Mishka (Part 2)
I had been waiting for this moment for many, many years it seems. Ever since she caught that pneumonia from kennel cough, and it kept re-occurring. It seemed like every time we got a round of antibiotics in her, the pneumonia would come back leaving sticky, goopy raw-egg-like splotches of phlegm around the house (which were never pleasant to step on in the middle of the night). And even after the infection went away, the cough persisted. It always persisted… you couldn’t have a whole week without her wheezing or crowing with stridor, that is, if she wasn’t pumped full of meds.
A few weeks ago, when I took her to the vet for one last shot, all of the medications had stopped working. Sobbing in the vet’s office, I told her nothing seemed to help. Pumping her full of prednisone all of these years, however small the amount, pushed her into Cushing’s Disease where she’d get a pot belly, constantly pant, constantly drink, and urinate everywhere. Her paws would get bloody ulcers, which made it look like a murder scene all over the hard wood floor. But she didn’t breathe heavy. We’d take her off the pred, and try using a Flovent inhaler which delivers steroids directly to the lung tissue. Not only are these inhalers expensive (anywhere from $230-400 depending on where you go or if you can ship one from Canada) but making a dog use an inhaler was a hassle. Regardless, we kept doing it as it was the best choice… until it no longer worked. Bronchodilators, hydrocodone to suppress her cough, changing the air filters, eliminating harsh chemicals… nothing worked anymore. This disease was progressive; dogs with chronic bronchitis (COPD for humans) can live a normal life… until suddenly it doesn’t work anymore.
Every morning I’d wake up and mop the pee off the dining room floor. I’d set out puppy pads for her, but they only worked so much. Then there were doggy diapers, that if I left on for too long could cause other problems. In the end, I decided that a combination of dog pads, mopping, and diapers were the trick. It became a routine… wake up, get my morning coffee, feed the dogs, mop up the pee and poo.
Go out to the store, come home and mop up more pee and poo.
Work on the yard for 30 minutes, come back and clean more.
She started to develop incontinences and anxiety-driven bathroom accidents.
Between cleaning her up, bombing her with meds, treating her wounds, and spending all day listening to her breathe in the other room… it became too much. The gravity of it all was suffocating me too, as I waited for the day when it would be enough… when she’d stop wagging her tail and snuggling with me and eating food and playing with her toys. Then, I’d told myself, then I’d know it was time.
But that time never really came. She continued to be happy, playful, and mischievous. I now understand why some folks who are tasked with caring for a terminally ill loved one can be so stressed that it breeds into resentment. It’s difficult… mopping the pee, changing the diapers, pushing the meds, never escaping the constant harsh breathing. It rattles your cage… brings you to a breaking point as well.
So I told myself that I would let her go before I grew to resent the situation; before the stress of it all fried my nerves. I treated every day for the last few weeks as if it were her last, therefore I got the closure I needed. I tried not to dwell on the thoughts like “this will be the last night I see her…” or “should I let her say goodbye to Blitzkrieg?” or “should I give her one last special meal before she goes?” Those thoughts not only would torture me, but they’d psych me out at the last minute. Instead I told myself that 1.) she would let me know when it’s time. 2.) she would trust me with this decision. 3.) I would not let it drag out to the point of suffering or resentment. 4.) I would treat EVERY moment as if it were her last. That is the way I mentally prepared for this decision… I had to tell myself that once I made that call to the vet, there was no turning back.
That call came this morning. It’s a strange thing to imagine, loving your dog so much that you sentence them to die, but if you love someone you don’t let them suffer. The day prior, Megan and I had thought this would be the day, but Mishka woke up sounding amazing. Instead, we spent the day working together, playing with the pups, and enjoying the drizzly Houston afternoon. This morning we woke up to the sounds of hard rain and thunderstorms from the massive storm that came through East/Central Texas. As I lay in bed, I could hear Mishka breathe in the other room over the sound of the storm; that’s how I knew this was a decision point. I got dressed, Megan got ready for work, and I gave her the signal that I had made my mind. I called the vet, told them I’d be there in 30 minutes, and we packed Mishka up in the car.
I’ve had animals die in front of me before. My old family dog, Scout, died when his spleen ruptured and we had to put him down. My cat Pikachu died a traumatic death in my arms, the result of eating a mouse that had rat poisoning. These were emergencies, but how do you sentence a dog to die who is still happy go-lucky but barely able to breathe? Because I knew that soon, once Texas spring blooms, that every day would be a bad day… that if I wait she’ll go quickly without a chance to say goodbye or she’d suffer more. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make.
The clinic we go to was amazing. They immediately got us into a private room with comfy chairs, a soft bed for Mishka, tissues, and a jar of chocolate because every dog should have chocolate before they die… at least once. They even had their own cash register system, so you don’t have to have the sobbing walk of shame out to the lobby to pay… which I’ve done that walk three times before. It’s even more traumatizing.
Megan grabbed a chocolate from the jar. I was thinking she should get a Three Musketeer’s Bar” since for the longest time it was just us three (me, Blitz, and Mishka), but seeing as how Megan has been part of her life and cared for her in the end I thought it would be fitting if I left Megan to find her Mishka’s last treat… after all she was in the trenches with me putting diapers on and lugging her in and out of the car too. She ate it happily, like she eats everything handed to her. Reminds me of the time where she ate a whole tri-tip off the counter once, and an entire loaf of banana bread, or the time she ate my freeze dried camping food… OR our latest trip to Louisiana in which she ate a live crawfish she stole from us. She gave zero fucks, she just ate everything.
She roamed around the little room, perking her ears up at the sounds of other dogs, scratching her face in the bed as she made herself comfy, oblivious to what was going to happen. They dropped her IV in, gave her Propofol as a sedative and as the doctor started pushing the white liquid into her veins she gave one last little attempt to give the doctor a kiss, as if to say she’s happy she’s getting so much attention and love, right before her eyes gave an all knowing sense of euphoria we all feel just before a sedative hits. That sense of absolute relaxation hit just before her tongue could grace the doctors chin… and that’s when I broke. It reminded me of all the times she’d give me little gentle licks on my face, and I’d encourage her with a high pitched reply “thank you for the kissies.” I massaged my fingers in her coat as they injected her with a vail of pink death; this was the moment I was so terrified about all these years… this was the moment I’d wanted so badly to not be present for but I am happy that I was. I was grateful to have Megan there with me to keep me grounded.
And just like that she was gone. Just like the others, her faced relaxed and she no longer even looked like the dog I had for 11+ years. It’s weird how they instantly don’t look the same, whether it’s just the muscles of their face relaxing or something more… they definitively look like their soul is gone. The weight I had been feeling for so long, this feeling of swallowing the sun, was finally gone too. We could all breathe easier…
The rest of the day has been hazy. I go from crying to feeling fine. I forced myself to go to jiu jitsu and kickboxing so I could focus my mind elsewhere. With each kick and punch I sweat out the anguish.
The hardest part now is seeing Blitzkrieg, knowing that he knows. I don’t know how he knows, out of the countless other times she hasn’t come home cause she’s at the vet overnight. He’s been sitting by the door all day, sniffing the air, and moping around… he won’t perk up when I say “treats” or “walks” like he normally does, but he perked up the moment I played a video of Mishka wheezing on my phone. He stays away from me… but tonight we’re going to take him to the dog park and get some ice cream because his feelings matter too.
Mishka’s last ride was spectacular. In the window of time we were able to give her a few more weeks of life and she had the best time. We went to the dog park multiple times where she got to run off leash. She got to eat Freddy’s Frozen Custard a few times, even some Tutti Fruti. We took her to Petsmart where she picked out about $200 worth of treats and toys. She got to get groomed a couple more times, a bunch of doggy massages, plenty of human-foods, and went to Louisiana where she got to stay in a lake house…. and eat a live crawfish (once again, I know this is like the third time in the last two blogs I’ve said this but… I’m still dumbfounded on how the even got it and didn’t get pinched). She’s been to Arizona, New Mexico, California, and Texas on two road trips. She’s gotten to play in snow and dunk herself in every mud puddle like the little piglet she is.
She was loved by me, Nick, Megan, my parents, my brothers, Alexis and her kids, and the countless friends and family who played with and doted upon her when they came to visit. Owning and raising Mishka was extremely difficult, but the love she gave in return was very much rewarding. I only wish I could have done her better, but this simple act of letting her die in peace was the most loving thing I have ever done for this dog.
I know that many of you will eventually have to go down this road with your own pets, and when that day comes I hope you have the strength to do it and be present for it. No matter how painful it would be for you, they are just a fraction of your life but to them you are their whole world. I was Mishka’s whole world, even though I wasn’t always the best owner to her, and despite how immensely painful it was to experience all of this, especially watching her die, I am forever grateful that I did… she was loyal to me, and this was my turn to show her that same loyalty by seeing her through to the end.
