It’s been just over a month since Luna died. She turned 10 in April, and she’d been having health issues for the last couple of years. By the time she died, she’d lost all her fur and had sores on her body that wouldn’t heal. She didn’t have the greatest final two months, but she was on pain killers and antibiotics, and wasn’t suffering - at least I don’t think she was.
Despite her bad hips (they turned bad suddenly, going from fine to not in just a few days), she still managed to go up and down the front steps, except once, when she couldn’t get her hind legs up on the first step and I had to carry her in.
She was weak and stopped eating a couple of days prior, so I knew she was done with everything. Labs don’t lose interest in food unless they’re all done with this earth.
The day before she died, she’d found a little spot in the barn, under the stairs, away from everyone, and I thought that was the end, but later that night she dragged herself out into the open. I asked if she wanted to come inside, but she made it clear that she just wanted to enjoy the air - it was finally cool after several days of stifling heat. I was worried she’d get chilly, having no fur, so I covered her with her red mud towel, and she stayed under it as I was getting ready for bed.
The forecast promised rain. I hoped it would stay away for Luna’s sake; I kept listening for raindrops, just in case. The rain drops came, just a few, as a warning, so I jumped out of bed and ran outside. Luna was sitting, half-covered by the towel; I picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. I spread the towel on the floor and put her on it, patted her head and told her I loved her and that she was a good girl. She sighed and went to sleep. With her fur gone, she looked like a giant naked puppy because her belly was more pronounced, and her thin hips made it look even bigger.
The following morning, I came into the kitchen not knowing what I’d find, but she was still with us. She’d just had an accident, right where she lay, and I told her it was OK, that she was a good girl, and I cleaned it up. I had to leave for a 10,000 Small Businesses conference that morning and needed to get on the road, so I told her I loved her, and that I’d be back. I always said “I’ll be back” whenever I left the house so she’d hear my intent.
As I was leaving, I again told her that she was such a good girl, that I loved her, and that I’d see her soon. I got in the car and drove off, but then turned around and went into the house again, gave Luna a kiss and told her it was OK.
Luna passed away shortly after that. Jessi came downstairs soon after I left, and Luna was already gone.
She’d held on as long as she could, and as I left, so did she.
Right after Luna died, I started doubting whether I did right by her, not putting her to sleep sooner.
The subject had come up in conversation with family and during the last visit to her dermatologist specialist. At that time Luna had only had a couple of bad days, so it seemed selfish to get rid of her just because she needed extra care and attention.
The subject of life, death, and suffering was in sharper focus for our household. We all had to witness and participate in my grandmother’s steady, debilitating decline over the last several years due to dementia. Grandma died in February of this year, and she was in a bad way, but you don’t get this choice with people - to end their suffering. Grandma spent her last days at a nursing home, not knowing anything about her surroundings, stuck in an ever-contracting time loop: startling into terrified cognition, then fading back into purgatory; over, and over, and over again. I only hope her terror diminished as her cognitive abilities dissolved, and that the drugs she was on managed any remaining anxiety.
As Luna’s quality of life started to decline, rapidly, closer to the end, it became clear that if she didn’t pass soon, we would need to help her. The knowledge that I could spare Luna needless suffering was a relief, even if I didn’t get to act on it - her slide towards the end accelerated too rapidly for that to be necessary.
It’s been just over a month since she died, and I’m only now starting to process what it means that she’s gone. A blanket on the couch at night makes me think she’s there sleeping and brings tears to my eyes. I finish my breakfast and out of habit go to put my plate on the floor for her to clean. I look with surprise at towels still hanging on the dishwasher handle, thinking it odd she hasn’t stolen them yet (she loved stealing towels or socks or any other small clothing item and hoarding them under the coffee table).
I can write words about her being gone, but I can’t say them - every time I’m about to, something painful materializes in my throat and prevents the words from forming. I haven’t been able to talk about it more than a couple of times, and that was after it had just happened - when I was still able to think about it in the abstract, with inertia of still thinking of it as some future event. It’s too real for words right now. I wonder how long that’ll last?
This experience of grief has felt like trying to run through deep mud. You know you have to get to the other side, and you’re trying, and it’s exhausting, and there is no place to rest, and you can’t stop, and you can’t really keep going, and yet you can’t not. Easy to burn out. The only way through is forward, and slowly, to avoid the burnout. If you’re lucky, those around you will understand. Luckily for me, I am lucky.
Luna’s buried where the old dead apple tree was knocked over by a storm a few years ago. It’s a nice spot, out of the way but still close to activity around the house. Foxes tried to dig her up a couple of times, but I put rocks on top of the grave and that stopped. I’d thought of replacing the apple tree a few times, and it turns out there’s a “Luna” semi-dwarf variety; the Internet is out of stock for now, but as soon as the trees are available again I’m going to get one and plant it there, as a memorial. Replace the dead apple tree and have a Luna memorial - pet two dogs with one hand.
I’m not ready for another dog yet. I’ve heard people say that the best way to get over the loss of a pet family member is to bring in another one, and I think it’s true - the new love flows right into the hole left by grief. I can see how that would be helpful.
I’d be up for that, except after years of taking care of grandma and then Luna, not having to be house-bound feels liberating - I think I’d like to experience that for a little while.
Dogs are such wonderful people that I can’t imagine not being around one, and we’ve already talked about getting another puppy, and chickens, and maybe a goat. Never going anywhere on vacation again after that, I guess.
Thank your for this gift of emotion and insight. You provided me with an opportunity to reconnect with my own experience.