I went to watch the sunset this evening; the first time in a long while. A few weeks ago (47 days ago, in fact), my Soul Pup, Duke, and I watched had the Sun descend over the ICW….it was the last full day we spent together, and the last time we basked in the warming glow of a sunset together.
After the sun had descended, we drove over to the ocean. He was content to just watch the waves for a while, from the back of the Jeep; no interest in hopping out and walking closer to the waves. That was part of what sealed the deal on my “Knowing.”
So many times, people have asked me, as their Veterinarian, “How will we know? How will we know the right time?” And it is truly impossible to explain. My profession has created lists that pet parents can run through, answer questions, add up numbers, and come out with a numerical valuation on “Quality of Life.”
But how can we really place a number on Quality of Life?
I myself have usually said….
“When they have more Bad Days than Good Days.”
Or…
“When they lose their interest in what is happening around them.”
Or…
“When they are suffering, and we can no longer control their pain and discomfort.”
Taken as a group, I think those observations can help. Truly though, I think that as long as you question it, and are unsure, it is not time. One day, in an instant, you will Know. There will be no question. I think they telepathically connect with us so that we will know that, yes, it is time.
I actually thought I would have to let Dukie go earlier than I did. He had alerted me the previous week. I had woken up that morning and, looking at him, he gently and steadily returned my look, and I felt it. He was saying it would be soon, but not that day.
I spent the next few days alternating between mourning and denial, but by Friday, I realized that the time was imminent. I talked to him about it, about the process. The finality of it. He seemed to consider that and he rallied enough for us to have a weekend touching on some of the things we always enjoyed doing together: a walk in the Woods, relaxing in the yard, a saunter around the park, listening to the Sea and tucking in the Sun.
After the sunset/ocean trip, we arrived home and he just deflated. I went to sleep pretty sure that it would be time to release him the next day, and when I woke up that morning, I opened my eyes and Knew. I looked over at him and Knew. I knew he had summoned the last of his Qi to create a weekend of memories together. And I was heartbroken, but I knew what I had to do. So I arranged it.
One thing I asked of him was to please wait, to wait for me to listen to him go….and he did. I can’t believe he made it happen, but he did.
I had dosed him heavy to ensure a smooth transition. As I completed administration of the injection, I heard him exhale deeply. I thought he was gone. Remaining in professional mode (which is where I had to be in order to help him through), I removed the needle, capped it and set it down. I haltingly placed my stethoscope on his chest, hoping to catch a least a little beat, but it wasn’t only that.
He was still there; his heart beating more softly but definitely regularly. I couldn’t believe it, but yet…I could. I was so grateful. I told him how much I loved him, I thanked him for loving me and then I told him it was ok to go. That I would be ok. That I wanted him to run free. That I would miss him so, so much, but that I would find him again.
His heart beat remained soft and regular this entire time, so I finally said, “Ok, I’m ready now. You can go. Run free Dukie, run free and find me again one day.” And his heart beat didn’t even skip. It remained soft and steady for a few moments, then just gradually became fainter and fainter……and then he was gone.
I haven’t really thought about that precious moment since that night; I haven’t been able to. But the sunset tonight brought it all back. It reminded me of how much we loved each other: Me, enough to help him transition and Him, enough to wait and say goodbye. And I think this just exemplifies the amazing connection that can occur across species, between humans and our beloved animal companions.
I try to remember that, just as the Sun remains brilliantly ablaze, although beyond my vision, once it drops beneath the Horizon, so does Duke’s Spirit still glow radiantly, waiting to greet me one day at Sunrise.
Duke (12 October 2008-10 May 2021)
my trail name is dragonFly 