To Dog it May Concern

One of the things I am asked often as a dog trainer is “How do you know when it’s time?” This isn’t about teaching a dog to sit, or even about at what age is it appropriate to began formalized obedience training. This isn’t even about the leap from training to competing. This question is invariably about a client’s senior dog, the one with the gray muzzle, cloudy eyes who moves slowly but still wags his tail when you walk through the door.

The truth is; I don’t know. As someone who owns an older dog (Nutsy is 15 years old, he’s not just older he’s down right ancient), I constantly play the game of “Am I doing this for him, or for me?” I think all of us who have older dogs are caught in that merry-go-round of guilt and love.

He doesn't look 15, does he?

We spend our days making adjustments to our routine, skipping lunch with co-workers to drive home and let Senior George out to potty. We hire dog sitters to check on them during long days when we can’t make it home. We wash dog blankets daily that have become soaked in urine or dirtied by feces because Senior George relaxed a little too much in his sleep. We build ramps so he can get on the bed. We buy expensive devices to carry in our cars so Senior George can climb into the back of our SUVs with out assistance. We get used to picking up 60pounds of dog to carry them up and down the stairs. We all become masters are giving dogs medication, and gourmet chefs in our food preparation. We have a shelf full of half eaten supplements and powders, given all in the name of finding some combination that will stimulate appetite and help with the arthritis. We shell out absurd amounts of money on special dog foods to help with joints, eye sight or any number of other things. We ignore when we startle Senior George from his sleep and he takes a snap at us. We are all on a first name basis with the staff at the local vet clinic, and their number is on speed dial.

We get up every three hours to let Senior George out to go potty. We don’t raise our voice, or say anything when we have to wash the blankets, AGAIN. We put our dogs in sweaters and jackets even though we swore we’d NEVER be that guy. We find ourselves taking pictures by the dozens because we know documenting the last months, weeks, days of Senior George’s life is going to be important sooner than we’d like. And we forgo sleep, instead spending our nights worrying.

Worrying that tonight will be the night, we’ll wake in the morning and he’ll be gone. And part of us wants it that way, part of us would feel blessed and lucky if we didn’t have to make that final trip into the vet’s office. If we were given the chance to cry all our tears before wrapping him in a blanket and asking for private cremation. And part of us knows if this were the case it would take weeks, maybe even months, before we could face the room, the place, where he was last with us. And we chide ourselves for thinking of such things, like to give a voice to the constant worry is to give it power and jinx our beloved, old friend.

So when a client asks me “How do you know when it’s time?” I don’t have a good answer for them. I tell the all the rhetoric about ensuring that his quality of life is still good, that he isn’t in constant pain. I tell them about making sure that he is still happy, and that more than not he is the dog you remember. But while saying all the proper things, the right things that we’re told in seminars is the best way to handle worried clients; I look at myself and have to ask the same questions. At this stage in my career and experience I should be immune to the emotional ties that make saying good bye to a loved one so hard. I, of all people, should be able to distance myself from sentimentality and make a tough call for the betterment of my dog.

But I can’t.

Nutsy, 2013

I get up every three hours to let Nutsy out to go potty. I stand in the freezing cold at 4am and make sure he does his business. I lift all 55pounds of him in and out of my truck. Up and down from the bed. I have a sling I wrap around his belly to help him walk on ice. He has an array of sweaters and coats for every manner of foul, unpleasant weather. I hand feed him dog food slop when he refuses to eat. I have a whole shelf full of supplements and powders just for him, trying to ease his old age some how. I have a pillbox full of his medications that out weight his vitamins. I have become a master at hiding pills in pieces of cheese, hotdogs, catfood and even twinkies. I have given up correcting any bad behaviors, and ignore it when Nutsy is grumpy and snaps at me or the other dogs. I force Pepper, the Roommate, to help me bathe him, or to let him in and out of the house. I make certain the house is never with out a human for more than 3 hours, because he can’t hold it any longer than that. I wash his blankets daily. I have become entirely immune to the smell and feel of urine soaked blankets. Because Nutsy sleeps on the bed with me (and has since he was 8 months old) I have lined my bed with special sheets, meant for children who wet the bed. I lie at wake at night wondering if he’ll be alive in the morning. I panic when he’s deep in sleep and shake him awake. I pray he doesn’t make me decide it’s time for him, and that he goes peacefully in his sleep. I pray he won’t, because I know if he dies in my bed, his bed, I’ll never be able to sleep there again. I tell myself the compromises are temporary, and that if I were a thousand years old I would want someone to make them for me and let me eat whatever I wanted even if it wasn’t good for me (like red jello). I hate myself because I shouldn’t think of how little time is left. I make concessions in my life, and I tell myself I’m doing the right thing. Because what choice do I have?

The truth is there is no right answer for when it’s time. I believe firmly that the dog will tell you. It will be in his face that one morning you wake up and he just won’t get out of bed. It will be in the way he looks at you when he’s had yet another accident because he can no longer control his bladder. And more importantly it will be in your heart, because you and only you will know when you can’t do it any more. When the sleepless nights can no longer be battled with coffee. When the worry interferes with work and daily life to the point you are afraid to leave the house. You will know, in your heart of hearts, you will know. Because any other belief would mean everything we do for our senior pets is just madness.

So when a client complains to me about sleepless nights with Senior George, I smile at them. I pat them on the back and I say “Welcome to the club.” Because I know, just like every other dog owner knows, when Senior George (or in my case Nutsy) is finally gone, we will miss those sleepless nights. We will find ourselves awake in the middle of the night wishing we could stand in the freezing cold with a cup of coffee in one hand and a flash light in the other watching our old friend find the exact right spot to potty. Because no matter the sleep deprivation or the compromises, or the money or the time, nothing could be worse than losing our friend.

So if you find yourself hating the world at 4am as you stand in the dark clutching a warm cup of coffee, wondering is global warming really is a hoax because -3 doesn’t seem all that warm to you…Rest assured: you are not alone. All across the world you are joined by other Food Providers wishing you had opted for the fleece pajamas and were wearing socks inside of your slippers while standing in the dead of night waiting for Senior George. And you do this because you have been his entire world for his entire life, and you owe it to him to suffer a little shrinkage so he doesn’t have to endure the humiliation of wetting the bed. When you find yourself out in the dark in the middle of the night, desperately bouncing up and down in place to keep your toes from freezing, raise a salute to yourself, and for everyone just like you, because you would do this for the rest of your life if it means Nutsy will never cross the rainbow bridge.

Nutsy takes a walk in the snow.

This post has been brought to you by Pine and Nutsy and 4am.