Peanut and Me

                        Saturday was a memorable day for Peanut and me.  She died, and I came to know what an important life she was.

                        Whether you believe in Adam and Eve, or the Cro-Magnon, animals have played an integral role in all of our lives since they were first domesticated thousands of years ago.  They have provided us with food, clothing and shelter, and most importantly, companionship and love.  Peanut was one of those animals.

                        We had only known Peanut for a few months. She was a very old Chihuahua who came to us exhibiting symptoms of advanced congestive heart failure.  At times she would become so congested with fluid in her airways, she would collapse from lack of oxygen.  This obviously created a great deal of anxiety for her family, but they loved her dearly and would do anything to make her more comfortable.

                        With medication and her family’s devoted care, Peanut won many battles against this disease, but it ultimately was a war that could not be won, and she surrendered her life on that Saturday afternoon, surrounded by her loved ones.

                        For those who have never known a Chihuahua, they are great dogs.  Chihuahuas are fiercely loyal and protective of their family and property.  Believe me, if Chihuahuas weighed eighty pounds, you never would have heard of Pitbulls.  Despite their small size, they give a lot of love.  And Peanut did.

                        Euthanasia has always been hard for me.  Not the act itself, or the reason for doing it, but the fact that I can’t help but think about all of the great dogs from my past whenever we perform one.  It makes me think about the Border Collies-the three Chrissies, and Jake, Jack and Bandi, and Minnie, the Chihuahua.  It gets really rough sometimes; it’s hard not to get emotionally sucked in. Impossible in some cases.  And so it was with Peanut.

                        As we prepared Peanut for the injection, her owner, Mrs. C., told us there was something we didn’t know about Peanut and her family.  Her husband died years ago when her two children were very young.  The kids had actually known Peanut longer than they did their dad.  Peanut had always been there for them, through good times and bad.  Now, they were all here for her, supporting Peanut in the final moments of her life.

                        Of course it is always sad when pets die, but that sadness is tempered somewhat when they die loved.  And Peanut was loved.

                        As Peanut’s life was leaving her, Mrs. C. said that she was now going to heaven to be with her dad.  With a lot of hard swallows and lip-biting, we helped her on her journey.

                        A few weeks ago, a wise and very religious lady asked me if I thought dogs went to heaven.  I remember how easy it was to confidently state, “I don’t think it would be much of a heaven without them.”  She seemed pleased by my answer and I think agreed.  I didn’t have a problem with

Peanut being in heaven with her dad. I didn’t know where else she would be.

                        We wrapped Peanut’s body in her blanket, and as the family started to leave the room, Mrs. C. paused and said, “You won’t be seeing me anymore.  I don’t ever want to go through this again.”

                        This is a common response we hear at this very difficult time, and I don’t blame people a bit for feeling this way.  It hurts to lose a pet, and the stronger the love for the pet, the more intense the pain.  But time does heal all wounds, even the really deep ones.

                        As her family walked down the hall, I slunk back into the room for a few minutes, alone with my old friends.

                        I got my first Border Collie, Chrissy, when I was six years old, and her great-granddaughter, Chrissy III, died when I was forty.  Chrissy I had a good life and died an old dog.  Sadly, her granddaughter, Chrissy II, and her puppies, Jake and Chrissy III, did not.  Their deaths were hard.  Chrissy II was a link to my parents.  Chrissy III was a link to virtually my entire life.

                        I really did feel like a part of my life was taken with each passing.  Our Welsh Corgi, Bunny, and Bandi, an old Border Collie we adopted, helped bring back some of that life, but there was still a definite void.

                        Then I met Robbie.  She was four weeks old and had come to our office with the rest of her family to be dewormed.  My wife actually went to her house two weeks earlier to deworm the litter for the first time.  She told me about the puppies, and how pretty some of them were marked.  But she also said there was a funny-looking puppy with freckles all over her face and legs.  I kind of hoped we wouldn’t get that one.

                        I wanted a female and had a choice of two.  I picked up the “pretty” puppy first, but she tried to pull away from me.  I set her down and grabbed the freckled pup.  I held her up to my face and she planted a big lick on my nose.  It was “love at first lick.”  

                        Although nearly three years had gone by since the death of Chrissy III, suddenly everything seemed right in the world.  I know eventually the day will come when I will be devastated once again.  But I would trade a few bad days for a few good years anytime.  The heart is a tough organ.  It can heal.  Sometimes all it takes is one lick.

                        The human-animal bond is a powerful force.  These are not just dumb animals.  They are our companions, our friends, our lives.  They deserve the best we can give them-the best nutrition, the best and most humane treatment, and the best veterinary care.  Make your veterinarian part of this bond.  Your veterinarian can be there through every stage of your pet’s life, even the final one.

                        Sure, there are some bad dogs, but most dogs are pretty good “people,” maybe even the best of us.  It’s okay to be sad and cry when you lose them, and its okay to cry when you remember them.  It means that you’ve had a great bond.

                        Oh, you’ll see us again, Mrs. C.  You’ll have to.  You have too much love left to give…and receive.  We’ll be waiting for you.

Author:  Dr. John Jones
Image courtesy of pandpstock001 at FreeDigitalPhotos.net