Our Sweet Boy
On 5 May 2025, we said goodbye to our sweet boy. Signing the paper authorizing our vet to euthanize was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. As my hand shook, I thought, ‘what right do I have to decide the fate of his life?’ Even in the days that have followed, it’s extraordinarily difficult to trust that we made the right decision.
“Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love; they depart to teach us about loss. A new dog never replaces an old dog; it merely expands the heart. If you have loved many dogs, your heart is very big.” ~Erica Jong
Wild Essence Weekend
The day prior, I rushed home from what had been an incredible weekend on retreat with Wild Essence. In the 20 minutes that morning that my husband left him alone to take a shower, he had managed to scratch at the ever-changing mast cell tumor that had developed on his back. He was bleeding profusely and had eaten one of the many bandages we had used to try to manage it. He was terrified. We knew that the tumor was becoming increasingly difficult to manage, and we had scheduled a risky surgery to remove it for later in the month.
While we were hopeful, this harsh reality check slapped us in the face.
Decisions
There was a good chance he wouldn’t make it through the surgery. If he did, the recovery would be challenging. It wouldn’t fix the eyesight that he had slowly lost over the course of 2 years. Not only that, it wouldn’t fix the hearing he was beginning to lose. It wouldn’t bring back the zest for life he once had. And a huge consideration…
Could we keep him safe?
After considering all of this, we cried a river’s worth of tears and decided we’d call the vet in the morning.
Remembering
I don’t think my boy would want me to focus this purely on the sadness of losing him. He’d like me to remember the joy of loving him.
After losing my American Bulldog in 2013, who declared herself when it was time to go, I never thought I’d have the capacity for love like this again. She was my fierce protector. We bonded in a way that made me feel as if I had given birth to her. But as time passed, I began to feel ready. While I had always been partial to the bully breeds, my husband really wanted a Lab. On Memorial Day weekend of 2014, we opened our home and our hearts to a goofy, scrawny, choco-peake failed hunting dog from Kentucky.
A Rough Start
He had a rough start to his life, and many of the details are not known to me. During his first Christmas with us, he became sick from eating a toy. The emergency vet discovered through an X-ray that he had shotgun shells inside of him. She explained there was nothing to be done, and she often sees this in Southern dogs. In that moment, if I could have gone to Kentucky to shoot the fuckers who hurt my dog, I would have done so in a heartbeat. For the record, I hate guns and would personally never choose to own one. But fuck those fuckers. This discovery explained his fear of thunder and fireworks in a profound way. It also gave me great purpose to give him the life he deserved.
He really did teach me to love again in a way I never thought was possible. He was supposed to make me a morning person, but I quickly learned of his fondness for staying in bed for hours. Most importantly he consistently made me laugh. From all his moments of squeezing his body into a chair that was way too small for him to absolutely destroying a pack of red Solo cups, he was the perfect blend of mischief and silliness.
He loved dairy products – sour cream, butter, milk, and, strangely enough, he would come running every time I used cornstarch to make a sauce or gravy. On his first Thanksgiving, he could easily have snatched the turkey off the table. Instead, he decided to bury his face in the mashed potatoes.
He meditated with me daily. He comforted me through my burnout. At the same time, he had a BFF in the neighbourhood who would steal all his toys, and he would just bring him more. He comforted our neighbor’s dog when she was missing her mama. When my cousin’s dog was having a puppy meltdown, he brought him a toy.
He loved being outside with his daddy. While he loved everyone, he was daddy’s boy. When he seeded the yard, he followed him back and forth the whole time. He’d joyfully perch himself on our hot tub to watch over everything in the woods, despite being scolded. During the shit winter of 2015, he wanted nothing more than to play football.
When we needed time away, he was happy to stay with my parents. My dad loved making him omelettes. He joyfully had tea with Grandma because she puts a ridiculous amount of milk in her tea. He also loved his pet sitters, Fran and Zach, who were always happy to sleep in bed with him.
When we got our van in 2021, we weren’t sure how he would react, but he embraced it. He enjoyed many camping trips with us. His favorite was our big group trips with our friends’ kids. He was always there to clean off their dirty faces.
His health challenges were many – hypothyroidism, Plechner Syndrome, two torn ACLs, blindness, and mast cell tumors. Yet, he loved going to the vet. He loved going to the chiropractor. Additionally, he was the ideal patient. He took pills easily. His tolerance for needles was better than that of any human I know. He’d hop right up on the scale and wait to be rewarded with cookies. He gave endless kisses to his helpers. Never did he snap or growl. Somehow, he sensed that they were there to care for him.
On his final day, we hugged him tight. We cried endlessly. As well as we could, we also did our best to express to him how much he was loved. We gave him his last meal—a bowl of sour cream sprinkled with cookies. We asked him if he wanted to go see his doctor.
Saying Goodbye
In retrospect, I wish we had allowed him to get on the scale one last time. Instead, his vet guided the three of us into a room. She compassionately explained the process. The first injection would be a sedative to help him relax and feel calm. In the 15 or so minutes it took to take hold, we told him to relax. We made sure he knew that we were right by his side.
The second injection, she explained, would stop his heart. I had my doubts. At that moment, against all logic, I didn’t think there could be anything powerful enough to stop his big, generous, loving heart.
However, the final injection did what it was intended to do. It ended his suffering and allowed us to keep him safe by letting him go. That is when our suffering began. My biggest reflection has been that their capacity for love is so much greater than ours. They are the most present of creatures, not holding the same baggage and resentment that we often do.
Life is impermanent. We know this when we make the choice to love them. That love is eternal.
Reed, my baby boy, you are with my Caffrey now, being fiercely protected. I feel both of you in every corner of my heart. You’ve left this earth, but you’ll never leave me.
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