When my father died suddenly at 63, we were all stunned. I remember sitting outside, at the side of my parents home, crying. All of a sudden the song Obla Dee, by the Beatles, came on. Clear as day. "Obla dee obla dah life goes on, brah, la la la how life goes on."
It's such a light, boppy, airy tune. I mean, I was grieving, crying. The life of the party, my dad, gone. Where did this come from?
To this day I believe somehow, from somewhere, my father was instumental in putting that song inside my head. It was something he would have said.
It's so true though, isn't it?
We took Tasha's body in to be cremated after she died last evening. She was at home surrounded by the usual random barks of her brothers, the smells and sounds of her own home, and her "mommy and daddy" reassuring her that we were there, loving her, gently stroking and kissing her pretty little head.
I've read many people say that there's no such thing as dying peacefully at home. I'm still not sure what to think. Her breathing was labored, and that was what we saw. But that happened about thirty minutes before she actually died. Then, a few minutes before her heart stopped, her breaths were few and far between. She didn't cry out, there were no convulsions.
We carried her, on her bed to our wonderful vet, earlier that morning. Really it was for our own peace of mind and to see if there was anything we could do to make her final moments more comfortable.
At this point, her body was limp but her eyes responded. She seemed peaceful and serene. The only thing she tried to do, in the middle of the night, was get out of bed to go outside to her "bathroom". She didn't make it. Earlier in the day, she made it, but fell. She was rapidly declining.
Tasha never did like going to the vet, so I could tell she was nervous, even in her weak state. I also know how VERY intelligent she was. She saw Milo, her companion of ten years leave our home and never come back after he had collapsed. She stayed by his side, closely by his side, until he left. (She would sit by the door after he died, and wait.) Four weeks after Milo died, she saw someone come into our home, and take Rosco away. (He was euthanized at home.
She was never the same and went downhill after that. It was heartbreaking to watch. It lasted this whole year.
As we carried her into the vet's, I'm pretty sure she believed she would never go home again. She had diarrhea while there. I kept whispering in her ear we were going home soon. And we did! Once home, she relaxed and seemed peaceful.
I'm so glad we went to the vet. She confirmed that Tasha was actively dying. Tasha had thrown up earlier that morning, even though she hadn't eaten for 24 hours, so the vet gave her an injection to relieve nausea. She also told us what medications would help with any anxiety or bodily pain. Fortunately, we had them both at home.
When we returned home, I gave her the appropriate amount of meds and cleaned her gently. I stroked her, kissed her sweet head. and told her what a good girl she was. I thoroughly cleaned and dried her bed and put a new sheet on, along with doggy pee pads. I made a small pillow for her neck. Her breathing was calm, her heartbeat relatively strong. Her bed was in her favorite place in the living room where she could see all that was going on.
To keep busy and trying not to think, I cleaned, vacuumed and took up the special rugs Tasha needed to help stabilize her walking. I took her bowls up. She wasn't able to see any of that part. I knew, that once the life left her body, I wouldn't be able to cope with the tasks. She smelled the candles I always have burning, she heard the sounds so familiar to her; her new brothers random barking, the vacuum, Phil and I talking.
Around 3:30 I saw her body very lightly twitch. The vet warned of this when she went over the last stages of dying. She said Tasha wouldn't be in pain when this happens, that it was harder on us. When I asked how she knew there was no pain, she said that scientists didn't study this as much as they could, but based it on when humans have seizures. Humans aren't aware.
Phil was lying down, so I thought I'd tell him only if I saw more twitching. About 15 minutes later, I did. I waited, she was calm and appeared to be sleeping. Eventually, after about the third time I told Phil she was in the final stages.
We sat with her, spoke with her, and watched her breathing slow down. She seemed to gasp about four or five times intermittently. It was quiet, short, and didn't last long. Then the gasping stopped. She was still breathing, but the breaths were far apart. The whole time, her body didn't tense up except for the twitching, and that wasn't much. Finally the up and down flow of her body as she would breathe stopped completely. There was still a slight heartbeat for maybe 30 seconds to a minute, then, it too, stopped completely. She died at 5:10, November 30th, 2024....a very, very shit year with so much loss and disappointment.
Phil broke, I cried softly.
He wanted to drink a toast to her before we took her body away. The boys, Enzo and Elliot knew. They sniffed her, sniffed her balnket, sniffed her bed, and watched us closely. I knew they knew.
About an hour later we carried her, on her bed, out of the house, never to come home again. We took her to the emergency ER where they would have her, our third dog this year, cremated. I chose to keep her ashes in a box just like Milo's. Someday, in the near future, we'll climb to the top of the hill across the street, where Phil used to take Milo, Tasha and Rosco every morning. The hill where she once chased, and had a friendly encounter, meeting a coyote.
On the way home I really broke. The fact that she would never come home again hit me like a solid, fast, hard punch to my gut. So fucking final. So painful!
I tear up again as I relive the moments of her final day with us. It signifys that another huge chapter of my life has closed. We got Tasha, Milo, and a couple of years later, Rosco, shortly after we moved here. I slowly realized they were all close to the same age, and I dreaded their deaths. It would be like a very slow and painful domino effect. And that it was!!! Since Tasha was the oldest, we always thought she'd be the first to go, then Rosco, then Milo. It was very close to the opposite, with Rosco still being the second to go.
Milo had a mass behind his spleen that we didn't know about (Hemangiosarcoma) until it suddenly burst. We frantically rushed him to our vet. We had to make a quick decision about euthanizing him there and then. There were few few options, and the ones we had were pretty bad. So he died under horrible florescent lights at a place he absolutely feared, and he was absolutely terrified. I feel as if I betrayed him.
Four weeks after Milo died, Rosco was acting very sluggish. I figured it was grief, but it wasn't. It was a slow bleed Hemangiosarcoma and the vet gave him days. Four days later, he was euthanized at home after he quit eating and drinking. His death was peaceful.
Tasha literally stayed by Milo's and Rosco's side to the very end. She loved Milo as her own and loved Rosco as well.
I'm writing this for a few reasons. But the main one is to communicate what each type of death was like. I've read many people say that a pet dying naturally without euthanizing, is not peaceful at all. I'm not really sure I agree. If we would have been able to have someone who could have euthanized Tasha at home for just that, we probably would have. But there were also things to consider, Tasha would have known that a stranger coming to see her wasn't a great sign. Yes!!! She was that smart. You won't convince me otherwise. Rosco was euthanized at home by a stranger, I was slightly uncomfortable even with that. He was still looking deep into my eyes.
The answer, I wish, would be for a dog's beloved family to be able to assist with their pet's death with something calming.
I mean, we let humans die at home, some are peaceful some are the opposite. I view my pets in a way that if it's good or acceptable for humans, it should be the same, exactly the same, for our pets.
Maybe at the end of life, we should give humans the right to choose euthanasia. I believe we should.
However a loved one dies, the grief fills you with aches and pains only someone who has loved and lost will understand. My mother had a saying, "This too, shall pass". And it does, but each loss, each reason for grief leaves it's mark on your soul.
But the message is still the same, life goes on.
"She was no longer wrestling with the grief but could sit down with it as a lasting companion, and make it a sharer in her thoughts. " George Elliott
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