So Long Old Friend

On a beautiful summer morning, I said one last goodbye to a dear old friend — my dog, Midah.

She had been fading for some time, going deaf, losing her vision, and walking ever more slowly and uncertainly.

Then suddenly she had no control over her back legs. Her heart – at 15 years – was still strong but her body had given out.

We took her to the vet, who hinted at euthanasia but was very inclined to charge us $225 for medications she really didn’t need.

And never had the time to take.

Within three days after the vet visit, my wife, Lee, and I decided euthanasia was the right and only choice. Midah could no longer go outside to do her business, and she had little appetite.

And it was heartbreaking to watch her trying to crawl across the floor to get to her favorite lying spot. She would need round-the-clock supervision, and that just wasn’t an option.

Neither Lee nor I had ever put a pet down, so this was a new and deeply sad experience. We knew we didn’t want to load her into the car and make that long drive to the impersonal environment of a veterinary office to say goodbye to our girl.

Lee found someone who would come to our home in the mountains and euthanize Midah on her own turf. She would arrive the next morning, and we decided we would pick out a gravesite on our land and dig the grave that evening.

Let me just say that it’s awfully hard digging a final resting place for a dog who’s still living and breathing inside your house — a dog who is still aware of her surroundings but just can’t make her legs work anymore.

I didn’t sleep much that night, knowing we would be pulling the plug on our beloved friend the next day.

But the next day eventually arrived, bright and beautiful. Too beautiful, it seemed, for what was about to happen.

We carried her outside into the shade of trees she’d rested under countless times. We gently laid her on a couple of old rugs, where she seemed to relax and calmly await whatever was coming next.

The euthanizing vet arrived too soon but immediately put Lee and I at ease with her gentle and compassionate demeanor, softly explaining how it would all go down.

First, a sedative to put her to sleep, then an injection to stop that strong heart from ever beating again.

Lee and I gently stroked her as she took a few deep breaths and was gone.
We’ll always have lovely memories of Midah, who – like most dogs – was ever a good and faithful friend. So many hikes to remember, so many camping adventures and just the joy of petting and loving her.

We’ll never forget her sweet disposition and joyful spirit.

And I know we’ll often sit beside her grave and remember her glory days and the unconditional love she gave.

She was a gentle soul in a dog’s body.

Vaya con Dios, amiga.

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