Is It Harder to Lose Your Doggie When You’re Old?
Dear Nicholas, Husband Bob (age 83) and I (age 76) are both deeply sad at the loss of our dog Carlo, more affected than I can remember us being at other such losses. Is it our age? Is it harder to lose a pet when you’re old and so much more aware of mortality? Or is it the particular sweetness of our Carlo? 
“There’s a little-white-dog-sized hole in my heart,” Bob said a day later. Then added, “Not so little.” For one thing Carlo weighed over 100 pounds.
We do still have a dog we love, Kira, and we have each other. But damn! Carlo should be here.
His dying was an intense three-day experience. Turns out he had cancer and we hadn’t known it. Suddenly he was in a lot of pain. Snow got in the way of relief. For a day, no one could get in or out of our woodland gravel road.
How He Chose To Go
Though he had never before run away, Carlo wouldn’t come in the last time I took him out. So I left the door open and came back into the house. He disappeared. I found him lying out in the woods in the snow, a white dog hiding in snow, blood in the snow around him.
I couldn’t have moved him even if it seemed like the right thing. But it didn’t. I felt he had decided how he wanted to go. So I put a quilt over him and that day and the next hand-fed him there: chicken bits, globs of peanut butter, bowls of warm broth. Until he stopped eating and drinking, stopped moving anything but his eyes.
As soon as it was possible, a very compassionate veterinarian (Dr. Mithra Nalluri) braved our backwoods road and came to the spot where Carlo lay to give him the final shot. Bob, who walks with difficulty with a walker just now, made the arduous uphill trip into the woods to be with Carlo in his last moments. When Carlo heard Bob’s voice, he actually lifted his head, looked and looked at Bob. I found that so moving (though I also harbored a three-second thought: Lookahere, doggie, who’s been out here feeding you chicken bits?) Now I treasure having seen the two of them connect one last time.
A Ceremony, Almost a Sacrament
The last moments of Carlo’s life felt to me like pure love, the very essence of being alive. But wrapped in a sharp sadness and the sense of time unstoppably racing away.
I think most everyone I know has lost a pet, has gone through such a good-bye. That doesn’t lessen the intensity of anyone’s experience. I am grateful we lived nine years with Carlo and grateful for our farewell. I did have one huge wave of grief as he slipped away, thinking: what if this were Bob? Bob, whose health is not great. One of us will likely have such a moment with the other, one of these days. Maybe that’s part of the intense emotion now. Or maybe it’s all because of Carlo, his bountiful affection, his warm and soulful eyes.
Love,
Peggy
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: being alive, compassionate veterinarian, deeply sad, intense emotionceremonyaware of mortality, lose a pet, loss of our dog, Mithra Nalluri, pure love, sacrament
Comments
I teared up at Carlo raising up to acknowledge Bob….so achingly sweet.
For me, the longer I had a pet, the more grieved I was when they died. But nine years is a lot and I know it will take you a long time to get over. I’m sorry for your loss. I think you did so well by him at the end .
“Achingly sweet” describes it perfectly, Judy. Thanks for your sympathy.
Oh, Peggy, mu heart aches for you and Bob. I know the pain of this kind of loss all too well. I think it gets harder as we age, not easier, in part because every fresh loss invokes all the others that came before, all the goodbyes, all the consciousness of what we will never again experience in quite the same way, for as we know, our beloved animal companions have souls and personalities every bit as distinctive and individual as our fellow humans. I am so sorry. But what a touching and beautiful farewell you gave your sweet, good boy. He knew he was loved right through to the end, and that is perhaps all that any of us can hope for. Sending you much love.
And thank you for this touching and beautiful response, Christina. He was indeed “a sweet, good boy.” I hang onto the idea that he knew how much he was loved. And I have some idea how much you’ve been through of this experience.
Oh, Peggy and Bob, I am so sad you have lost Carlo. What a touching story you’ve shared about his going. When my Simon was dying he hid himself from us, climbed behind things in our walk-in closet where he never went. That’s how we knew the time had come. At the vet we sat on the floor and held him. We fed him ice cream and the last thing he did before he closed his eyes was lift his head and lick me on the nose. I felt like I was reliving that when I read what you wrote about Carlo lifting his head to look at Bob. I am so glad you both were able to be with him at the end. Your sweet Bob said to me some time ago (and I may be remembering it wrongly), “All we can really do is walk each other home.” Love to Peggy and Bob and Carlo. Lee
Just read this aloud to Bob, Lee. We both thank you. And I appreciate the send-off you gave Simon. Thank you for giving us that. You quoted Bob correctly, he still says that, “All we can really do is walk each other home.” I’ve heard it many times. There’s so much that can happen on that walk.
So sorry you’ve lost a dear companion. It’s so hard to let them go because of that love. Hugs.
Thank you, Gai!
Peggy,
This post brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful, moving story, and what a wrenching loss. Confession: I dread the future loss of our beloved dog more than I do some of the other humans in my life.
I love the respectful and humane way you dealt with Carlo’s last days. I’m so sorry — I know this hurts.
May your beloved doggie live forever, Mary! Thank you. And a belated happy birthday to you.