, but it was special. That’s another story.
The responsibility was mine – At times, I wished someone would tell me what to do. Procedures, surgeries, scans, tests, medication, chemo, euthanize – your vet will advise you. Ultimately, it’s your call.
You can be thrown a curveball – Hidden ailments aren’t always diagnosed when there are no symptoms. In these cases, you may be faced with a decision within days or, sadly, hours.
When deciding, put them first – With Denver we wondered, ‘too soon?’ With Marco we wondered, ‘too late?’ Health issue or age, you will know when it’s time. You’ll see it in their eyes. They will tell you. Decide, don’t look back, and don’t beat yourself up.
“It’s okay to let them go on a high note.”– Denver’s vet of 12 years said this. She helped us realize it was okay to let him go before we had no choice. He didn’t look sick. Regardless, his seizures were bad, more frequent, and he’d been on medication for 18 months. He was a different dog.
Make memories until the end–It’s your turn to be there for them. Comfort them with your voice and touch. Don’t leave anything left unsaid as if they understand every word.
Allow yourself to grieve – I felt the void. I cried a lot. One minute, I’d be fine and fully breakdown the next. Triggers were all around me, but they weren’t. I rode waves of emotions until they simmered.
Keep their memory alive – August 30 is Denver’s day. February 17 is Marco’s day. Anniversaries aside, they’re always in my heart. I reflect with those who knew them. Eventually, the tears became laughter and smiles.
I wouldn’t change a thing –I think about them everyday and the memories they helped me create. They experienced life with me in ways nobody has. Our souls are connected forever.
Coping and time.
Pets and death is an unfortunate reality. It’s a moment you will carry for the rest of your life.
Over time, my emotions evolved. They hit hard, subsided, and occur less spontaneously. It was a painful lesson and I’m emerging more grateful than ever.
The inevitable question.
People asked me, “Will you get another puppy?” I kept asking myself, “Was it worth it?” Dogless, I saw the whole picture. Unequivocally, my answer is yes.
It’s been 11 days since Marco’s surgery and I’m happy to report that it was a success.
He’s officially 14-years-old and recovering like a champ.
I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. Pleasantly.
I was a little let down that the tumor, as big as it was, only weighed four pounds. I had the number 15 in my head, but I suppose it wasn’t as dense as a kettlebell.
It put perspective on the ratio of fat mass to weight for me. The good news is that it was four pounds. That means I only have a good 20 to lose, not 75. Even still, that will take more than a scalpel, anesthesia, thread, and a free afternoon. I digress. Marco’s tumor is gone and I simply need to do more cardio. Dammit.
Marco’s Tumor August, 2015: Age 13
Removing the tumor was the main procedure. He also had two small cysts removed. One was near his eye and the other was lodged between two toes on his back paw. The toes had to be sewn together upon removal. Yes, this puppy has lumps for days.
You should have seen Denver. We actually called him Lumpy.
We picked Marco up the day after surgery and the poor thing looked messier than I ever have.
He had a discharge drain coming out of his main wound which was held together by what looked like a 7-inch stitched zipper. His eye had stitches and his back paw was in a cast. You could hear his odd clomp well before you could see him.
After what had to be a confusing 30 hours, he had an infectious amount of anxiety. All I could think about was how the medication better calm this old dog down.
The vet reviewed the important stuff – empty the drain, apply compresses, medication, restrict movement, and constant monitoring. They lost me at ‘confine him to a small space.’
“The pain meds will make him sleep, right?” I asked.
“They should.”
No problem.
Of course, they gave us one of those lampshade cones. Does anyone really use those? I used one, one time, with Denver. I’m not sure that even qualifies as use. I’ve held planks longer than that thing stayed on.
Some breeds might do alright with cones. Not Weimaraners.
Back at the Pad – The first night back was a breeze! Either Marco was high or simply tired from being stressed. Bottom line, he slept.
The next morning, Marco’s drain tube disconnected. I only emptied it three times before it slid out. Within 24 hours, Marco was back at the hospital. No, the cone wouldn’t have helped.
Turns out, they couldn’t replace the drain without cutting him open again so they left it out and it was no big deal.
I slept with Marco on the couch for the next week. He’s a cuddle freak.
He was on a cycle. Food, pills, randomly walking around, and sleeping. Occasional potty break. Repeat. Perfect. And, he likes the same shows I do. Imagine that. Soulmates.
Tomorrow he gets all his stitches out and the cast removed. That’s good because I’m running out of wool socks to muffle the noise.
If my math is right, he’s almost 100. 12 years is the average life expectancy of a Weimaraner. Denver was 12. Marco is a trooper.
I’m not sure he knows what happened, but he looks more comfortable. I believe we made the right decision.
Our pets are family. They bring enormous joy and unconditional love to our lives. In turn, we provide them with the happiest, most comfortable life possible. That’s our responsibility.
Caring for our pets isn’t always easy. We rely on veterinarians if unexpected conditions merge. If surgery becomes an option, our vets lay out the risks and reasonably expected outcomes.
With no guarantees, it often boils down to this: do what you think is best for your best friend. When risk is your best option, proceed with caution.
We considered surgery before. Our first dog had a brain tumor which caused him to have seizures. Now, our second dog has a tumor on his chest that won’t stop growing. It’s as big as half a basketball.
Here are their stories.
Denver
Meet the pups – In July 1999, Denver entered and forever changed our lives. His favorite thing to do was bring back whatever you threw, unless it was edible.
In December 2001, we called the same breeder to ask about a future litter. She said a litter arrived seven weeks earlier and the puppies were available now. Same parents.
We lived in Milwaukee at the time. A Wisconsin winter in a building with the slowest elevator known to man isn’t optimal for potty training. It was too cold and too quick. We decided against it.
Two days later, the phone rang. It was the breeder. Denver’s mom was hit by a car and died. This was the last litter. We picked Marco up the next day.
Marco
Denver was the athlete and Marco was the puppy. Denver fetched while Marco walked around. Denver fearlessly swam; Marco waited on shore. For 10 years, Marco followed Denver everywhere.
Something’s wrong with Denver– In 2009, Denver began waking up at night. He would sit upright, slightly twitch, and then go back to sleep. The episodes were short and subtle, but not unnoticed.
Within a few weeks, he had his first grand mal seizure.
Seeing a dog have a seizure is scary and heartbreaking. Once the seizure starts, all you can do is make sure they aren’t knocking into walls or furniture until it’s over. You feel helpless.
Our vet told us that Denver’s seizures were likely due to a brain tumor. Of course, we had a million questions. Naturally, we asked about removal. How common was this? Was she sure it was a brain tumor? Is he going to die?
Denver
There was a lot to learn, but treatment can go two ways: medication or removal.
She prescribed phenobarbital in an effort to prevent the seizures while we discussed surgery. Within weeks, he had another seizure. More followed. The phenobarbital wasn’t working by itself.
The seizures I witnessed always occurred after midnight. He fell off the bed and hit the floor, convulsing violently. His eyes stayed open with a blank stare while chomping his jaw and foaming at the mouth. Sometimes he peed.
The seizures lasted about a minute. Then he laid still, breathing quickly, with his tongue out. He wouldn’t respond to touch or voice. He would only blink when he began to regain consciousness.
We returned to the vet and told her we wanted an MRI, which was the next step to move forward with surgery.
Meanwhile, prednisone was added to his daily cocktail.
Denver was 10 when the MRI confirmed what we were already told. Now, we knew the size and position of the tumor. They estimated that he had about six months to live if the tumor kept growing. The meds were an attempt to combat swelling and growth.
We scheduled an appointment with the surgeon, but we couldn’t get in immediately. During the next couple weeks, Denver responded positively to the prednisone. Experiencing fewer seizures helped change our conversation.
No surgery for Denver – Emotions are hard, if not impossible, to separate when making difficult decisions concerning your pet.
We determined the surgery was too invasive. He was too old. As it were, he had six months left whereas he might not survive the procedure. The prednisone worked well enough to get us away from the ledge.
Six months passed. By then, Denver’s seizures were often a month apart. We adjusted his meds, as needed, over the next year.
By spring 2011, 18 months after his diagnosis, the side effects of prednisone couldn’t be ignored. His attitude changed. He began peeing inside regularly. He was always thirsty and his hunger was endless.
He ate tissues and toilet paper at every opportunity. We’d find rolls of toilet paper that looked like apple cores. He ripped the dispensers out of the drywall in both bathrooms. He destroyed other things looking for food.
Who was this dog? He wasn’t the same. He looked uncomfortable and scared, almost as if he weren’t in control.
We decided to wean him off prednisone.
Although his attitude improved, the seizures returned. They became more frequent and worse. His recovery was longer. After regaining consciousness, he had a new phase that lasted up to 30 minutes. He couldn’t hear and I’m not convinced he could see. He was turbo charged and ran into walls and got tangled up in cords. He broke things.
I remember grabbing his head and staring into his eyes and yelling, “Denver, Denver, Denver!” trying to get some type of response from his vacant eyes.
Nothing.
I let him go and he’d roam room to room as I listened to him bump into walls and knock things over at 3:30 a.m. It was clear that we had yet to make the hardest decision.
Denver – August 30, 2011
Farewell, old friend – Denver had really good days, but he was on his way down. Our vet knew Denver his entire life. She assured us it was okay to let him go on a high note. We scheduled his euthanasia for five days later.
During his last days, my ex moved back in and we celebrated Denver’s life. We did all the things Denver loved. He ate like a king. The morning of the appointment, he acted like any other day the past 12 years. It was hard to not change our mind.
He was 12. He never had another seizure. He is in a better place. August 31 will always be Denver Day.
Marco; right photo by Jeff Brezovar
Marco solo – Marco mourned for two weeks following Denver’s passing. Life, as he knew it, always included Denver.
Marco turned 10 that year. Although he never developed a brain tumor, he began developing a different tumor. It’s become a problem.
The tumor – The fatty tumor started growing between Marco’s chest and left front leg shortly after Denver’s passing. It looked like a single breast implant. By the time we moved to Arizona in 2013, it had grown to the size of a grapefruit. Marco was 12.
At that time, the aesthetic of the tumor was its worst quality. It didn’t affect his movement or mobility. Surgery seemed like a stupid risk, especially at his age. The question became, how much and how fast will it grow?
Honestly, I don’t think we expected Marco to last a year in Arizona.
Today, however, I’m pleased to report that Marco is healthy. He’s full of energy and still acts like a puppy. He will be 14 next month.
The tumor, however, continues to grow. It has more than doubled in size. Marco’s limping more. It’s bulky. He looks so uncomfortable carrying it.
Even strangers are taken aback at its size. Their greetings have gone from “Oh, what’s that?” to “Whoa! That’s huge!” Now, they express sympathy.
What would Joan Rivers do? – I’m kidding, we all know what she would do. Joking aside, that’s exactly why I’m scared. The other day, for the first time, the vet said we should have the surgery.
The procedure sounds straightforward. The biggest problem is the location of the wound. Recovery will be a little more difficult.
Is surgery worth the risk at 14? Will that give Marco the happiest, most comfortable life? 14 is old for a Weimaraner. The tumor will continue to grow. Which option doesn’t shorten his life? I wish I knew.
We have an appointment scheduled for another opinion. I’ll let you know what happens.
UPDATE: The second opinion was with the surgeon who would perform the procedure. Marco’s in great health. He’s scheduled to undergo testing on Halloween – in two days. He’s taking his Frankenstein costume seriously this year. Pending successful tests, he will have the tumor removed that day. Stay tuned.
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