The most difficult choice of my life

*Warning: Emotionally charged and really long post*

On Wednesday, October 17 at 2:30 p.m. Alex the Wondermutt was put peacefully to rest. It was the most heart-wrenching experience of my life, and the most difficult decision I think I've ever had to make. But at the age of 15 years, five months, Alex was ready to go.

She had, in fact, been trying to tell me this for quite some time, but I was selfishly unwilling to accept it. I kept thinking it would get better, kept thinking that perhaps I was overreacting, kept ignoring the people who said, "you know, Dee, maybe it's time to let her go." I kept saying, "but she's eating just fine, she's still cognizant, and she's still healthy for her age!" I didn't want to make a hasty decision in case there was something that could still be done. Yet I saw the struggle she had with walking and with getting up and down the front steps. I watched her once-strapping stature and robust frame wither and droop, felt the bones protruding from her hips, her ribs, and her swaybacked spine. I cleaned up the bathroom accidents on a daily basis (sometimes more than once a day). I listened to the hacking cough and looked into cataract-clouded eyes. All the signs were there, and although I saw them all, I didn't really see them closely enough until last week.

That Monday, I had a conversation with a customer of mine, someone who works closely with animals. I told her about Alex and how I thought it could be time to let her go, but that I just couldn't bring myself to be ready. She gave me a little food for thought to chew on, mostly stuff about "quality of life" and such, and assured me that no matter what, I had to remember that I'd been extremely blessed with more than 15 years with Alex. Considering Alex's size and breed composition, this in itself was miraculous. She told me that the decision was ultimately mine, but that I needed to look to Alex and make my decision based on what the dog was telling me.

I had a huge project due on Tuesday, one that had me upstairs in the studio all the rest of that day after I got out of work. It was a 28" x 36" pastel-on-paper piece which had to be done while standing, due to the nature of the composition and the medium with which I was working. For the first couple of hours I worked with my iPod blasting away at my eardrums, dancing around as I pasteled myself into a frenzy of color-stained fingers and dusted hair. Then I took a break, coming downstairs to get something to drink, and when I opened the door I saw it. Alex had been up on the sofa while I was upstairs, and had apparently not been able to get down before releasing a torrent of pee all over one cushion. She stood next to the coffee table, shivering and looking very guilty, and slunk off into the corner when I gasped and cried out an expletive (just because I loved this dog doesn't mean I didn't still get pissed off when she did something wrong). It was at this point that I began thinking about what Diane and I had discussed earlier in the day.

I went back into the studio, but this time I left the earbuds out, and I worked in total silence, listening only to my thoughts. I thought about the last 15 years, and how up until a couple years ago, Alex's days had been filled with walks and playtime, with toys and treats. I thought about how she used to get so excited when I'd come home, dancing around and wagging her tail, dragging me down the street on her leash...and then I thought about how now I had to wake her from her silent slumber and help her down the steps upon coming home. We couldn't really take walks anymore; we'd get to the corner and she'd want to turn back because her legs hurt. If we walked any further, she'd be out like a light for the next eight hours. I thought about how the weather was going to be turning soon, and how the cold had started to aggravate her arthritis in recent years. When she was younger, she couldn't get enough of the snow (part of the excitement of the first snowfall every year was getting to watch Alex go bonkers over "the white stuff!"), but now it was a source of exacerbation and pain. By the time I finished the piece that night, I had boiled it all down to one question that I asked myself: For whose benefit was I really keeping this dog around?

On Tuesday morning (after cleaning up a pile of poop off the kitchen floor), I went to school and continued to think about the situation. During a break between classes, I called Alex's vet and told them everything I'd thought about. It was their opinion that yes, perhaps the time had come to say goodbye. I called the SPCA and asked about the arrangements. And then I called some friends and asked if they would be willing to accompany me the next day. By the time I'd gotten to my afternoon class, I'd worked myself up into an emotional mess. I ended up coming home early and spending the afternoon hanging out with her until it was time to go to my evening class. And that night I took a pillow and a blanket, and I camped out on the dining room floor. Alex came and laid down next to me on the blanket, and we slept like that the rest of the night. At one point the two cats joined us, and it was like a big old furry slumber party.

Wednesday came too soon. I wasn't leaving to take her in until 2:00, so I spent the morning sitting quietly with her, petting her and telling her how sorry I was that I had to say goodbye. We took a stroll around the neighborhood, and I let her wander and linger as long as she wanted. I let her eat grass and eat dirt. I let her stay outside and root around in my garden while I put the sheet on the back seat of my car. She watched me with curiosity, and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw how excited she got when she figured out that we were going for a ride in the car. Shortly before 2:00 I loaded her up and we pulled out. We went to McDonald's and I ordered three double cheeseburgers with no pickles (pickles were one of the few things that she didn't like) but in a comically bittersweet moment, I realized I'd forgotten to order them without ketchup, too, and I laughed at the red mess she made.

At 2:00 we met up with my friends. We were meeting at Starbucks, and it seemed as though everyone was working that day. I was met with an outpouring of sympathy, which only made me cry that much harder. Because there were three people going with me, we took two cars, and as we proceeded I drove in silence, one hand on the wheel and one hand behind me, scratching Alex between the ears.

It's strange now when I think back on what happened next; I don't remember really saying anything. I remember telling the woman at the counter that I was there to put my dog down, and I remember giving her my license and Alex's information. Then in a really bizarre turn of events, my boss emerged from the back room (she's a volunteer there). So now I had four people with me. It was like a posse of support. My boss tried to pull some strings to get them to let me back into the room where they were going to perform the euthanasia, but to no avail. I would be allowed to go back once they were done, though. I accepted this, kissed Alex on top of the head, scratched her snout, and told her I loved her. I told her that Lepew would be waiting for her on the other side, and that I would see her again someday, too. I then watched as she was walked away, the last time I would ever see her alive. She looked back at me as if to say, "it's okay, Mom. I'm ready."

After what seemed like eternity but was really only about ten minutes, I was led into a room, and there she was. She was lying on a table, wrapped in a pink flowered comforter. What emerged from me was the unmistakable cry of grief, the cry that had come twice before and has a sound unto itself. It can't be described, but if you've lost a loved one, you know the sound. I don't know how long I stayed like this, but I collapsed over her body, sobbing and shaking, not even realizing until Meaghan rubbed my back that everyone had come back there with me. I was told that it was quick and peaceful, and that Alex had gone willingly without a struggle, without a fight, and that she had, without a doubt, been ready to go.

Afterwards, I had Meaghan drive my car back to Starbucks, and we sat and had coffee for a while. I couldn't bear to come home right away, not to Alex's bowls and bed and toys still around the house. I wasn't ready to face the house without her presence. On Wednesday night after I came home, I sent out the obligatory email. I made some phone calls. I decided I would make a little tribute to her on my myspace page, so I got out the photo album. Her bed was still on the floor and I thought it might be good for me to dispose of it. But as I walked toward it I realized I wasn't ready to toss it just yet, and I laid down on the floor and rested my head on it. I ended up falling asleep that way, and for the second night in a row, I slept on the floor.

These last few days have been a rollercoaster of ups and downs. I know things will even out with time, my heart will heal, and I'll stop crying all the time. I'll be able to come home and not feel a lump in my throat every time I open the front door and remember that she's not here anymore, and eventually I'll get used to life without a dog. One of these mornings I'll get out of bed and not look for shoes to put on right away to take her out. Someday I'll not think about how I need to rush home in between classes to walk her. I'll have to start remembering to pick up food that falls on the floor. When you do something every day for over 15 years and then it's not there anymore...it takes some adjustment.

This truly is the end of an era. Having had Alex since I was 21, she was with me through thick and thin, through every trial and tribulation, joy and celebration of my adult life. She was like a fixture. A big, stinky, furry, destructive, yet lovable fixture, always there through every move, every relationship, every life event. She had a long, happy life, and I was blessed beyond reason to have her as long as i did. Even still, there will never be a day in my life that I don't wonder if I really did the right thing. But I have a feeling that she's having a good old time tearing something up wherever she is. Hopefully the folks in charge of the Rainbow Bridge remembered to put away their hardcover books.

Rest in peace, Alex. May 6, 1992 - October 17, 2007.