I can't remember feeling this sad reading every post in a thread. Each one zapped another exposed nerve. Though sad, I am moved to read so much love and compassion for your "other kids." Peter, so sorry that Sunny's passing is so in-the-moment for you and your family. When you told me you had a dog, then showed me her picture on the boat house dock, I thought, "Gee, maybe he isn't an asshole after all."
Bandit is my 7th fur child. My Dad took care of "it's time" for the first two. I did the next four, alone, who were all brought into the household within a three year period. They lived from 9 years to 17.5 years.
Bandit will be 14 in January, though we have known him his whole life, he has been "ours" for just about 4 years. I have had the same vet (except for 5 years in AZ and TX) for his entire practicing career. He's now 64. Whenever he encountered something that should require a specialist, off he'd send us to the big teaching ho$pital. He never had that "I can do it all" that I have seen in some vets (and doctors).
Even though he has taken care of all 7 dogs, he pulled me aside last week (minor skin issue visit) to remind me that, even though he's in great health, he IS 14 and "they don't live forever."
Gawd, it sounded like "the old lady with the ancient cat" speech. "Hi, Les," it's me, Bob, remember?"
He doesn't remember, because I have never asked him to euthanize any of them. One was found dead when I returned home from work late.... on a Friday, Halloween, in El Paso f'n Texas. The other three exhibited their worst suffering from their fatal conditions after business hours, so each was taken to Boston's 100+ vet, 24 hour, teaching hospital (affiliated with Tufts Univ.), so they wouldn't have to suffer the whole night. In today's $, the last year of life for each cost about $3-4k. (Bandit was 12 when he got $4k cornea replacement!)
It's so difficult on every emotional level, and it never gets any easier. I don't recommend having a pack where they're all very close in age, 'cause the Ten Little Indians thing is brutal, esp. when the first "princess" hangs on to be the final Indian, 17+ years later.
BTW, Bandit has never had dog food, not for the first 10 years of his life when he lived next door with his late DogDad, nor in this house. It costs about $3.00 a day, not counting some treats that have to cost a lot, 'cause they don't come from that animal/baby killin' place, Chiner.
No living thing has evolved to live on processed food, exclusively, (or ever, really), so you can just throw out those bags of DikDik chow or canned food for Monotremes.
My empathy is with all of you who care for and live with another species. Sure there are tough times, but having a single stand-in for the entire animal world living in your home as part of the family is nothing short of astounding, every day!
I never intended to spend this much time, but it's all so close to me. I'll leave you with something uplifting and , umm funny?
When my 15-year old Bull Terrier, Enzo, had to go for that last hospital visit at 1:00 a.m. (he could no longer stand w/o falling over due to a brain tumor), I was assigned to an intern/resident (I don't know how it works to earn a D.V.M.), which, at that hour is nothing unusual.
He was about 25, kind, empathetic and warm. He told me that I was doing the right thing and he had lived to a very old dog age. As he began to explain the two-injection system, I told him I'd done this before. He nodded.
I laid Enzo down and cuddled with him, leaning over. Immediately after the vet administered the 2nd injection, I grabbed his arm and exclaimed, "I changed my mind!" I hadn't planned it, or been lying in wait, it just came out in some sort of in (inappropriate) jest.
The kid went "new lab coat" white. I told him I was kidding. He admitted that this was only his "2nd time" and he lived in fear that someone, someday, might actually do that to him.
"See now that it has already happened to you, with no consequences at all, even a second after the fact, you need not fear it ever again. You will tell this story for the rest of your career, and the telling of it will begin as soon as I leave here, won't it?"
We shook hands, I thanked him, he smiled, sort of, I handed him the cremation paperwork, and I left.
