On January 20, the vet came to my home to euthanize my beloved golden retriever of almost 10 years, AbbeyMae. The very next day, I was layed-off from my job. I am still in a state of complete shock an feel incredible depression. As only pet lovers can understand, AbbeyMae was my little daughter, my very best friend, and my soul mate - all in one. We had gone down the cancer treatment path (rollercoaster ride) for only four short months before it came to this. Before the cancer diagnosis, Abbey was absolutely radiant and energetic. People would even ask me if she was a puppy - she ran like the wind and always smiled - her tail forever wagging at everyone she met. Needless to say, I am still devastated and shocked by the loss. I cry so easily everyday thinking of all our great times together and the closeness we shared. She was an amazingly intelligent and funny girl. I swear, she could read my mind and she would come over randomly to give me hugs and kisses to cheer me up at just the right times. She was/is truly my angelbear (one of her many nicknames). She left us just when we needed her most.
Abbey and I used to take drives in the car - her favorite thing - and long walks through the woods everyday. Now I go for those drives and walks alone. She is missing from every frame of every scene, and yet, she is there in every frame. My heart is so heavy. The night before she died, I brought her in the car and we just drove around for hours listening to some of our favorite music. I glanced at her lying ever so contentedly on the back seat, smiling at me with her twinkling brown eyes, tho in much pain I am certain. I tried not to cry - for her sake. I was wishing in a way that she would just pass away peacefully as we drove so I could avoid the dreaded day ahead.
So here it is April already. My husband and I can't help but look for our girl outside in the Springtime, rolling on the grass, bringing us a stick or paying us a joyful visit as we work in the garden. We talk of getting another dog soon, but putting that idea into action overwhelms me. The only times I am not sad is if I stop thinking about Abbey. But then not thinking about her makes me feel like I'm losing even more of her, and that again makes me sad. I know there are many pet owners out there going thru the same thing - we just love our babies that deeply for better or worse. I told AbbeyMae, when I brought her home as a puppy, that I was not going to love her - so she didn't have to try and be so cute and sweet with me because it wasn't going to work - I never wanted to feel this pain again. Well, she won me over and I caved and here I am steeping in this pain that I so feared. I guess that's the price one pays for true love, right? Thank you all for letting me share my story. It really helps a lot. Love and light to everyone in this long process of mending their broken hearts. It is a really rough ride.
Full Version: How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?
So sorry for your loss.
I just lost my girl Hunny, also a golden, this past Saturday. She was eight. She too had been diagnosed with cancer. Last June we lost our precious baby Lily, an 8-year-old spaniel cross suddenly and very unexpectedly. We never had a chance to say goodbye to her. And then within a week or two we found out that the lump on Hunny's foot was a tumour. A total shock - cancer had never crossed our minds. So poor Hunny didn't even have time to deal with the loss of her sister. She had two toes removed, but unfortunately they were not able to get all of the cancer cells. We were told that it was a non-spreading cancer and we went ahead with the surgery because it hadn't spread.
Hunny too was so full of personality. Always had to have the last word. Such a huge part of our lives for so long. She would sprawl out over the floor. She would pretty much take up the whole sofa.
Then just after Christmas, we went for a walk, and she was limping. When I checked her foot - there it was - back again!! I cried for days because this time there was nothing we could do. The vet had said last year that if it comes back her only option would be to lose her whole leg. For us that was not an option. Hunny was older, not old, but she was 7, she was overweight and she had arthritis in her hips already. What kind of life would she have with only three legs. We decided that we would not cut any more off of her. If she was going to die then she would die with dignity.
We knew that this time we would have to let her go. It was just devastating to think that we would have to put her to sleep just because she had a bad foot. We took her to another vet March 6th - just for a second opinion. We knew there was nothing more we could do. But I guess I just wanted it to have spread this time. This sounds bad, but if it had spread, then there truly was nothing more we could do and she wouldn't lose her life to a bad foot. It had spread. It was already in her lymph nodes. I will never forget that day. I think Hunny already knew that time was running out, because she seemed almost relieved that we all knew now. I think she was trying to hide it from us, or perhaps maybe she was just trying to deny it was there. She looked so sad that evening and the next day. Hunny was never a lovey-dovey, kissy dog, but she sat close and rested her head on our shoulders. She loved in her own ways throughout the years, but she was not a slobber dog, that was Lily.
Hunny was now on pain killers. I honestly don't know if she needed them. I could not tell if she was in a lot of pain. I knew there was some because of her arthritis, but if she was in pain she hid it well. But then how do you tell? They can't tell you how they feel. Her eyes were sad though, from knowing time was closing in on her.
Over the next three weeks, she continued on the pain meds. I even tried to cut them back one day - trying to be cheap I guess. She did not do well, so I increased them again. I felt so bad. She tried to play with our other dogs. She was frisky and still wanted to play and walk. It was heartbreaking because we were afraid to let her walk just in case she opened up the tumour on her foot. Which did happen anyway. She was strong and stubborn. Over the weeks you could see the look in her eyes. Sometimes, she just looked sad, some days I thought I saw pain there, physical or emotional pain - I don't know, probably both. I cried so much over the past month. I would cry all the way to work and home again. So many tears fell for her, and so many times I played over and over in my head how her final moments would be. I hated thinking about this, but I just couldn't stop myself. We denied Hunny nothing in the last few weeks.
My husband and I made the decision a week ago that it was time for her, but it was spring break and we decided to let our daughter have one more week with her. Her pain meds needed to be refilled for Thursday morning, so it was decided that we would make the call on Wednesday. I knew I couldn't do it so I asked my husband to do it. I cried all day Wednesday. I bawled my eyes out on the phone with one of my co-workers at another store. I didn't want to, but I really could help it. He must think I'm a real idiot and so pathetic. But I don't care. She was my baby. So we made the appointment for Saturday. Not at the original vet where she went last year, but at the second one. They were way more compassionate. The vet last year wanted to put her down then.
I woke up Saturday with an acceptance I guess. I would not call it peace, but I wasn't crying like I usually did. Hunny and I went for a walk. We hadn't walked this road since last summer. She quietly plodded along taking everything in. It was so quiet. She looked so weary though. It was only a half mile walk, and when we got home I asked her if she wanted to get to my parents, next door, to see Lucy and Dumper. She didn't have the energy, so I promised her I would drive her there later. So we did, and she said her goodbyes I guess.
I fell apart about half an hour before we left. We still had just over an hour's drive, but I think I held it together pretty well for her. I didn't want her to see me cry - not today. I didn't want her to leave this world scared. My husband broke down a couple times during the "procedure". My daugther came in after to say goodbye. I held Hunny, told her over and over that I love her and that Lily was waiting for her. That she would be fit and healthy again and that there would be no more pain. That she would be happy. We said no goodbyes, just see you later Baby.
I don't know if we did the right thing. I do know that there was nothing more we could do for her. I too hoped that she would just slip away in her sleep. But I think she was holding on for our other dogs. I could not let her suffer and I knew that that was what was coming within the next few days or weeks. I could not see her lose her senses or her dignity. I keep crying of course. Our house is just so empty and the other pups are missing her so much that they have hardly eaten anything. My heart aches, my chest is tight. I miss her so much. It's just too quiet at home. But it still feels like she's just outside. It just hurts so much when I realize that she won't be scratching at the door to come in anymore.
I know in my heart that we had to let her go. I don't think I would have ever been ready though. I've watched a dog suffer to the end before and I would never wish that on Hunny. She had way too much pride for me to do that to her.
But I believe that I mourned for her before she left. I hate that, but basically I knew the time was ending and I cried so many tears for her. For the empty heart that I would have after. I'm still crying for Lily. Her death was extremely hard and I feel like I failed her. She was adopted when she was a year and a half. Nobody wanted her. We loved her with all our hearts and when she left, I just felt that I had let her down, because we couldn't save her and keep her with us. And then we had to spend so much time tending to Hunny, helping her fight this battle. I cried for the terrible ordeal that Hunny had to endure.
I love my babies so much. I would not trade one second that I had with either of them. I hope that they are together again. I am not a religious person, and I find it terribly hard not knowing exactly where they are if anywhere. I want to believe that there is a Rainbow Bridge and that we will all be together again one day. I miss them so much. Being at work is really difficult because I feel so lonely and so far away from her.
I understand your pain too well. They say time heals. And I know it does, but sometimes it just takes a long time. I refuse to feel guilty for the way I feel. I know there are people out there who just don't understand this pain and they say cruel words, or just ignore the issue. That hurts. I just want to talk about my babies. This forum allows me to tell my story, maybe over and over again. But holding it in is just too painful.
So tell you story. Don't be afraid to vent or just talk. There are some very wonderful people on this site. I know - I've had the pleasure of their kind words. They helped me last week when we made the decision and I know they'll continue to help as I heal. My family have proved that they are not there for me - but I won't go into those details.
Take care. Remember the good things. The sad too. Just know that your baby loved you so unconditionally and that there is no more suffering. Maybe our babies are playing together.
Lynette.
I just lost my girl Hunny, also a golden, this past Saturday. She was eight. She too had been diagnosed with cancer. Last June we lost our precious baby Lily, an 8-year-old spaniel cross suddenly and very unexpectedly. We never had a chance to say goodbye to her. And then within a week or two we found out that the lump on Hunny's foot was a tumour. A total shock - cancer had never crossed our minds. So poor Hunny didn't even have time to deal with the loss of her sister. She had two toes removed, but unfortunately they were not able to get all of the cancer cells. We were told that it was a non-spreading cancer and we went ahead with the surgery because it hadn't spread.
Hunny too was so full of personality. Always had to have the last word. Such a huge part of our lives for so long. She would sprawl out over the floor. She would pretty much take up the whole sofa.
Then just after Christmas, we went for a walk, and she was limping. When I checked her foot - there it was - back again!! I cried for days because this time there was nothing we could do. The vet had said last year that if it comes back her only option would be to lose her whole leg. For us that was not an option. Hunny was older, not old, but she was 7, she was overweight and she had arthritis in her hips already. What kind of life would she have with only three legs. We decided that we would not cut any more off of her. If she was going to die then she would die with dignity.
We knew that this time we would have to let her go. It was just devastating to think that we would have to put her to sleep just because she had a bad foot. We took her to another vet March 6th - just for a second opinion. We knew there was nothing more we could do. But I guess I just wanted it to have spread this time. This sounds bad, but if it had spread, then there truly was nothing more we could do and she wouldn't lose her life to a bad foot. It had spread. It was already in her lymph nodes. I will never forget that day. I think Hunny already knew that time was running out, because she seemed almost relieved that we all knew now. I think she was trying to hide it from us, or perhaps maybe she was just trying to deny it was there. She looked so sad that evening and the next day. Hunny was never a lovey-dovey, kissy dog, but she sat close and rested her head on our shoulders. She loved in her own ways throughout the years, but she was not a slobber dog, that was Lily.
Hunny was now on pain killers. I honestly don't know if she needed them. I could not tell if she was in a lot of pain. I knew there was some because of her arthritis, but if she was in pain she hid it well. But then how do you tell? They can't tell you how they feel. Her eyes were sad though, from knowing time was closing in on her.
Over the next three weeks, she continued on the pain meds. I even tried to cut them back one day - trying to be cheap I guess. She did not do well, so I increased them again. I felt so bad. She tried to play with our other dogs. She was frisky and still wanted to play and walk. It was heartbreaking because we were afraid to let her walk just in case she opened up the tumour on her foot. Which did happen anyway. She was strong and stubborn. Over the weeks you could see the look in her eyes. Sometimes, she just looked sad, some days I thought I saw pain there, physical or emotional pain - I don't know, probably both. I cried so much over the past month. I would cry all the way to work and home again. So many tears fell for her, and so many times I played over and over in my head how her final moments would be. I hated thinking about this, but I just couldn't stop myself. We denied Hunny nothing in the last few weeks.
My husband and I made the decision a week ago that it was time for her, but it was spring break and we decided to let our daughter have one more week with her. Her pain meds needed to be refilled for Thursday morning, so it was decided that we would make the call on Wednesday. I knew I couldn't do it so I asked my husband to do it. I cried all day Wednesday. I bawled my eyes out on the phone with one of my co-workers at another store. I didn't want to, but I really could help it. He must think I'm a real idiot and so pathetic. But I don't care. She was my baby. So we made the appointment for Saturday. Not at the original vet where she went last year, but at the second one. They were way more compassionate. The vet last year wanted to put her down then.
I woke up Saturday with an acceptance I guess. I would not call it peace, but I wasn't crying like I usually did. Hunny and I went for a walk. We hadn't walked this road since last summer. She quietly plodded along taking everything in. It was so quiet. She looked so weary though. It was only a half mile walk, and when we got home I asked her if she wanted to get to my parents, next door, to see Lucy and Dumper. She didn't have the energy, so I promised her I would drive her there later. So we did, and she said her goodbyes I guess.
I fell apart about half an hour before we left. We still had just over an hour's drive, but I think I held it together pretty well for her. I didn't want her to see me cry - not today. I didn't want her to leave this world scared. My husband broke down a couple times during the "procedure". My daugther came in after to say goodbye. I held Hunny, told her over and over that I love her and that Lily was waiting for her. That she would be fit and healthy again and that there would be no more pain. That she would be happy. We said no goodbyes, just see you later Baby.
I don't know if we did the right thing. I do know that there was nothing more we could do for her. I too hoped that she would just slip away in her sleep. But I think she was holding on for our other dogs. I could not let her suffer and I knew that that was what was coming within the next few days or weeks. I could not see her lose her senses or her dignity. I keep crying of course. Our house is just so empty and the other pups are missing her so much that they have hardly eaten anything. My heart aches, my chest is tight. I miss her so much. It's just too quiet at home. But it still feels like she's just outside. It just hurts so much when I realize that she won't be scratching at the door to come in anymore.
I know in my heart that we had to let her go. I don't think I would have ever been ready though. I've watched a dog suffer to the end before and I would never wish that on Hunny. She had way too much pride for me to do that to her.
But I believe that I mourned for her before she left. I hate that, but basically I knew the time was ending and I cried so many tears for her. For the empty heart that I would have after. I'm still crying for Lily. Her death was extremely hard and I feel like I failed her. She was adopted when she was a year and a half. Nobody wanted her. We loved her with all our hearts and when she left, I just felt that I had let her down, because we couldn't save her and keep her with us. And then we had to spend so much time tending to Hunny, helping her fight this battle. I cried for the terrible ordeal that Hunny had to endure.
I love my babies so much. I would not trade one second that I had with either of them. I hope that they are together again. I am not a religious person, and I find it terribly hard not knowing exactly where they are if anywhere. I want to believe that there is a Rainbow Bridge and that we will all be together again one day. I miss them so much. Being at work is really difficult because I feel so lonely and so far away from her.
I understand your pain too well. They say time heals. And I know it does, but sometimes it just takes a long time. I refuse to feel guilty for the way I feel. I know there are people out there who just don't understand this pain and they say cruel words, or just ignore the issue. That hurts. I just want to talk about my babies. This forum allows me to tell my story, maybe over and over again. But holding it in is just too painful.
So tell you story. Don't be afraid to vent or just talk. There are some very wonderful people on this site. I know - I've had the pleasure of their kind words. They helped me last week when we made the decision and I know they'll continue to help as I heal. My family have proved that they are not there for me - but I won't go into those details.
Take care. Remember the good things. The sad too. Just know that your baby loved you so unconditionally and that there is no more suffering. Maybe our babies are playing together.
Lynette.
QUOTE (lynette @ Apr 7 2009, 01:55 PM) 
So sorry for your loss.
I just lost my girl Hunny, also a golden, this past Saturday. She was eight. She too had been diagnosed with cancer. Last June we lost our precious baby Lily, an 8-year-old spaniel cross suddenly and very unexpectedly. We never had a chance to say goodbye to her. And then within a week or two we found out that the lump on Hunny's foot was a tumour. A total shock - cancer had never crossed our minds. So poor Hunny didn't even have time to deal with the loss of her sister. She had two toes removed, but unfortunately they were not able to get all of the cancer cells. We were told that it was a non-spreading cancer and we went ahead with the surgery because it hadn't spread.
Hunny too was so full of personality. Always had to have the last word. Such a huge part of our lives for so long. She would sprawl out over the floor. She would pretty much take up the whole sofa.
Then just after Christmas, we went for a walk, and she was limping. When I checked her foot - there it was - back again!! I cried for days because this time there was nothing we could do. The vet had said last year that if it comes back her only option would be to lose her whole leg. For us that was not an option. Hunny was older, not old, but she was 7, she was overweight and she had arthritis in her hips already. What kind of life would she have with only three legs. We decided that we would not cut any more off of her. If she was going to die then she would die with dignity.
We knew that this time we would have to let her go. It was just devastating to think that we would have to put her to sleep just because she had a bad foot. We took her to another vet March 6th - just for a second opinion. We knew there was nothing more we could do. But I guess I just wanted it to have spread this time. This sounds bad, but if it had spread, then there truly was nothing more we could do and she wouldn't lose her life to a bad foot. It had spread. It was already in her lymph nodes. I will never forget that day. I think Hunny already knew that time was running out, because she seemed almost relieved that we all knew now. I think she was trying to hide it from us, or perhaps maybe she was just trying to deny it was there. She looked so sad that evening and the next day. Hunny was never a lovey-dovey, kissy dog, but she sat close and rested her head on our shoulders. She loved in her own ways throughout the years, but she was not a slobber dog, that was Lily.
Hunny was now on pain killers. I honestly don't know if she needed them. I could not tell if she was in a lot of pain. I knew there was some because of her arthritis, but if she was in pain she hid it well. But then how do you tell? They can't tell you how they feel. Her eyes were sad though, from knowing time was closing in on her.
Over the next three weeks, she continued on the pain meds. I even tried to cut them back one day - trying to be cheap I guess. She did not do well, so I increased them again. I felt so bad. She tried to play with our other dogs. She was frisky and still wanted to play and walk. It was heartbreaking because we were afraid to let her walk just in case she opened up the tumour on her foot. Which did happen anyway. She was strong and stubborn. Over the weeks you could see the look in her eyes. Sometimes, she just looked sad, some days I thought I saw pain there, physical or emotional pain - I don't know, probably both. I cried so much over the past month. I would cry all the way to work and home again. So many tears fell for her, and so many times I played over and over in my head how her final moments would be. I hated thinking about this, but I just couldn't stop myself. We denied Hunny nothing in the last few weeks.
My husband and I made the decision a week ago that it was time for her, but it was spring break and we decided to let our daughter have one more week with her. Her pain meds needed to be refilled for Thursday morning, so it was decided that we would make the call on Wednesday. I knew I couldn't do it so I asked my husband to do it. I cried all day Wednesday. I bawled my eyes out on the phone with one of my co-workers at another store. I didn't want to, but I really could help it. He must think I'm a real idiot and so pathetic. But I don't care. She was my baby. So we made the appointment for Saturday. Not at the original vet where she went last year, but at the second one. They were way more compassionate. The vet last year wanted to put her down then.
I woke up Saturday with an acceptance I guess. I would not call it peace, but I wasn't crying like I usually did. Hunny and I went for a walk. We hadn't walked this road since last summer. She quietly plodded along taking everything in. It was so quiet. She looked so weary though. It was only a half mile walk, and when we got home I asked her if she wanted to get to my parents, next door, to see Lucy and Dumper. She didn't have the energy, so I promised her I would drive her there later. So we did, and she said her goodbyes I guess.
I fell apart about half an hour before we left. We still had just over an hour's drive, but I think I held it together pretty well for her. I didn't want her to see me cry - not today. I didn't want her to leave this world scared. My husband broke down a couple times during the "procedure". My daugther came in after to say goodbye. I held Hunny, told her over and over that I love her and that Lily was waiting for her. That she would be fit and healthy again and that there would be no more pain. That she would be happy. We said no goodbyes, just see you later Baby.
I don't know if we did the right thing. I do know that there was nothing more we could do for her. I too hoped that she would just slip away in her sleep. But I think she was holding on for our other dogs. I could not let her suffer and I knew that that was what was coming within the next few days or weeks. I could not see her lose her senses or her dignity. I keep crying of course. Our house is just so empty and the other pups are missing her so much that they have hardly eaten anything. My heart aches, my chest is tight. I miss her so much. It's just too quiet at home. But it still feels like she's just outside. It just hurts so much when I realize that she won't be scratching at the door to come in anymore.
I know in my heart that we had to let her go. I don't think I would have ever been ready though. I've watched a dog suffer to the end before and I would never wish that on Hunny. She had way too much pride for me to do that to her.
But I believe that I mourned for her before she left. I hate that, but basically I knew the time was ending and I cried so many tears for her. For the empty heart that I would have after. I'm still crying for Lily. Her death was extremely hard and I feel like I failed her. She was adopted when she was a year and a half. Nobody wanted her. We loved her with all our hearts and when she left, I just felt that I had let her down, because we couldn't save her and keep her with us. And then we had to spend so much time tending to Hunny, helping her fight this battle. I cried for the terrible ordeal that Hunny had to endure.
I love my babies so much. I would not trade one second that I had with either of them. I hope that they are together again. I am not a religious person, and I find it terribly hard not knowing exactly where they are if anywhere. I want to believe that there is a Rainbow Bridge and that we will all be together again one day. I miss them so much. Being at work is really difficult because I feel so lonely and so far away from her.
I understand your pain too well. They say time heals. And I know it does, but sometimes it just takes a long time. I refuse to feel guilty for the way I feel. I know there are people out there who just don't understand this pain and they say cruel words, or just ignore the issue. That hurts. I just want to talk about my babies. This forum allows me to tell my story, maybe over and over again. But holding it in is just too painful.
So tell you story. Don't be afraid to vent or just talk. There are some very wonderful people on this site. I know - I've had the pleasure of their kind words. They helped me last week when we made the decision and I know they'll continue to help as I heal. My family have proved that they are not there for me - but I won't go into those details.
Take care. Remember the good things. The sad too. Just know that your baby loved you so unconditionally and that there is no more suffering. Maybe our babies are playing together.
Lynette.
I just lost my girl Hunny, also a golden, this past Saturday. She was eight. She too had been diagnosed with cancer. Last June we lost our precious baby Lily, an 8-year-old spaniel cross suddenly and very unexpectedly. We never had a chance to say goodbye to her. And then within a week or two we found out that the lump on Hunny's foot was a tumour. A total shock - cancer had never crossed our minds. So poor Hunny didn't even have time to deal with the loss of her sister. She had two toes removed, but unfortunately they were not able to get all of the cancer cells. We were told that it was a non-spreading cancer and we went ahead with the surgery because it hadn't spread.
Hunny too was so full of personality. Always had to have the last word. Such a huge part of our lives for so long. She would sprawl out over the floor. She would pretty much take up the whole sofa.
Then just after Christmas, we went for a walk, and she was limping. When I checked her foot - there it was - back again!! I cried for days because this time there was nothing we could do. The vet had said last year that if it comes back her only option would be to lose her whole leg. For us that was not an option. Hunny was older, not old, but she was 7, she was overweight and she had arthritis in her hips already. What kind of life would she have with only three legs. We decided that we would not cut any more off of her. If she was going to die then she would die with dignity.
We knew that this time we would have to let her go. It was just devastating to think that we would have to put her to sleep just because she had a bad foot. We took her to another vet March 6th - just for a second opinion. We knew there was nothing more we could do. But I guess I just wanted it to have spread this time. This sounds bad, but if it had spread, then there truly was nothing more we could do and she wouldn't lose her life to a bad foot. It had spread. It was already in her lymph nodes. I will never forget that day. I think Hunny already knew that time was running out, because she seemed almost relieved that we all knew now. I think she was trying to hide it from us, or perhaps maybe she was just trying to deny it was there. She looked so sad that evening and the next day. Hunny was never a lovey-dovey, kissy dog, but she sat close and rested her head on our shoulders. She loved in her own ways throughout the years, but she was not a slobber dog, that was Lily.
Hunny was now on pain killers. I honestly don't know if she needed them. I could not tell if she was in a lot of pain. I knew there was some because of her arthritis, but if she was in pain she hid it well. But then how do you tell? They can't tell you how they feel. Her eyes were sad though, from knowing time was closing in on her.
Over the next three weeks, she continued on the pain meds. I even tried to cut them back one day - trying to be cheap I guess. She did not do well, so I increased them again. I felt so bad. She tried to play with our other dogs. She was frisky and still wanted to play and walk. It was heartbreaking because we were afraid to let her walk just in case she opened up the tumour on her foot. Which did happen anyway. She was strong and stubborn. Over the weeks you could see the look in her eyes. Sometimes, she just looked sad, some days I thought I saw pain there, physical or emotional pain - I don't know, probably both. I cried so much over the past month. I would cry all the way to work and home again. So many tears fell for her, and so many times I played over and over in my head how her final moments would be. I hated thinking about this, but I just couldn't stop myself. We denied Hunny nothing in the last few weeks.
My husband and I made the decision a week ago that it was time for her, but it was spring break and we decided to let our daughter have one more week with her. Her pain meds needed to be refilled for Thursday morning, so it was decided that we would make the call on Wednesday. I knew I couldn't do it so I asked my husband to do it. I cried all day Wednesday. I bawled my eyes out on the phone with one of my co-workers at another store. I didn't want to, but I really could help it. He must think I'm a real idiot and so pathetic. But I don't care. She was my baby. So we made the appointment for Saturday. Not at the original vet where she went last year, but at the second one. They were way more compassionate. The vet last year wanted to put her down then.
I woke up Saturday with an acceptance I guess. I would not call it peace, but I wasn't crying like I usually did. Hunny and I went for a walk. We hadn't walked this road since last summer. She quietly plodded along taking everything in. It was so quiet. She looked so weary though. It was only a half mile walk, and when we got home I asked her if she wanted to get to my parents, next door, to see Lucy and Dumper. She didn't have the energy, so I promised her I would drive her there later. So we did, and she said her goodbyes I guess.
I fell apart about half an hour before we left. We still had just over an hour's drive, but I think I held it together pretty well for her. I didn't want her to see me cry - not today. I didn't want her to leave this world scared. My husband broke down a couple times during the "procedure". My daugther came in after to say goodbye. I held Hunny, told her over and over that I love her and that Lily was waiting for her. That she would be fit and healthy again and that there would be no more pain. That she would be happy. We said no goodbyes, just see you later Baby.
I don't know if we did the right thing. I do know that there was nothing more we could do for her. I too hoped that she would just slip away in her sleep. But I think she was holding on for our other dogs. I could not let her suffer and I knew that that was what was coming within the next few days or weeks. I could not see her lose her senses or her dignity. I keep crying of course. Our house is just so empty and the other pups are missing her so much that they have hardly eaten anything. My heart aches, my chest is tight. I miss her so much. It's just too quiet at home. But it still feels like she's just outside. It just hurts so much when I realize that she won't be scratching at the door to come in anymore.
I know in my heart that we had to let her go. I don't think I would have ever been ready though. I've watched a dog suffer to the end before and I would never wish that on Hunny. She had way too much pride for me to do that to her.
But I believe that I mourned for her before she left. I hate that, but basically I knew the time was ending and I cried so many tears for her. For the empty heart that I would have after. I'm still crying for Lily. Her death was extremely hard and I feel like I failed her. She was adopted when she was a year and a half. Nobody wanted her. We loved her with all our hearts and when she left, I just felt that I had let her down, because we couldn't save her and keep her with us. And then we had to spend so much time tending to Hunny, helping her fight this battle. I cried for the terrible ordeal that Hunny had to endure.
I love my babies so much. I would not trade one second that I had with either of them. I hope that they are together again. I am not a religious person, and I find it terribly hard not knowing exactly where they are if anywhere. I want to believe that there is a Rainbow Bridge and that we will all be together again one day. I miss them so much. Being at work is really difficult because I feel so lonely and so far away from her.
I understand your pain too well. They say time heals. And I know it does, but sometimes it just takes a long time. I refuse to feel guilty for the way I feel. I know there are people out there who just don't understand this pain and they say cruel words, or just ignore the issue. That hurts. I just want to talk about my babies. This forum allows me to tell my story, maybe over and over again. But holding it in is just too painful.
So tell you story. Don't be afraid to vent or just talk. There are some very wonderful people on this site. I know - I've had the pleasure of their kind words. They helped me last week when we made the decision and I know they'll continue to help as I heal. My family have proved that they are not there for me - but I won't go into those details.
Take care. Remember the good things. The sad too. Just know that your baby loved you so unconditionally and that there is no more suffering. Maybe our babies are playing together.
Lynette.
Thanks so much for sharing your story - it really helps. I'm so sorry for the loss of your dear babies, Hunny and Lily. I guess if we didn't love them so much, it wouldn't hurt so bad. I get angry that their little lives are so short. I mean, sharks can live eighty years or so, and sea turtles over 100. What's up with that? I'm also concerned that the death rate in dogs due to cancer is now the highest it's ever been - something like 70%. It really has me wondering about their food, water, living environment, and all the vaccines and pills we give them over the years. I guess that's part of the guilt - wondering what I did wrong and why I couldn't save my sweet Abbey after taking such good care of her - so I thought - over the years. Anyway, just venting I guess. My thoughts and prayers are with you at this sad time. And I hope and pray that you're right - our babies are playing together - happy and healthy - as we speak 
I agree with you about the cancer rate and everything. I've wondered too about their food especially. Look at all the chemicals in it. When Hunny got sick last year I read about the high rate of cancer in this breed. I even mentioned it to the vet a month back or so. She said it has something to do with the fact that goldens are such a common breed these days.
Hunny was a cross between a golden and a sheepdog, so I always believed that her life would be a bit shorter because of the bigger breed, but I never imagined in my wildest dreams that it would be cut short so young. She was only eight. That's only middle age!!
Thank you for your condolences. They mean a lot. And even though I don't know anybody personally on this website it helps an awful lot to have someone to talk to.
We will get through this. It will take time, but we'll make it.
Best wishes, and hugs.
Hunny was a cross between a golden and a sheepdog, so I always believed that her life would be a bit shorter because of the bigger breed, but I never imagined in my wildest dreams that it would be cut short so young. She was only eight. That's only middle age!!
Thank you for your condolences. They mean a lot. And even though I don't know anybody personally on this website it helps an awful lot to have someone to talk to.
We will get through this. It will take time, but we'll make it.
Best wishes, and hugs.
I also wanted to say that I received an email from a friend with the following message, which has helped me through this. I thought it was a really sweet way of looking at things.
**************************
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolf hound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minut! es, Bel ker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'
Startled, w! e all t urned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The Six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog were the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them..
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy..
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal. !
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
******************************
Doesn't this hold some truth? I find that many humans spend their lives learning to be nice. I find it comforting to know that our little angels already know all of this.
I hope this brightens your day. It certainly did mine.
**************************
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolf hound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minut! es, Bel ker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'
Startled, w! e all t urned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The Six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog were the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them..
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy..
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal. !
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
******************************
Doesn't this hold some truth? I find that many humans spend their lives learning to be nice. I find it comforting to know that our little angels already know all of this.
I hope this brightens your day. It certainly did mine.
QUOTE (lynette @ Apr 7 2009, 06:04 PM)
I also wanted to say that I received an email from a friend with the following message, which has helped me through this. I thought it was a really sweet way of looking at things.
**************************
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolf hound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minut! es, Bel ker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'
Startled, w! e all t urned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The Six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog were the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them..
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy..
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal. !
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
******************************
Doesn't this hold some truth? I find that many humans spend their lives learning to be nice. I find it comforting to know that our little angels already know all of this.
I hope this brightens your day. It certainly did mine.
**************************
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolf hound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.
As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minut! es, Bel ker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'
Startled, w! e all t urned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.
He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good Life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The Six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Remember, if a dog were the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them..
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure Ecstasy..
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Be loyal. !
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by, and nuzzle them gently.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY!
******************************
Doesn't this hold some truth? I find that many humans spend their lives learning to be nice. I find it comforting to know that our little angels already know all of this.
I hope this brightens your day. It certainly did mine.
What a beautiful story. And a perfect explanation. I couldn't agree more that our angels are born all-knowing. Leave it to the younger ones to be so wise. Thank you very much - my day has indeed be brightened.
When I read this I felt an instead calm. I'm glad it brightened your day.
What a lovely girl Abbey was. Such a beautiful face.
I'm truly sorry for your loss, AngelBear's Luv.
May you find great comfort here.
I'm truly sorry for your loss, AngelBear's Luv.
May you find great comfort here.
I'm so sorry for your loss of AbbeyMae, a beautiful dog with a beautiful name. Yes, I know what you mean by crying when you think of her and when you don't. In time your tears will turn to smiles. You were so lucky to have had eachother in this life. And I love the "dogs manual". I think I may need to post that at work. A lot of people need to be stopped in there tracks. That was the best. Peace and healing..Hugs..Ann
QUOTE (ann @ Apr 8 2009, 02:00 AM)
I'm so sorry for your loss of AbbeyMae, a beautiful dog with a beautiful name. Yes, I know what you mean by crying when you think of her and when you don't. In time your tears will turn to smiles. You were so lucky to have had eachother in this life. And I love the "dogs manual". I think I may need to post that at work. A lot of people need to be stopped in there tracks. That was the best. Peace and healing..Hugs..Ann
Thanks everyone so much for your time and your kindness. It has helped me very much to connect with people who understand the depth of this loss. It is a blessing not to go thru this process completely alone, as it would feel without the wonderful support of this group. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness as I grieve in the loss of my babylove. Thanks again for your kind ways. I send my wishes for continued healing to you as well.
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