verbatim: RIP

I've been worrying myself crazy and losing sleep over Mr. Jones, and I realized this morning that there is no reason at all to keep administering fluids just in the hopes of keeping him "comfortable" while his kidneys are shutting down. He may be in less pain than he would have been, but he's still not even close to happy. He is so weak and pitiful that my heart breaks, and the thought of waiting until he's obviously in great pain and unable to be made comfortable is even worse. So I called Dr. Jake and he came over this evening to euthanize him.

I can't describe what a comfort it was to have this done in our home. Jones did not have to suffer through another cage/car/hospital experience—nor did we. Jake is so very compassionate and patient and kind and understanding; he really made us feel good about our decision. He described this as one of the most important parts of his job, and he really does it well. He said that as a vet, his responsibility is to help keep animals as healthy and happy as he can. When that's no longer possible, his goal is to provide a "peaceful exit." And that's what our Jones got. Andy held him, while I sort of scooped up his legs and tail as they drooped, and we let him drift off into the ether. It was a gentle passage.

Thanks upon thanks to so many of you who have written with notes of support via this blog, Twitter, Facebook, Google+, email, and phone calls. Every word of support and encouragement helped me immeasurably.

This will seem like a non sequitur, but it's not, so read on:

A few weeks ago, singer-songwriter Bill Morrissey died in his hotel room. The "official" cause of death was given as "complications of heart disease," but knowing his history with decades of alcoholism and depression, along with whatever other health problems he had, I wouldn't be surprised if he just decided to call it quits himself. We used to listen to him a lot and even saw him perform a few times. Every now and then one of his oldie-but-goodies comes up on my iTunes, and I'm reminded of how much I like him.

Some of Bill's songs are laugh-out-loud funny, but even more are sad beyond sad. This verse from "These Cold Fingers" hit me right between the eyes today:

The dog can't move no more, surprised he made it till the spring
His pain won't go away, and the pills don't do a thing
You've known that old hound longer than you've known any of your friends
And no matter how you let him down, he'd always take you back again
So it's one tall glass of whiskey, one last drink for old time's sake
The dog just lays in bed and watches every move you make
You wrap him in his blanket, hold him once more close to you
And lead him out behind the barn with a borrowed .22

Rest in peace, gentlemen.

Comments

So sad. I've been thinking of you, your family and, of course, Mr. Jones all day. Assuring our pets a "peaceful exit" is the last loving act that we must do for them. My sympathies to all of you!

Posted by: Elena | August 12, 2011 at 09:31 PM

Tears.

Posted by: Tonya Watkins | August 12, 2011 at 09:37 PM

I am so sorry for your family. I know how hard it is to lose the animal members of the family. Mr. Jones was so lucky to have you all loving him for all those years.

Posted by: Susan | August 12, 2011 at 09:42 PM