We said our final goodbyes to the poodle pup today in a way that I was hoping to avoid. At 1pm the vet administered a lethal dose of anaesthetic and as I stroked his fluffy white coat, murmuring over and over again ‘good boy’, I felt him take his last breath.
It was so very hard.
I’ve known this day would come eventually and as he got older and more unsteady on his feet, I steeled myself that sooner, rather than later, we would have to make the agonizing decision, but any time to have to put your baby down is way too soon in my books.
The vet came to our house and Jacque was home in familiar surroundings, with his chewed up froggie toy beside him. It was amazingly quick and other than a few problems finding a vein due to his age and Jacque to the very end being particular with anyone doing anything near his legs, I hope he wasn’t too traumatized. As the needle went in Master was holding his head and a few seconds later Jacque was drifting off to sleep.
Late last week he got a small infection on the back of his tail and almost overnight it bloomed into a toxic abscess. The circulation had stopped in the end of his tail and the vet said the only thing to do would be to amputate.The infection was slowly leaching into his blood stream and he wasn’t eating and could barely get up. Considering his age, we thought putting him to sleep would be the best thing.
I was supposed to go to work today, and until 7:30am when I called my boss to ask for the day off, I had every intention of being out of the house when it happened. I didn’t think I could cope with it. I didn’t want to see him die. I didn’t want to be a part of it. And I didn’t want to see his life-less body after the deed had been done. But I thought about Master. I thought about how Jacque had been his baby for thirteen and a half years and I didn’t want him to go through it alone.
As it turns out, Master held things together a lot better than I did. I was crying for several hours last night, for most of the morning and I sobbed and sobbed from the minute the vet walked in the door. Master was comforting me, not the other way around and other than Master pouring himself a glass of whiskey (and he only drinks like that when he’s really shaken up) he was strong.
I’ve never seen anyone die before. Someone dead, yes, someone die, no. When I attended my ex-hubby’s grandmother’s funeral, I couldn’t bring myself to touch her. It’s a part of Japanese customs that you ‘confirm’ that someone is dead by touching their face. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to touch Jacque after he’d passed, but it was just like he was asleep – warm, fluffy and I stroked and kissed him.
Then Master and the vet carried him out of the house on a stretcher and the vet took him to be cremated. We’ll get his ashes back in a few days in a lovely wooden box with his name engraved on it. I can’t stop thinking about him though and I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I feel bad about every time I yelled at him or got annoyed by him. He was a fantastic dog, with such a great personality and he couldn’t of made me happier.
I miss him. His absence is palpable. I keep expecting to hear his nails on the tiles as he walks around the kitchen or feel his fluffy white head nuzzling up under my arm as I type. It’s quiet. So quiet. Tomorrow when I get home from work, I’ll be expecting to see him at the door, all excited and running around.
But he won’t be there.
Rest in peace my fluffy pup. We miss you and love you.