Roy Exum: Goodbye Charlie Brown
by Roy Exum
posted March 15, 2008
Roy Exum |
I thought Wednesday night was bad, but found Thursday night was a whole lot worse after Charlie Brown, the most wonderful dachshund the good Lord ever created, was no longer sharing my pillow.
Charlie, who came into my life almost 17 years ago when I heard about a guy who needed to give her away on the radio one morning, had to be put down on Thursday when our veterinarian found the cancer was so bad that the dog could no longer digest her food, and she was now having a tough time walking.
We’d been up much of Wednesday night because she was so sick, but Thursday, after she didn’t come home with me from the vet, my other dog, the one I call Scooter, who sleeps at the foot of the bed, got up twice in the night, and I could hear him going from one room to the next to make sure Charlie just hadn’t forgotten to come to bed.
My two dogs had a very unusual deal. Charlie, who was very much the matriarch at our house, had a warm nest in a big leather chair in the living room, and, when the Milk Bones would tumble from the box in the mornings, Scooter would gulp his down while Charlie would hide hers, saving them for a little later.
As the day progressed, Scooter would think of ways to lure the queen from her throne so he could dash in and steal one of her biscuits, and Charlie would play the younger dog like a Stradivarius, finally letting him get one or two.
In return, there would be a time late in the afternoons when they’d both be gnawing on their rawhide chews, and Charlie’s attention would be drawn to the way Scooter, younger and bigger, would be making mincemeat of his.
So Charlie would growl, only once or twice, and Scooter would bring his softer, more pliable chew over to where the old girl was, and they’d swap. Now I don’t know how you feel about that, but Thursday night, as I heard Scooter plop back down at the foot of the bed and softly groan when he couldn’t find Charlie, that meant the world to me.
Charlie had a pedigree, but Scooter had come from a far-bigger extended family. I read once there was this company where you could send a swab of the dog’s saliva, and they could determine its DNA, but if I sent in some of Scooter’s, it would have broken the machine. Trust me on this one, Scooter is a dog of many fathers.
When the kids brought Scooter home, he was just about five weeks old and had more diseases than a little village in rural India. I sent him to the vet the next day so he could be put down, but the kids came back to gleefully tell me Dr. Keller thought he may be able to save him and for me to send him a check for more than we could have bought an entire litter.
So once the puppy got home, Charlie Brown did more mothering than any of the rest of us, and a deep friendship was born that lasted six years until this week.
I’ll never forget the night I came home with what I thought was the flu, and those two dogs hovered so close it was unbelievable. Every time I would push them away, they just snuggled in closer, and about 3 a.m. the pain got so bad that I couldn’t handle it. I went to the hospital with a bad infection that had resulted in blood poisoning, and it wasn’t lost on me that my dogs knew more than I did.
Thursday night, as Scooter and I lay awake in the darkness, and each of us held Charlie in our hearts, I reminded my loveable mutt that I deeply believe heaven is a place where every dog you ever loved will lick you in the face that very first day you’re there. As I did, it dawned on me what an immeasurable blessing that little dachshund had been for so long in my life.
So, before dawn Friday morning, I dreamed of the way Charlie, those short little legs flying and those ears flopping just so, would tear across summer’s green grass every single day to welcome me home, and how never, not even once, did that not mean the world to me.
So, I cherish the promise that will bring the day when Charlie Brown, the best little dachshund ever, will lick my face again because, boy, I dearly loved that little one.
royexum@aol.com
When it's time
Dachshunds bring such joy and happiness to our lives, and saying 'goodbye' to our furry friends who give us nothing but unconditional love is the toughest thing in the world. Meet dachshund lover Jonathan Yardley, book critic for the Washington Post, and his pretty red smooths 'Reggie' (right) and 'Sophie.' Mr. Yardly had to make a difficult decision with Reggie a few weeks ago, and writes openly and candidly about it in The Washington Post. Here's an excerpt: Of course it wasn't easy. It's never easy. I've now done it seven times: I've been Lord High Executioner to five dogs and two cats. I did it each time with the deepest regrets and, inevitably, with tears. Still, the decision to put Reggie "to sleep" (as the prevailing euphemism has it) was the hardest of all, not merely because he was the best dog I have ever known but because the vastly increased sophistication and expense of veterinary medicine can make euthanasia a far more complicated and morally vexing choice than it had been in the not so distant past. If you own a pet -- and odds are that you do, since the latest estimate of the American population of dogs and cats is 164 million -- sooner or later, you almost certainly are going to discover this for yourself.
Read the rest of this emotional story at The Washington Post. Our hearts go out to Mr. Yardley and his family.
Year by year, however, fewer and fewer Waldis are to be seen trotting along Germany's streets; thus a breed is gradually disappearing from the country's cities which was once as popular among German dog-lovers as the German Shepherd, the breeding of which is also a matter of national cultural heritage.
Both breeds are suffering a decline in Germany, despite the fact that they still rank first place in the puppy statistics of the German Kennel Club (VDH). They registered almost 17,000 German Shepherds in 2006, and more than 7,000 "Teckels", as the wire-, short- and long-haired dachshunds are correctly known and which are used by hunters as working dogs to flush foxes and badgers from their burrows. The trend, however, is definitely on a downwards spiral. Just as Germans have for decades been enriching their native cuisine with dishes from all over the world, they have long ago discovered the global diversity of dog breeds.
 |
|
Others have had an even tougher time of it. After the war, the spitz-type dog, wrongly persecuted by Wilhelm Busch's character Widow Tibbets for stealing chickens, was still an everyday sort of dog – decried as a bit of a yapper – commonly found on German streets. In the meantime, however, he has been placed on the endangered breeds register, just like the Waldviertel blond cattle and the Hungarian Zackel sheep. The terrier hasn't fared much better: in the past it was commonly to be seen standing around – trembling despite the fact that its owner had taken care to clothe it in a blanket. The boom years are also over in Germany for poodles and cocker spaniels, even though they are still to be found in the top ten on the puppy list.
Increasingly, exotic breeds which were formerly used only for hunting purposes are now stealing a march on them. Labradors and Golden Retrievers are popular, as are the lively and cheeky Jack Russell terriers. Connoisseurs are discovering elegant breeds behind the former Iron Curtain, like the Hungarian Viszla; others are helping to give the silvery-grey Weimaraner a renaissance. Media-inspired fads, on the other hand, tend to be somewhat short-lived; the subject of one such trend was the Dalmatian, following the success of the film 101 Dalmatians. Vets regard such fashions with concern, because irresponsible breeders seek to meet the mass demand as quickly as possible, without thinking about the health of the animals. As it is, numerous dogs suffer from ailments all their lives because the objective of the breeding process is to achieve very unnatural breed characteristics: extremely large or small bodies, extremely short snouts, extremely long ears, mountains of wrinkles.
Anyone who chooses a mongrel – which it is estimated make up 60 percent of dogs in Germany – is immune to such excesses and inbreeding. They are to be found in the homes of the German Society for the Protection of Animals, for example, which finds new homes for more than 50,000 dogs every year. Fewer and fewer of these are dachshunds, though they are a big hit in Japan: last year, more than 20,000 dachshund puppies were born there – hopefully with Japanese war heroes as patrons.
Saying good-bye: euthanasia
The one certain thing in life is that we all will pass over. No matter how we try, our dachshunds only have a limited amount of time to spend with us. It is at the end of this time that most dog owners must face at some point. How we face those final days is vitally important to you and your best friend.
Euthanasia is the process of ending your dachshund's suffering as painlessly and humanely as possible. No one that I know likes to think about these end times and most of us will avoid the issue if at all possible. In fact, even when our dogs are in great pain, with no hope of regaining their normal lives, we still don't want to think about putting an end to that life. It is precisely at these times when you have to stop thinking about yourself and think of your dog and all the great moments they have given to you. You have to be strong, no matter the hurt you know will follow.
Your dog has given you so much that it's your responsibility to help them move on from the suffering. They deserve more from you than putting them through more suffering. As the alpha leader of your pack, it's your job to ease their suffering in whatever way you can. The best way that we know of today is through our vets who have taken care of your friend in sickness and health.
Your vet loves animals. That's why they chose to be a vet. Part of their training is how to end the life of an animal that is suffering. The techniques they use are quiet ends, with dignity and without suffering.
How do you know when it's time?
Most people really reach a point where they aren't questioning when the time will come or whether the time is right, they just know that it is. Most people reach this decision only after their pet has shown clear signs of severe pain, total inability to eat or other severe signs that are hard to miss. Other people reach this moment when the pet becomes extremely inconvenient to care for or when the pain and suffering are chronic but not severe. In the overall scheme of things the difference in timing is usually so short that I think very few people make really bad decisions. It is a time to trust your instincts. You will probably know exactly when the time has come. The decision to take this action is never taken lightly or on a whim. You'll just know that it's the best thing to do.
About euthanasia
For those interested, the technical side of euthanasia is the administration of variations of concentrated barbiturates that are injected. These barbiturates are commonly called thiobarbiturates.
Thiobarbiturates have three effects that induce death. First, they are fairly potent depressives of the central nervous system activity in the brain stem, which leads to depression of all bodily functions controlled by the brain stem. This action is responsible for the loss of consciousness associated with barbiturates in adequate doses. In large doses commonly associated with euthanasia, barbiturates have a direct depressant effect on the heart muscle as well and will cause the heart to cease functioning. This is usually the actual cause of death in most instances when barbiturates are used for euthanasia. There is also a respiratory depression associated with barbiturates but it is probably not a factor since the other effects are more rapid.
Unconsciousness precedes the cardiac depression and this is painless, as far as can be determined.
When the vet is ready to administer the euthanasia solution an assistant will help hold your pet and put a slight amount of pressure on a vein, usually in the foreleg. This allows the veterinarian to see the vein better and aids in passing a fine needle into the vein. When it is certain that the needle is within the vein the veterinarian slowly injects the solution. Many pet owners choose to help hold their pet and if possible even have the pet in their arms at the time of euthanasia. Your veterinarian will try to accommodate your wishes, but remember that it is imperative that the solution be injected within the vein for the procedure to unfold properly. The last thing you would want to do is cause additional pain for your dachshund in his final moments.
Usually within six to twelve seconds after the solution is injected the pet will take a slightly deeper breath, then grow weak and finally lapse into what looks like a deep sleep. (This state gives rise to the questionable euphemism "to put to sleep".) Although completely unconscious, he may continue to take a few more breaths before all movement ceases. The older and sicker the pet the longer this unconscious breathing state might last.
Some pet owners will be more comfortable if they don't observe the pet's final moments and would rather be in the waiting room during the injection. Then when their pet has passed away, the owner may wish to be with their pet privately for a few moments. If you do chose to visit with your pet after it has been euthanized, ask your veterinarian to be sure your pet's eyelids are closed; some pet owners have been saddened even further by looking into their deceased pet's eyes.
At this point you have to decide what to do with the remains. There are many pet cemeteries as well as establishments that will do cremation services for pet owners. It is best to decide on these arrangements before going to the vet so you'll know how to proceed afterwards. The veterinarian usually will place the pet into the container and carry the deceased pet out to the car for the owner if you're planning on using a pet cemetery. If the pet owner chooses to have the pet cremated the veterinarian generally will make the arrangements through a cremation service and notify you when you can expect to have the ashes returned.
If you have any questions about the cremation process, don't be afraid to call up the cremation service and speak to them about those concerns. You should get courteous and respectful answers to all your questions and if you don't, let your veterinarian know. In fact it would be a good idea to call the cremation service long before that final day so that the last moments with your pet are as unstressed as possible.
It is not unusual nor unreasonable for pet owners to save a bit of their pet's fur as a physical remembrance of their special friend. Some people want their pet to be buried or cremated with a few photos, or a rose or even a personal letter or poem from the pet owner to their pet. Just remember it is your friend that is passing away and you can do anything you wish to ease your transition into the time of separation from that friend.
One final note: you may want someone to be with you after the appointment to drive you home. You may be surprised how difficult it can be to concentrate on driving after such an emotional event. There is no need to make the experience worse by being involved in an accident.
Grief is part of the process of saying good-bye
Most dachshund owners experience a strong and lasting sense of pain and grief after the passing of their pet. Part of their trouble stems from having so few human friends who actually understand the deep sense of grief being experienced. Even a close friend might say without thinking that "oh, just go get another one and you'll feel better. Even worse they might say without realizing what they're saying, something like "it was only a dog." Don't feel angry about these careless expressions. People that have never had a dachshund just don't understand the relationship that you've had.
Dachshund owners are often reluctant to tell others the source of their saddened state for fear of ridicule. It's also common for the dachshund owner to think they see or hear their deceased pet in the home or out in the yard long after they're gone. If someone hasn't personally experienced the loss of a loved pet they simply will be unable to connect with the pet owner who is grief stricken.
Dachshund owner's are often self-critical, too. "This is ridiculous feeling like this," or "I can't believe this could wreck my entire life!" And the loss of a pet often brings up memories of other losses in a person's life and a vicious cycle of sadness, helplessness and even clinical depression can result. Our pets are that important and there's no need to apologize for feeling that way!
Dachshund owners who feel they need to talk to someone who understands their sadness have hope! There are a number of grief support groups and counselors who specialize in pet loss counseling. Never feel ashamed or belittle yourself for having strong feelings of loss and sadness over your deceased dog. You are not alone in this sadness. There are numerous web sites that may prove helpful and informative while you progress along the road to accepting the loss. Never feel ashamed for being lost and lonely after losing your little friend. It always takes longer than you would expect to start functioning again.
I'll never own a pet again!
After the loss of a pet, the deep hurt you feel will likely cause you to think that you'll never want to experience that pain again. Your natural feelings will tell you that there will never be another pet like the one now missing from your life. These feelings are natural and part of the grieving. It would be a mistake to try to replace your pet. You need time to move through your grief. This time can be weeks, months or even a year or more. It just depends on your disposition.
There will however, come a point when you'll begin to feel the need to fill that void. This too is natural and you shouldn't feel any guilt that you're trying to replace what you've lost. Your dog became a big part of your life and when that part was taken away, the need for that companionship and sharing remains. It is alright to find a new companion.
A new dog is not a replacement dog, but a new friend. The new companion may look and sometimes act like the one you've lost, but in their own way, they will prove themselves unique and will soon fill the void in a way that is truly their own.
Dogs have limited life spans. The time we're able to share with them are special years and you should be proud that you were able to create a good home and be an important companion to this animal; an experience that they may have missed out on entirely, if it weren't for you and your willingness to share your life with them. Don't let this loss stop you from opening your home and life once again to another animal that also needs a good home and a loving, devoted owner to make their lives fuller and happier than they could find anywhere else.
Dear sweet Molly,
Eight years ago I adopted you, a long haired dachshund/terrier mix, from the Humane Society of Tampa Bay. You were a funny-looking little girl. Long in the body like a dachshund, with the face of a terrier and the hair and coloring of a schnauzer. No one seemed to notice you as they walked past your cage oohing and ahing at the other orphans in there. Puppies seem to be what people prefer, not some middle-aged lady like yourself. You looked worried and frightened, the very picture of anxiety.
I stopped and poked my finger through the wire door and you looked at me with those concerned eyebrows only you know how to display. I didn't take you home that day but thought about you the remainder of the week. It was days before I got back, but with a sigh of relief I found you still there, my soon-to-be Molly Girl. The endless time we spent together over the years became a significant part of my life. You were a source of comfort and companionship, of unconditional love and acceptance, of joy and fun. You trusted in me. I gave you all the gentleness and warmth in me. Our bond was strong; our bond was tight.
Sure, we had our ups and down with your emergencies from cancer surgery to bladder stone removal in the loving care of our long-term vet Dr. McLemore at the Gateway Animal Hospital in St. Petersburg. But he always fixed the wrongs, didn't he Molly, just like he did for Sam and Frankie when they went through their traumas.
You were the best snuggler, girl. Snuggling you was the only time I ever felt your body truly relax. Tension was your middle name but our hugs always took all that away. I would say to you "Molly kisses!" or "Give me a kiss, Molly!" and you would gently and, oh, so lightly lick my face just once. Your tongue felt like a feather brushing ever so blessingly. Molly knew what it was to mother and be mothered.
The years passed, and you became an old girl. I would call you "my little old lady." You became crabby with your sister Frankie and would snap at her if she came near your bowl or treats. You loved Frankie really, but you were just being expressive. We understood then, as we do today. You meant well. Frankie lets you go for those times and knows you really cared. She misses you, Molly, as I do.
About nine months ago, we saw signs of you losing control of your bladder. You would wet in the house, something you had never done before. We forgave you each time, Molly, and reassured you it was okay. Then your back legs started to go. You would walk some at first and then drag just one leg behind you, not stopping. Soon it was the other back leg dragging. The last several months you lived in diapers because you couldn't get your back legs going at all except on carpet.
You'd sit up on your butt and crawl with just your two front legs, dragging the rest of your little body behind you. You didn't seem to mind. You weren't in pain, so we managed for the past several months that way. It was like you were your own wheelchair.
The last months of your life I worked from home with you at my side always there watching my every move and me watching yours. If I left the room you would worry and cry. I could rarely go off to the kitchen or leave the house without you crying. Therefore, often I'd stay at your side. "All is well Molly" I would tell you. "Mommy is here."
Yesterday, you came down with a severe bladder and kidney infection which caused you to bleed internally. You stayed very still. You'd stopped eating and finally drinking. I took you to one vet and he treated you with antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication, but no improvement so last night we drove with you to a world-class clinic, the Matthew J. Ryan Veterinary Emergency Hospital at the University of Pennsylvania, one of the most up-to-date animal hospitals in the country, with close to a hundred veterinarians working out of there at any given time. We knew for sure they could diagnose your situation in a definitive manner.
Your doctor's name was Manuel Boller. He's from Zürich, Switzerland. There was also a wonderful vet tech assisting him. I don't recall her name, but what I do remember is she seemed to have enough love in her heart for all the animals in the world. We felt reassured we had found the best facility for our little girl.
After four hours of examination, the doctor concluded you looked uncertain with a likelihood of an ever-deteriorating condition due to kidney failure, likely caused by the bladder infection which had traveled up to your kidneys and possibly other organs. You were found to have high blood pressure and a heart murmur. Whatever was compromising your nervous system had caused such damage you'd lost not only use of your back legs but insensitivity to your own functions. What with your age, the odds did not look good for complete recovery or restoration of your health. Most alarming was dehydration and the internal bleeding. Your limbs that once trotted around the house following my every step had, in the rear, lost their muscle, feeling and usefulness. Your kidneys could have failed independently, which is common in old girls like you, Molly, but all that had yet to be determined. Right now you were facing a fight for life. Dr Boller, whose credibility for me approached 100% in terms of intelligence, heartfulness and sensitivity, thoroughly examined you and concluded you only had a chance of partial success. Chances were unsure whether you could even be where you were only two days ago.
Based on all the facts, it was time to come to one of the hardest decisions in my life, and that was to say good-bye. After eight years with you, Molly Girl, I can say you never looked more peaceful than when your moment came. I believe the doctors had presented the situation thoroughly and fairly, and the conclusion was the odds were against you. The momentum for this began 48 hours ago, but the upside was you did not appear to be in pain. The inescapable conclusion was ever-diminishing quality of life. My little girl's health was failing precipitously at this point.
We held each other close during the final moments of your life. I was there with you, my little girl, so you wouldn't be anxious, afraid or alone. "Mommy's here now," I told you. "I love you, little girl." You looked up at me with your same trusting eyes of eight years, but this time I didn't see those 'concerned eyebrows' anymore. I held you snug at the very end, with your cheek next to mine, your head buried deep into my neck so your eyes were out of view of the syringe. "I love you, Molly. It's going to be all right."
I heard you take your last breath as you left this world in my loving arms. You slipped peacefully and without pain. I felt our bodies merge at that moment as if they became spiritually one. I was with you, Molly. I kissed your face and closed your eyes and within a few seconds your body became lifeless and you were gone.
It had not been an easy decision, but finally I knew that I had to help you this one last time. I wanted us to escape, and escape we did. In my heart, we got to run.
I feel so sad that I will never hold you again and get to stroke your soft and silky coat, but I know in my heart that my "little old lady" is finally at peace.
Good-bye, Molly Girl. You will live forever in my heart.
Mommy
(Your hosts, Joey and Maggie)
