Took a windy, chilly, definitely autumnal walk this afternoon. The ground is littered with crabapples and acorns, the trees’ contribution to the comfort of the squirrels in the coming season. A new season is opening in my life as well, the season without Bisou.
Walking without her for the first time in fifteen years, I went at my own pace and in my own rhythm, both hands warm in my pockets instead of the left one out in the cold, holding the leash. Our usual stopping places—the hummock at the edge of the woods, the lamppost, and that cliché, the fire hydrant—went uninspected. And, as in certain kinds of blindness, there was a weird blank spot in my vision near the ground, where for so many years Bisou’s wagging tail had led our way.
She died at home, on my lap, at the hands of the vet. As you know if you have been through this, the procedure fully deserves the name euthanasia, good death—gentle and quick, the kind of death that every living being would wish for itself. And yet it was a terrible time for me, a time that I now realize I had been dreading since her cognitive decline began a couple of years ago. What made it especially difficult was that my decision was prompted not by Bisou’s discomfort—at fifteen she was in remarkably good physical shape—but by mine.
I wrote here how in recent months she began to sleep longer and more heavily and became more and more withdrawn, as if she were disappearing behind a pane of glass. But even as she faded away one aspect of her—her pees and poops—became increasingly present in our midst. No matter how frequently I let her out, no matter what Chinese herbs or Western meds the vet prescribed, her bladder and bowels were no longer communicating with her brain. I tried diapers, too. But I abhorred the idea of her walking around with a wet diaper, or worse, against her belly, and velcroing a female diaper on a long-haired dog every couple of hours was beyond what I could manage.
And so what I so dreaded finally came to pass: with the house reeking of Nature’s Miracle, the carpets in every room patterned with large spherical stains, and my supply of cleanup towels running out before I had a chance to launder the last batch, I scheduled the euthanasia.
But before I did I spent days questioning my motives, my rights, my responsibilities. Was I being selfish, extinguishing Bisou’s bright flame because life with her was becoming increasingly inconvenient? Was I disregarding her rights as a living creature by putting my quality of life above her life? Yes, I was the human and she the dog, but what exactly does that mean when it comes to life and death?
I would love to tell you that at one point everything became clear and I was able to make what felt like the right decision. But all that I can honestly say is that, in a whirlwind of discomfort, confusion, and dread, I picked up the phone with trembling fingers, called the vet, and made the appointment.
And now she’s gone, my final dog, the last in a long and illustrious line of dogs of various sizes and breeds who loved me and tried to figure me out and whom I loved and puzzled over, hoping to uncover the mysteries of their being. The dogless season of my life has arrived, and I am greeting it with hesitation and also some relief. But I am in the season of letting go of many things—eventually of letting go of everything—so letting go of dogs is useful practice.
In the meantime, however, the cat Telemann, who I never thought was very involved with Bisou, has been glommed on to me since she died. I suppose he misses her. Perhaps, who knows? he misses her as much as I do. So we cling to each other day and night, and count ourselves lucky to be together at least for now.
22 Responses
Oh Lali I a so sorry. I am grateful to have known Bisou. Sending big love.
Thank you, Graham. I am glad you knew her!
Oh Lali, I am so sorry. You have paid tribute to all of us who have struggled with the decision and the aftermath. Your look forward is new to me and I appreciate your insight. Thank you for this post.
Marianne
Nobody trains us in how to make the hardest decisions of our lives, so we just do the best we can.
I am so sorry, Lali.
But it wasn’t just you. Bisou could not have had an easy time knowing she had lost control of her body, and the thing that made your walks pleasant for both of you. She had self-respect – and you gave her the dignity of an exit just a little sooner, but a lot less… I struggle for the word… disorienting? for her and what she would have preferred.
Those are the very hard choices you make when you have a companion like Bisou. May she be waiting for you and Telemann. I believe, with you, that you did the right thing, and waited as long as possible, and gave her the very best life you could.
Such comforting words. Thank you, Alicia.
Oh my, I share with you the loss of a beloved animal. We put my shadow and heartbeat, Ranger, down last Friday after he was diagnosed with liver failure. It is super hard. But it is the last best gift we can give them. Maybe Ranger and Bisou are running together across the fields on the Rainbow Bridge. Hugs
Thank you, Laura. It IS a gift, for them and for us.
You describe this perfectly. Bisou was a force. Any of us who got to know her were very lucky. I send you hugs around some thing that will always ache the loss of beloved for legged
I’ll always remember how tolerant you and Andrew were in welcoming that whirling dervish to your house.
I’m so sorry for your loss Lali.
You have described the process of living with a declining dog to a T!
And the decision to end their life is heartbreaking.
We had to do it with our 14 year old lab.
Forever in our hearts!❤️
Christine, a 14 year old Lab is extraordinary! You must have taken such good care of him/her.
my heart breaks for you Lali – hopefully she will visit you in your dreams once or twice. Sending love and hugs
Dear Carmel, what a good suggestion—I’ll look for her in my dreams.
Oh Lali, you loved your little red jewel so very much. You gave each other comfort right to the end. I do agree it would have been bothering her to let go in the house where she knew she was not supposed to. Having experienced this many years ago with our Afghan hound Sasha, I remember her giving me these guilty looks and sulking away. So, we also did what felt humane for an older dog. I am so sorry for your loss, keep the good memories…love Dona
Thank you, Dona. You knew her from the start.
Peace and Blessings on Your New Journey Bisou and to your human family on this difficult part of theirs. Chase some butterflies, catch some rays, and say hello to Corn, Squeezer, and Petey for me.
This is lovely. Thank you!
Thank you for sharing the beautiful memories that stay with you and with Telemann too. Sending love.
Thank you for reading, Kay.
Lali, I just came upon this. Such gentle, telling touches (the newly-warm left hand). And the presence of this in a season of lettings go, pointing toward the ultimate letting go of everything. Somehow, bright sadness in it all. Thank you.
At this time of year I think about the trees letting go of their leaves.