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...I feel like F'n Kevorkian right now. But, I guess someone has to make the decision and I took on that responsibility when I brought a one yr old home from the pound 17yrs ago.

Not even able to think of any happy moments right this second. And I have to deal with this till thurs appointment.
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I'm so sorry. I remember you posting a few weeks ago that you knew this day was coming, and I'm sorry it has arrived. Nothing I can say will make this ok for you, but I have been in your shoes, and I have never once regretted that my beloved kitty spent her final moments in my lap being pet and snuggled by me.

DEG
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Condolences. We had to do that with our Dane, too. It just sucks all the way around, but it really is better for them (compared to suffering).

I'm sure you gave him/her 17 really good years.
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dlbuffy: "...I feel like F'n Kevorkian right now. But, I guess someone has to make the decision and I took on that responsibility when I brought a one yr old home from the pound 17yrs ago.

Not even able to think of any happy moments right this second. And I have to deal with this till thurs appointment."


Nothing I say will make your position any easier (and we went through this several months ago), but I will counter your Kevorkian thoughts with the suggestion that you think of it as the last act of human kindness you can provide to your beloved pet. Your pet knows he/she is loved, that you are acting from that love and kindness (and without malevolence) to prevent/relieve undue pain and suffering.

With my all sympathy. JAFO
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I'm sure you gave him/her 17 really good years.

If he got 17 yrs with it, he did right by it.

My first dog went 17 years too. A great long life! Yet, when he could no longer stand up for more than a few seconds... but he would still wag... and I had to carry him in ...saying goodbye was a real gut wrenching tear jerker for us.

I'm 9 yrs into the pup snoozing at my feet as I finish up my tax organizer.... half-way sounds reasonable.
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sorry to hear that.

can only imagine the grief
/>:
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Not even able to think of any happy moments right this second. And I have to deal with this till thurs appointment.

You are a good person, Buffy. Our four-footed friends are lucky to have a kind two-footer to make their end of life less awfur.

(((((Buffy)))))

Count No'Count
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...I feel like F'n Kevorkian right now. But, I guess someone has to make the decision and I took on that responsibility when I brought a one yr old home from the pound 17yrs ago.

Not even able to think of any happy moments right this second. And I have to deal with this till thurs appointment.


I had to deal with it twice in 6 months last year...it sucks ass completely.

The decisions that you make out of love and compassion are always the right decisions, even when they feel wrong.

6
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I'm so sorry :(


Sometimes doing what's best for our pets really, really sucks for us.
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I am so sorry the time has come. Do not feel bad for your pet, you are making the right decision, but you cannot help feeling bad for your loss. If you didn't feel terrible, you would not be the person who cared for your pet for 17 years.

Wessex
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This hurts so much, and my heart goes out to you.

But it's the right thing to do for your baby. Suffering lasts. Oblivion is vastly preferable, particularly for a being which cannot understand its own pain.

Between now and Thursday, lots of cuddling. Special treats. And some heartfelt conversation -- they always loved being talked to.

Tears,
SLL
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I hurt for you, Buffy, I truly do, because I know how hard it is to part ways with a beloved soul. Our animal companions live star bright but all-too-short lives. To love them is to lose them and...well...it hurts. A.Lot.

Here's a piece I wrote several years ago about a cat I loved dearly:

I buried Mopsy under an old spruce tree. The depth of my grief caught me by surprise (but I’ll leave the reasons why for a later entry).

We spent our last day together sitting outside in the sunshine…a skeletal cat and a graying man, sharing a sunbeam or two. Mopsy always wanted to be outside. Although she spent her adult years as an indoor housecat (i.e., pampered prisoner), indulged and loved, the call of the wild filled her ears incessantly. To her, Nature was Heaven (as long as she could have her favorite meals and a warm bed to snuggle into as well). She became most adept at streaking through a partially open door, hell bent on burying her face in the grass, sniffing the aromatic breezes, and chasing after any moving thing. Oh, how she loved being outside on sunny days, curled against my feet, basking in sunshine and friendly zephyrs!

I had to carry her outside this last afternoon. She was too weak to struggle past the threshold and outside steps on her own. She collapsed across the cool concrete and drew comfort from that. We both knew that our life together was palpably slipping away. She struggled to reach me. I picked her up and held her in my lap. I was too grief struck to speak. She was too weak to raise her head.

A few hours later, she was gone…taking with her one of the few unsullied pieces of my heart still left.

* * *

Every home I’ve ever inhabited (that came with a plot of land, that is) has a pet (or two…or three) buried there. I’ve dug more than a few graves in my time.

This dolorous gravedigger went about his business on a hot, sunny Tuesday. It’s true you know…that phrase: “heavy heart.” My heart, so burdened with tears and grief, grew ponderous and burdensome within my chest, pressed heavily against my diaphragm, strangled each breath.

I began to dig.

I didn’t want Mopsy to have a shallow grave. No, I wanted her to have a peaceful resting place. I wanted her to rest deep within the rich earth, sheltered from the snow and rain.

I dug deeper. And deeper still.

I dearly loved all the animal souls that brightened my life. I truly did. Even so, I think I loved Mopsy the most. I know it’s not fair to compare one soul to another but, still, I can’t deny it…Mopsy’s soul was special. And so it felt natural…proper…essential…to prepare
her place of rest with the utmost care.

I always knew where I would bury her, whenever that day would come. I dug her grave beneath the canopy of the old Blue Spruce that grew majestically towards the sky. The Spruce extends her reach at least thirty feet across. Mopsy would rest beneath the protective limbs of this wise old tree, home to birds and squirrels galore, and now the sentinel and stalwart protector of the star-bright soul resting at her feet.

I dug a roomy grave about three feet deep into the thick, black soil.
I carved away the clayey dirt to form a perfect grave, straight-sided, deep and lovingly carved.

I collected fresh-cut grass clippings to line her grave. I wanted her to have a soft bed of the sweet grass she loved so much…devoured with such relish. Yes. Mopsy would sleep on the softest and sweetest of beds.

I lowered her body onto the bed, her place of rest. I gave her a blanket of grass to comfort her, then scattered a bouquet of fresh daisies over all (for you see, Mopsy had a thing for flowers).

Earth was returned to earth, and this most endearing of souls disappeared within.


* * *

As I said, Mopsy had a thing for flowers. I mean…she REALLY loved flowers.

One discovers certain verities when entwined with another soul.
It was a verity that, whenever flowers were brought into the home (a frequent practice), Mopsy HAD to thrust her face into each blossom. She would inhale deeply, probing each bloom with the tenacity of a bumblebee.

She would proceed to devour her favorite.

Another verity: Within one hour, I would hear a crash and splash. Although the details varied (toppled vase on dining room table…coffee table…end table…kitchen counter…bathroom counter…window sill...), Mopsy was always there, a mere foot or two away, calmly licking a fluffy paw. She would stop, mid-lick, to gaze into my eyes quizzically: “Did something happen? Did I miss anything?”
She personified innocence…innocence belied by a golden-yellow, pollinated muzzle. Never failed.

Mopsy really had a thing for flowers.

* * *
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I'm so sorry, dlbuffy. It's such a hard thing. I hope the happy thoughts come in their own time and are a comfort to you.

cm
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...I feel like F'n Kevorkian right now. But, I guess someone has to make the decision and I took on that responsibility when I brought a one yr old home from the pound 17yrs ago.

It is a great sign of our humanity that we can love so deeply, hurt so deeply, and yet still do what is best....even through the tears.

Unfortunately it is also a sign of our humanity to doubt ourselves and these tough decisions.

This thread is as supportive as anonymous can get. Hug your pup, review why you made the decision for the pup, and then try not to let your potential embarrassment about the tears let you stifle the response. It is all part of the wheel of life.

I wonder when we can do for our human loved ones what we are able to do for our "kids"?

Poz
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My total sympathy to you. I've been honored to share a life with several cats and now a dog w/ at least a few years ahead of her. I could never bring myself to do them the final kindness, but left it to MDH.

I agree Poz, I wonder when we can do for our human loved ones what we are able to do for our "kids"? One does know when the end is near, for all creatures, human and nearly so.

PM
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