I’m writing this with a warm, fuzzy body lying under my desk
chair next to my feet and a heavy heart. This will probably be the last time I
feel this feeling for quite some time. Some of the hardest decisions I’ve ever
had to make in this life relate to my pets, and this one has been no different.
But, unfortunately, the time has come again.
I haven’t had Shakespeare since he was a puppy. He was
actually a middle-aged little guy before he came to live with us. But from the
moment we met, I adored him. He was pretty sick the first time I saw him. He’d scavenged
a cabinet or garbage can, had eaten something toxic, and was very ill. As a
young guy, he was pretty inquisitive, so it was no surprise he’d gotten into
something that was bad for him. So at the request of Shakespeare’s owner, a
friend of mine, I took Dakota to meet him and hopefully lift his spirits. The
plan worked. Slowly during the next several days, Kota got Shakes to eat and
drink, and basically brought him back to life. And they have been best buddies
ever since.
So when Shakes’ previous owner was looking to place him in a
new home a year or so later, I jumped at the chance to take him in. And so
began my life with Shakespeare the Pug.
Pugs aren’t easy animals to have in your home. They snort, click,
lick, slobber, stink—you name it. But they are also sweet, adorable, fun,
spirited—and Shakespeare is all of that and so much more. He’s got a huge heart
and a sweet spirit, and he’s always been happy and content just to be
loved—until recently.
That first year together as a family we spent running on the
beach, riding around in my Jeep with the top down, taking long walks on the
bluffs, snuggling up on the couch. Kota and Shakes were happy as clams they’d
found each other. Then along came Baby Kensie, so the next few years were spent
with a baby/toddler tugging at their tails and ears. Shakes never seemed to
mind even when Kota got a little testy. He’d let K tug and poke and pick and
prod—whatever she wanted. He was just happy we wanted him around.
Our move to Kansas last year was a bit harder on the now elderly
Shakespeare. He was diagnosed with diabetes soon after we arrived and almost
immediately went blind. He was already mostly deaf, so blindness changed his
life dramatically. And the diabetes also caused him to struggle with incontinence.
For the past year, I’ve been washing throw rugs and mopping floors on an almost
daily basis and, although frustrating on occasion, have been willing to do it
so that Shakes was comfortable and somewhat happy, and I had my sweet boy with
me. But he is no longer comfortable or happy; and, as of this past week, I’m
not even sure he’s still my Shakey.
Shakes has been struggling for some time now, and though I
knew this, I kept telling myself that as long as he had Dakota, Kensie, me, and
a safe and cozy home, he would be OK. And much of the time, he really did seem OK. I prayed he’d slip away when
the time was right (as most people do, though it rarely happens that way) on
his own terms. I felt that was the way it was supposed to be. Mostly, I was
terrified of the decision that I knew, deep down, I’d eventually have to make.
Well, today is that day. It’s been a solid week of pure
misery for both Shakespeare and me, and I’ve decided it’s finally time we both
get the rest we so desperately need.
Making the decision to put a pet to sleep is heart-breaking.
Ultimately, what I’ve come to realize with Shakespeare’s situation, is that
I’ve done everything I can to keep him alive—but mostly for me, not necessarily
for him. I’ve told myself that I’d be playing God if I made the dreaded “decision,”
and I couldn’t bear that thought. But the truth is, sometimes death is better
than life. The pain it’s going to cause me to lose my sweet Shakes is hard to
imagine, but the pain he’s been in day in and day out for so long is unbearable
to watch any longer. So I made this decision for him today, and I pray it’s the
right one.
We will miss you forever my sweet Shakes, but you will
always be in our hearts. I will no longer hear your snort; the clicking of your
overgrown toenails on the hardwood floors; your guttural snore; you scarfing every
last kernel of food at dinnertime; your squished-faced, raspy hack; the slurping
of water that seems never-ending; your sharp, excited bark; or your adorable,
happy howl. And I will never again see that adorable, sweet face that only a
mother could love. But I hear your heart speaking to me today, and it is
telling me to say good-bye.
So good-bye my sweet boy. Kota, Kensie, and I will miss you
terribly but know we will see you again someday—that healthy, strong, happy little
guy I met so many years ago—if only in our dreams.
