anniversary

Today's the one-year anniversary of Harry's death. It's a relatively easy date to keep tabs on, the day after Valentine's Day (which we completely ignore, except that you can't completely ignore it as it's all over the media.)

Just before Christmas, which was the anniversary of Harry's diagnosis with lymphoma, memories came flooding back, painful memories of that time. But now, thinking of his actual death, it seems a very long time ago and I can think about it with almost-equanimity.

I didn't write the death story here at the time, so perhaps I will give a brief outline now, as I think about it again.

The evening before, he'd managed to walk to a nearby park, though he seemed shaky on his feet, having hardly been able to keep anything down for the past few days.

That morning, he hardly stirred when we got up. I was busy getting Olle ready for school and was supposed to go to university later.

When I arrived home from the school, I found Harry lying on the big armchair. He looked at me but didn't raise his head or even wag his tail. I went upstairs and found a trail of diarrhoea. I instantly knew that he was deathly ill - that he'd got to the point of expelling everything from his bowels. I called co-parent and then the vet. He said he could come at 4pm - a good time as it would mean Olle would be home from school.

I decided not to go to university - I wouldn't have been able to. I spent the day at home, pottering. I carried Harry in to lie in his basket near my desk. He was very still, though his eyes would follow me. At one point I took him into our front garden - strangely, he began scratching in the dirt and pushing it with his muzzle.

Co-parent dropped in, taking a break from work. We discussed what to do about Olle and the euthanasia. We weren't sure what would be best. Ken, a close friend and Olle's godfather, rang. Unusually, he was not working that day. He said he'd be able to come by and that afterwards we could bury Harry in his large grassy garden (our own patio garden is too small).

At 3pm I went to collect Olle from school. As we started the walk home, I told him that the vet would soon be coming to put Harry to sleep as he was very sick. Olle immediately stopped in his tracks and wanted to go back to find his best friend to share that news - not in a childishly excited way, but in an 'I need to talk to my friend' way. His friend had already left, so I said he could ring him later. As we walked, Olle asked if Harry was going to die. I told him that yes, Harry wouldn't be able to breathe any more - his heart would stop and he would be dead.

When we got home, I began to feel very upset about the impending event. Co-parent and Ken arrived and took photos of me with Harry. That was a strange thing to do, in one way, though I'm glad we have them. I find looking at them now difficult, not because of Harry (he just looks like he's lying on my lap, as usual) but because my face is so anguished.

I had the impulse to do some of the things I did with Harry on a daily basis, like walk down the street to the nearest tree. So I took him there - but he was very weak. I saw the vet's car and felt bad that I was making Harry do something to satisfy an emotional impulse of mine just minutes before his death. So I carried him inside again.

When the vet (and the nurse) came in, we immediately asked him what would be best for Olle. He has children of the same age and  not long beforehand had had to euthanise his own dog who had cancer. He was unhesitating in recommending that Olle not be in the same room - the animal often takes a loud gasping breath a minute or so after the injection, which could be scary. We had already discussed what to do with Olle and he'd been unsure what he wanted, but when we announced that he was to go into the kitchen with Ken, he was glad to go, after saying goodbye to Harry.

I described how Harry had been that day - hardly moving, scratching in the dirt. "He's in pain", said the vet. Pain?! For some bizarre reason that hadn't crossed my mind, maybe because staffies (originally bred as fighting dogs) have a very high pain threshold. The realisation hit that for bright irrepressible Harry to be so completely unresponsive to attention indicated that he was in terrible pain. I felt really terrible about that (and still do, a year later).

The procedure takes only a few seconds - some fur shaved off his front leg, then the injection. He was instantly dead. Then came the snoring breath, which made me jump - even though we'd been warned earlier, it came as a surprise. There were some jumpy movements too - and a quivering tongue.

The vet left and Olle and Ken came in from the kitchen. We left Harry's body on the armchair and sat on the sofa opposite. We stayed there for over an hour, having cups of tea, occasionally stroking the body. Olle stroked him too and looked at him closely. He rang his friend to tell the news.

Finally the mood lightened and it felt time to bury him. Olle became visibly nervous and said he didn't want to come. Luckily, his grandparents, visiting from England, were staying nearby and we could drop him off there.

We wrapped Harry in an old sheet and drove him to Ken's place. Ken's entire family was home. He and one teenage son started digging the grave as we lay Harry on a table in the garden, uncovered him and took a final look. It was about 6pm by now and his body was stiffening and cooling. We carried him and placed him in the grave. The three teenagers and four adults stood in a circle around him in silence, as we threw some fallen frangipani flowers in. We said goodbye to poor Harry, that he'd been an anxious fellow but we loved him and wished he hadn't got sick. Then we began filling in the dirt.

Comments

[CW]

Thanks for sharing that. I wish I'd been with my Baubles when she died.

[Linda]

I think you did everything right, or as right as you could at the time. I am sure your Harry felt and knew that. I had a cat called Meows who I had had since I was a little girl of about 8, and he died when I was in my early 20's. We had to leave him at the vet and the vet called the following morning saying there was nothing more they could do, and we agreed for them to bring him home to be put to sleep in surroundings he knew. He died on the way back in the car. You don't know the regret I have of not being there with him. So, I guess as awful as it is, it's good that you were there with your dog. I still miss Meows can you believe it, and he passed away nearly 17 years ago. Pets really are forever.

[Mikhela]

This post made me cry.

[susoz]

Mikhela, writing it made me very sad - I cried too. I'm not sure whether to see it as therapeutic or like picking at a wound - even though I've lost very close people (including both parents), Harry's illness and death still triggered intense feelings.

[Lori]

That was very touching. Thanks for sharing such a personal story.