One month ago, we put our dog, Einstein, to sleep. I can’t say it’s been a long month since, but it has had its moments. Last week, a wonderful note in the mail from a dear friend left me navigating the steps to the second floor with blurry eyes and tears gently rolling. It wasn’t even a long note. It was just a perfectly chosen single sentence from a man who takes care with words.
It actually took us until this past Saturday to pick up his remains, and we still don’t know what to do with them. So they are sitting on the kitchen table. Our son wants them in his bedroom. Sounds like a good place to be – with the twin beds and the Legos and the books. Our dog always was happiest with one of us by his side. Particularly the youngest of us. At first it was funny smells that allured him, then nibbles dropped from a high chair, food left unattended on a toddler table, and, finally, long walks alone with his growing boy. They both liked those walks. We even got a picture of him posted on the Blue Buffalo site once, he was really proud of that. We Our son would saunter at a speed that Einstein dictated, and both experienced a freedom from rules, regulations, timetables and adults.
I have revisited our last day with our dog many, many times. I doubt I’m done picking it apart, but I can find no flaw with it just now. My visual memories of our time with the vet that day are vivid. He was surrounded by us all, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. The vet and her assistant have cared for him since we rescued him 17 years ago, and they too had spent the morning wishing noon would never come.
But high noon always comes.
I have found myself lately playing the “why & what if” game. Why couldn’t his mind have gone first? Or his sight? A funny tummy plagued him for a few years but arthritic hips took him out. Why? What if we had gone ahead with the hip surgeries 6 years ago? What if we had installed wall to wall carpeting in our historic home? Would it have been easier on his hips? What if … and why? It’s a game you play when sadness breaks down your ability to see clearly. Most days, however, I can see that 19 years is a wonderful life for a dog. It was a wonderful life for all of us.
Our last morning with our dog was slow and restful. I don’t believe we were ready to leave the house, but the photos from that day show a family at peace – a family that knows letting go is the right thing to do. The kind thing. The humane thing.
I miss my dog. However, there is a certain grace that enters the final and permanent moments of living, and I have witnessed it three times so far in this life. It was in that stillness that my dog helped me rediscover that the peace I carry will be with me long after the trail of tears ends.
p.s. Our son set up a page on Facebook with many photos of our dog, some from his last day with us. You are welcome to view them here, if you dabble on Facebook. The photos used above were taken on Anna Maria Island, Florida, on July 31, 2011. It was our last family “portrait”.
SHARE THIS: 
Oh Sloane, I know what you are going through. I went through the same thing with Mortimer about a year ago. It was the hardest thing to do but I know it was the best for him. As I told Karl (your husband, Harl…remember I use to call him Karl! LOL), it was the most adult thing I have ever done. Within a month my husband and I got 2 more dogs. We decided to get 2 this time because we thought that Morty was lonely growing up. Gunther and Marshall have filled the void left by Morty but there are days where I remember my Morty and just can’t help but cry.
I hope your days will soon get better!!!!