When No One Else's Opinion Matters

 "... so if I come in this week to put her down will you be ok with it?"

It isn't the first time someone has said this to me. Asked me for grace wrapped in permission.

It always strikes me as quixotic. This asking for forgiveness to be given as a form of equal parts willing participation and peaceful acceptance. As if I hold some power I do not recognize myself.

What does my opinion matter? Why would you let anyone else's judgement cloud your own?

I always take great pause to reflect when this is directed at me.

Who am I in your pets life? What influence do I hold? Why should you care about what I think?

...and yet I surmise that I know the answer, or part of the answers, to all of these. 

I have been the navigator to this girls every medical challenge and endeavor her whole life. I have been a part of every choice, decision, obstacle and surgery. There has never been a time where her life's choices haven't been discussed together. Her mom is a dear friend. She has grown into someone I adore and cherish. We did this, we grew into this, over Bella.

Maybe I am shying away from the weight of this question? Too comfortable in the minutia. The advocating for all that kept her safe and healthy, yet, deflecting cowardly when the final decision has to be made. 

Maybe I am a fairweather friend? So deeply entrenched I cannot see her past myself?

Maybe I am too deep to bail out?

Too thin to save from shattering.

Too ingrained to know where the professional obligation ends and the rest of me that still adores her begins?

Maybe we are in this together and she wants me to pick sides knowing Bellas story is ending and we will still need each other on the other side. The survivors side. The remorseful, guilty, heartbroken and alone side.

Bella is now 15. A shepherd mix who was once a spry, spicy, opinionated and complex. She was calculating and discerning. A true shepherd. They love you the first time they meet you and dislike you increasingly exponentially with fervent disdain every next time. I take great pride in being the exception to this universal rule. She has tolerated me, accepted me, and I dare say even liked me, from day one to today. 

Her mom tells me that she still gets excited to see me, looks for me as soon as she enters the clinic, and smiles as I approach. As I enter the room, just like every time before, she pushes her way to me and beside me. I wrap my arms around her and whisper our traditional "hello," and "I love you."  

"You love her and she is dying. My opinion shouldn't matter." I told her what she needed to hear, what I truly need her to hear from me. 

"I am here to help you. I am always on your side."  

What I hope she knows is that Bella could have never had a better life with anyone else and I am honored, grateful and humbled to have been a part of it.

It’s times like it is that everything falls back into perspective. We are reminded about what’s important, and what isn’t. And all of the other little problems just become minutia. 

Then I remembered it’s always this way. I live in this world. The world where life is fleeting and short and precious, and never to be taken for granted. That is the life of anyone in medicine and anyone who loves anyone else.

What I know is that this life I have lived, these souls I have shared it along the way with, these people at the other end of the leash, they all mattered. The reasons that people love their pets so much. They were the reasons I came here. The reasons I can't ever leave. There is purpose, and fulfillment, joy, grief and every shade of every meaningful emotion in between under this roof. It is the marrow of a lifetime that being vulnerable, honest, dedicated and absolutely completely emotionally invested without care to what that might cost you delivers. Bella is the reason we are who we are. 

What I hope that others see is that its ok to throw your whole heart into something. Its ok to grieve like life will never hold its color again in the same way. It's an honor to be a part of a journey so rich and deep it changes you. Its life that is intended to hurt so you know how good it is. We are all in this together. It is what makes us so fortunate and rich. Mankind would be better off as a whole if more people had pets in their lives. Nothing else holds more influence in compassion, companionship, and community than the interdependence of sharing your life with another. They don't judge, they ask so little, and yet they reflect more kindness back than you ever invest. They keep us feeling human as we are reminded that humanity is our greatest attribute.

I don't just bear witness to these lives. We are a part of them.

Dying With The Absence Of Intentions

"Two options," I usually start with telling clients that they have two options for their pets care when they come to see me. The operative word here is usually. I should have started this blog by saying "used" to. I used to say that there were two options when at the clinic. And here's why I now need to stop assuming there are only two options,,,

My pups play in the last rays of Summer sunshine and humming fields of daisies.

On Sunday I saw a client with a dog who looked like she had already passed away. A lifeless mass of fur laying without any sign of life. Her name was Lily, she was emaciated, laying on a blanket on the floor and not responding to anything happening around her. She appeared as a dirty, dusty, weathered coat of dull black poorly draped over a boney protruding skeleton of what a dog used to be. She could barely lift her head. She was so weak, sad, and weary looking that I assumed if she wasn't already gone she was surely here to be put to sleep. Where I had not previously realized that there are more than two options when at the vet clinic, I have learned that you shouldn't ever assume a pet parent sees their pet with the same veterinary trained scrutiny and collective experience to guide your prognostic indicator as I possess. So many people are so deeply emotionally embedded in their pets lives that they can't see their pets suffering, death, or the looming vultures of either at the cost of breaking their own hearts to say goodbye. There are times where I have to explain this in painstaking, emotionally devastating detail. On this particular Sunday I had two dogs who had arrived at the exact same time, and looked to be in the same predicament. Both were old big black dogs who couldn't stand, react, or show much of any signs of existence. They were dying, and they had been here in this pitiful state for quite some time. I also had about 20 other patients waiting to be seen. It was a Sunday. We are open for walk-in appointments for 2 hours, 1-3 pm. It was a bright idea (or so I had thought) about 15 years ago, or, as we all measure time now, before COVID changed vetmed into a war zone. Since COVID my Sundays have become the "open-to-all-neighborhood-ER." It's insane. Every single Sunday. It has gotten to the point where almost all of the people I see are non-clients, and all of the say the same thing; "I've been waiting for the ER to call me back to say my turn is up in another 12-24 plus hours." If these dogs have looked like this for over a day (and let's be honest I know they have) then the face of vetmed is no longer wearing a compassionate white coat. 

Our clinic vagabond, Saffie. Mostly trouble, occasionally demanding attention,
and almost always sleeping on the job,

The two women who sat behind Lily as she was slipping into her coma were sisters. Lily had been diagnosed as a diabetic over a year ago. The medical record was a list of missed appointments, phone calls left without follow throughs, and proposed diagnostics that hadn't been done to manage her disease adequately. Diabetes is a disease that leaches persistently. It can be managed with a huge amount of effort on both the clients and vets parts, but, it is a slippery, encumbering beast. Even people do a miserable job of managing their own diabetes and they have endless easy wearable tools to help monitor and guide them. Dogs get diabetes from eating crappy food and being too sedentary. It is incredibly difficult to convince a diabetic junk food addict couch potato to eat better and exercise. Old dogs/new tricks, the analogy is applicable. The two sisters loved Lily, it was obvious from the beginning. They never looked away from her as I spoke to the tops of the backs of their heads as they bowed over her stroking the dry brittle coat. (To this day I am not sure what their faces look like?). I could hear them sobbing. The assumption that Lily was here to die was so pervasive that the front staff had immediately placed the party of three in our comfort room, (our less veterinary medicine looking room that has real furniture in it). It also has its own entry and exit and a long bench for multiple family members to congregate.  There are two crystal light fixtures and multiple boxes of tissues. 

Hamilton

Lily didn't move as we carried her from the comfort room into the treatment area. She had lost over 20 pounds since her last visit which was many months ago.  Her breath smelled like nail polish, her eyes were not registering our movements, the foreignness of this place, or the sounds that made it so obviously worrisome to the other patients. She just lay on the stainless steel exam table absently.  I stroked her head and whispered into her ear that she would be "ok." While she is my patient and I have work to do on her, samples to collect and observations to assess her condition, she is also a heartbreaking site to see and a dying girl to protect. In this moment, in the place where patients are away from their families, on a stainless steel table, weak, and dying she is all I am here for. All I have ever strived to be, become, and exist as. At this moment she is one and all. The singular soul that mine is devoted to. It is at these times that I wish our hospital was like those old episodes of ER. The scenes where a caring, kind nurse stands over the patient clasping their hands and telling them calmly that they "will be alright." Why can't I have someone who tells my dying patients that? Someone to just be the angel and not the judge, jury and executioner too? 

In the treatment area we quickly discover what I had already presumed; Lily is massively dehydrated and her brain and body are being intoxicated with polluted ketones, which will slip her into a complete coma and kill her imminently. She needs immediate and aggressive help. She needs a highly trained veterinary emergency facility that can treat her for a minimum of 3-4 days, and even with that her prognosis is abysmal. She is too far gone and too sick. I tell her moms this. I do what I very rarely ever do, I tell them they should alleviate her suffering and say goodbye. They tell me that they have no money to do anything past $500. Lilly needs about $10,000 of care. I try to ease their grief and pain by saying that even with this it is vey unlikely she can survive this with much quality of life. They tell me that a transfer to the ER is impossible because of the cost. I leave the room so they can spend some time with Lilly and process what I have said. I move on to the other 19 cases waiting for me.

The war room,, aka treatment area.

I came back some time later to a very quiet room. 

Lily's moms weren't able, or ready, to say goodbye. So we did what we could for her. We gave Lilly all of the quick patch band-aids that I could. I dumped a massive amount of fluids under her skin, gave her an antibiotic, anti-emetic, and an injection for pain. I essentially given her all of the options I had without being able to hospitalize her. I had given them instructions to continue her insulin and they had agreed to bring her back first thing the next morning for more care. 

Lily, her moms and the mass of 19 other cases came, and went, (both black dogs went home). Although I leave the clinic for the evenings at home, it never leaves me. I carry it, the weight of every patient, their plight, and the families who love them with me. I dream about them. I wake up with surges of adrenaline coursing through me. I head to work each day ready to slay a dragon that medicine is and fate wins at. I prepare for battle everyday knowing I buy time, never destiny.

Vela. Our latest rescue effort. 
Her story to follow soon.

Lilly did not show up the next morning so I called to check on her. I had expected that they would tell me that she had passed away over night. Instead they told me that she was up, eating and walking, and therefore they wanted her to stay at home. I was so relieved to hear this, and yet, worried for what today, tonight and tomorrow would bring. I begged them to bring her back to us to run some blood work, give her another round of the medications we had done the day before. I reminded them that these had helped, and without them she would be back where she was 18 hours prior. They said that they wanted her to pass at home. They didn't want anymore medical interventions. It seemed that they were very upset that I had helped her the day before and that they no longer wanted interference. 

So here I am at option number three; People show up for care at your vet clinic, but, they don't want your help. Since when was this an option? Why did they drive over to the hospital, check in at reception, wait in a room, wait for me to explain her condition, agree to all of the treatments we gave her, and then get angry about it all 24 hours later?

I was dumbfounded on the phone. I could hear the anger in their voices, the betrayal that they felt I had provided them all. I paused. That long pregnant, my brain can't quite process this, pause. I offered them financial assistance to get Lilly some much needed medical care. I got back more anger. We were both doubling down and Lily was going to lose another round.

While I understand passing at home, hospice care, and the deep swath of divide we all feel about the act of dying, I also feel compelled to speak on behalf of the patients I have who cannot. In some cases I have to remind myself that I am bound to picking sides. I have to chose humans over my patients if there is a viable fear that the patient might impact the humans life.. (think rabies, aggression, etc). Then there are the cases I can't discern neglect and cruelty within. Do I honestly feel that Lilly is suffering? Yes, 100%. Do I feel her moms can care for her? No, even though they love her so much. Does the degree of love supersede the obligation to put our pets well-being above our own? Can passing at home without any kind of pain management ever be peaceful? Fair? kind? I don't know? I didn't know for Lilly. I told her moms that. 

I do think that a key part of my job, and everyday,
is kissing every dog and cat I come across.

They hung up on me. And then they went public and called me some really hurtful names. 

Maybe its me who needs that nurse holding my hand?

P.S. I have changed names and details.,, I feel that I have to, this is a diary on display. 

Don't Forget To Put Your Heart Into EVERY Euthanasia.

Hello Erin,
As a veterinary practice owner I want to sincerely apologize for this. I cannot say that I know, or even remotely understand this?, but, I am sorry that you left feeling penalized and punished at one of the saddest moments of any pet parents life. If I can help I am here. Again, I am so sorry for your loss and frustration. Sincerely Krista.

Nashville

Starting a conversation with an apology is about as common for me as "hello." A few years ago there was an outpouring of articles all proclaiming how over used and detrimental apologies were especially passing from the lips of females. It was heavily marketed that apologies as a preamble masked submission, leading to shame, and that women in all places and positions, especially those in leadership positions, were being throttled to abandon.  I spent years pouring over these articles, catching myself constantly to pull those three little words back in each time they slipped out, while beating myself up for the deference apologizing for everything brought me.  And yet, I still apologize often. Way too often.

The opening paragraph above is a private message I left Erin, on Nextdoor.com just a few days ago. Sad as it is, it is true that I am so prolific in apologies I even send them to strangers. Stranger or not, with this apology I meant every word I was delivering.

Apologies fall like confetti daily in my veterinary life. I apologize for the small and insignificant just as much as I do the grand,, and everything in between. Failures of the staff, the facility, the limits of human abilities, the boundaries of my soul-sucking emotional requests, the anger every so often a person seems to need to explosively purge at the clinic, as they are, after all my responsibility and I take ownership of them even if they don't recognize them. For me, as a veterinarian, and especially the veterinary practice owner, there are a boat load of fully justifiable reasons to extend a word of apology as ubiquitously as raindrops.

"I'm sorry we were running late today. I appreciate your patience."

"I'm sorry that I don't have better news," always the case of providing some death sentence diagnosis to a parent unprepared for the bombshell I just provided.

"I'm sorry but we don't provide walk-in euthanasia services." (Cause ya know, everyone should be able to decide last minute that "it's time" without the assistance of a doctor to consult. Which always elicits hostile accusations of us "not caring that their pet is suffering!" Somehow that is our fault too. These are only pets we haven't seen in years, or, pets we have never seen. I always want to reply, "would you call your pediatrician and request; "Hey! my kids suffering, it's time for goodbye" and NOT expect to be questioned?). (where is that fire headed emoji?).

"I'm sorry but I cannot take the 4 kittens you just found in your backyard." (Personal note the clinic has 5 cats in need of homes presently, and, we used to take in kittens to help adopt to homes and in the last year 4 were "returned",,, what the &@*&!).

"I'm sorry but we don't have overnight staffing to keep your critically sick, eminently dying pet, you WILL have to go to the ER, or take them home." (people you cannot leave your pet here to die alone, right?).

"I'm sorry but your dog is so frightened by restraint we cannot safely hold them. We will need to reschedule another time when we can provide pre-examination sedation." Also usually met with incredulous judgmental angst, as if we were the party who failed to provide the conditioning needed to do a nail trim safely? Odd how so many clients know they cannot trim their own GSD's nails at home, and yet get angry that we can't either. Even more disturbing is how many people prefer the staff be injured as long as the nails can be trimmed, right now!.

As  you can see from the examples the apologies range from introductory opening statements to help shoulder the burden of the disappointment about to follow,, "I'm sorry, but, I can't..." To the "I'm sorry, but, I won't." To the most common; "I'm sorry for your loss." It is a Santa-sized sack of apologies to be plated and served daily.

They all work, even if their pallor and place varies so enormously. What other prelude would be appropriate?

But let's get back to my apology to the stranger, Erin.

Social media reaches into the tiniest corners of every community. It is undeniably powerful and in a matter of seconds a social media post can reach millions of people and cause lives to change irreversibly. If you own a business it can be the death of you. Literally.

I am a champion of social media. I have (albeit unforeseeable) found overnight notoriety through the power of an emotionally charged video that struck a nerve with not just me, but bitter burnt pet parents the world (although lets be honest, overwhelmingly just the USA). Instant fame has been found by many a social media post, some good, much otherwise.

One of the burgeoning eruptive social media sources of the last few years is Nextdoor.com. Nextdoor groups people based on location. There are multiple daily posts by my local community members  looking for advice on all sort of things, like services. For instance "nanny needed," a newly diagnosed patient in need of a need of "orthopedic surgeon recommendations for hip surgery," or, notifications like "hound dog loose" replete with photos, times, and pet descriptions. It has also been the place for bad services experiences to be vented publicly, back yard crier style. If you own a small community based business Nextdoor is a potential hotbed of agony.

Here is the original post from Erin, to whom all of my apologizing to a stranger was about;
"New Vet Wanted"

We had to put our sweet boy down last month... pancreatic cancer.  We spent a few thousand at XXX XXXX Animal Hospital during his treatment.  The day we Euthanized him.... our original quote was $330 which was euthanasia and private cremation.  Once they realized that we wanted to stay with our dog during euthanasia... they upped the charge to $390,  They actually charge $60 more for you to be present while your dog is being put to sleep!!!!  I have NEVER been more disgusted in my life.  Our receipt actually says “Euthanasia—owner present”.  Their prices are exorbitant almost extortion like.... I stayed with the practice while  our Nashville was being treated there but I will never use that practice again now that he is gone.  Looking for a reasonably priced, non price gouging bc of “ the neighborhood” compassionate veterinary practice.

In the very exhaustive list of things that you just don't do in veterinary medicine screwing up a euthanasia is at the top of my list. Think you can't possibly screw this up? Let me give you my resume of them.
1. You put the wrong tag on the wrong body. Yep, not requesting the proper cremation (say the parents wanted the ashes back and you didn't tag it appropriately. Yep! really really bad).
2. The process doesn't go smoothly. Yep! happens. Death is not an easy ask most often. Our bodies are wired to keep breathing, and beating no matter how much drugs you provide. Or, they gasp for air as their bodies fight to give up. Not the last impression you want a family to have.
3. It is a busy, frantic day at the clinic and you (hard as you try) cannot get into the family waiting for you to be calm, patient and generous, as you secretly worry about the pet you are trying to save from death next door. I often think we need to have "euthanasia only" hours to avoid the chaos our general practice life throws us into.
4. People are people. Some know what to expect and know you, so there is not so much chit-chat to exchange. Others think they know what they need for their pet and then lose it last minute. (I once had a parent start CPR on their dog as I was injecting the euthanasia solution).

If you mess up a euthanasia the 10 previous years of anything you ever did for that pet gets flushed. Along with that scar you leave on your (previous) clients heart goes the devastating word of mouth they will share with every loved one they know.

So to every well intentioned Fortune 500 seeking femme fatale out there attempting to ascend that ice sheer under that omnipresent glass ceiling i apologize for my prolific apologies. I woefully fear (apology again), that I have set us back a few centuries..

For my place in vet med empathy is about apologizing for fate that few can outwit and outplay. I cannot undue the fact that all of my patients will die. Many of them too soon despite the best of care, the most adoring of parents and the miracles of modern medicine, but, I can apologize for the failures of not being able to spare them the grief of loss. I never surrender anything here, just remind them that kindness comes in many forms and a bow clad apology is one.

Where did this  practice go so wrong? They forgot that giving an estimate over the phone sets you up for big problems. Every case is case based, and an estimate is "estimating." Although less is always met without fued, more is a set up for angry torches at your front door. I try very hard to not provide estimates. For the cases of pay in advance euthanasia services they pay up front (if they want to) and I eat the overages if it happens.. (avoid the torches whenever possible).

You also never forget, no matter how crazy busy the rest of the clinic is at the time, that these last few moments of a life you cared for matter just as much, maybe even more, than all of the rest. Stop, embrace, say you are sorry for their loss, and be empathetic!

Erin's response;
Wow... thank you so so so very much for such a kind and beautiful message.  I knew that I was paying exorbitant prices at XXXX during his treatment but I was committed to just staying with them till the end.  If I had known that would have happened, I would have switched earlier.  It’s shameful that it happened and they seemed to have lost touch with human and animal compassion and are just about money.  One person commented that it’s about staffing and that is why they charge extra but in my opinion when it’s an end of life situation, money should not play a part , only compassion.  What practice do you own?  Thank you again for taking the time in your busy schedule to reach out to me.  It is most appreciated and speaks volumes. 


Here is Erin's description of why the price was different because she was present;
My daughter called them after the fact and was told it was for the catheter that was placed.  Owner present.... catheter placed.  No owner present... no catheter placed.  I was a tech for 10 years.  The vet that I worked for never placed a catheter because it’s unnecessary.  You can give the dog an IM shot of Acepromazine.  That will take about 10 minutes to make them sleepy and gives the family private time to say goodbye and then the vet comes in and gives the final euthanasia injection.  I asked for sedation from the tech first who questioned my request then when the vet came in, I had to ask her again.  They were actually going to give a wide awake dog the euthanasia injection through the IV!  I had to ask the vet (a second time) for sedation.  She obliged but then gave him the sedation IV.  He went from wide awake to dropping like a sack of potatoes in front of my distraught family.  The vet then said “I’ll give you some time now”.  I looked at her and said “Well you might as well give him the final injection now”.  I feel like that peaceful 10 minutes to say goodbye to him was stolen from us.  I have called several hospitals (like 5 or 6) to discuss their euthanasia policies and all have said that charging for owner present is disgusting.  Some said placing a catheter is unnecessary, some said that they place a catheter but do an IM sedation injection first.  The whole situation was horrible and completely in poor taste.
If the reason they place a catheter is because they want to make sure they get the vein then why don’t they do it if you are not present for Euthanasia.  That says to me that they are more concerned about getting the vein while in front of the family and not for the sake of the dog.  If you are not present , no catheter is placed.  That says to me that it is not about the comfort of the dog but for the comfort of the vet trying to find a vein in front of the owners.  Plus , they still take your dog “in the back” to place the catheter... it should be done with the family present.  Going “in the back” is scary for the dog... they still have to shave him and stick him with a needle to place the catheter.  What if you could not afford that additional $60 but WANT to be present?  Is that an “oh well, sucks for you” situation??!!  And what happens to the dog?  Does a sick, scared dog go in a kennel until they have time to euthanize?  Do they just jam a needle with euthanasia solution into your wide awake dog?  I’m thoroughly disgusted.

As a practice owner I understand that time is money. BUT, as a human being driven by the love of a pet I would never think of performing a euthanasia in a different manner because the owner is present. Why would there be a difference in how you handle the euthanasia? I know the answer I know why most vets place a catheter before. I know why vets act one way in front of clients, and hence practice differently in front of clients, but, for me, there is no difference. You could be a fly on the wall of any part of my clinic and the treatment is the same. I will tell you that " I am sorry," and that you "were loved." In some cases it is an animal that was never granted "pet" or "owned" status, but that doesn't mean they weren't loved, if only by me, for that moment in time we were together. How do you work for? Me, its the pets, my patients, 24/7/365.

Here is the story that Erin wanted me to share.
This was sent to me today.  I teared up.   😢 Pls excuse the cuss words...

How your vet sees euthanasia.....
So, you bring me this puppy - she kisses my face, devours the cookies I offer, and our friendship starts. 
Several visits later, he starts to learn where all the cookie jars are in the clinic, and that lady in the white coat, well she’s okay....
Fast forward many visits later, now I am in love with your dog and your whole family because, well, you are just really really good people and I have not only watched that pup turn into a really sweet family member, but I got to watch the kids grow every year and be a very small part of your journey. 
Remember that time she ate your teenage daughter’s thong underwear?  😝😝😝 yeah we all had a good laugh over that once surgery was done and she was recovered. Your daughter probably never forgave me for bagging that up and showing the whole fam-jam when they came to pick her up from the clinic. 
So many adventures, so little time.....
And here we are, fifteen or so odd years later, having to say goodbye. 
He’s got heart disease and I can’t fix it anymore. She’s got cancer and there is no cure.  He has arthritis and the meds just aren’t working.  I want her to live forever for you. I want that so badly it hurts.  I feel like I have failed him and you when I have run out of options to keep them, and you, comfortable and happy.  
So now it’s time, and I am supposed to be professional.  Objective. I am the doctor. Calm. Cool. Collected. Always under control. 
*&$# that. 
I have known you and her for a third of my life, and most of my professional career. 
But I keep it together.  My superhuman amazing technicians have put the catheter in. My support staff from reception to assistants have done all the paperwork. Trust me they may not show it but their hearts are breaking for you. They have been there.  They know. And they know you and care about you too. 
And I have the needle in the pocket of my white coat. The same pocket that was always full of treats for him.  I take a deep yoga breath and come into the room. Gotta stay strong now.......
She’s giving me that sweet look she always does, the one that is followed by puppy kisses and a glance at the cookie jar.  But she is too weak now. She is ready. You are not. I am not. But this shit has to happen because we love her too much to let her suffer.
She would keep going as long as we asked her too.  But we can’t ask her to anymore. It’s not fair to her.  I wish our human hearts could be so giving all the time. I wish I could be the person my dog thinks I am. I wish I wish i wish I could find a way for them to live forever.  But I don’t have those magical powers. I am just a vet. 
So we kiss him back, not much left of his body that still works, but that old tail wags, just enough that I lose my shit on the inside but I try not to cry.  Gotta stay strong. 
Her body relaxes, she is in your arms and your are sobbing.  Another family has lost one of its most cherished members. I put my stethoscope to her heart to make sure it has stopped but she is held so tight to your chest that maybe that is your heart I hear pounding or maybe it’s mine and all the blood rushing through my ears as I try so so so hard not to turn into a blubbering mess. 
Confirmed, he has passed. You lay him gently on the table and we hug tightly as you go to leave. 
The door closes behind you and I don’t know if you hear this, but I sob hysterically into your pets ear.  She is gone, he will be missed, and you have to face what I know will be one of the hardest parts of today. 
Entering that house and they are not there to greet you. 
Please know that I know how you feel. As you leave the clinic I just wish with every fibre of my being that you never had to face that.  I wish they could live forever. 
And please know, I am so grateful that I was a small part of your journey.
Love always,   Your vet.

We all want to be this veterinarian. It costs us something to be her. Vulnerable, fragile, and emotional. It is not a big ask, but, remember in the same breathe, at the same moment for one person that we are expected to be this person, in the next room over there is a person with a cat they say they only feed, "it's not theirs" who has a very treatable condition and wants you to treat for free because if you don't "you're a cold hearted bitch." Do you know which one you are supposed to be for which room? There are many reasons the suicide rate in medicine is what it is.

This blog is dedicated to Nashville,,, and Erin.

Erin's story and Nashville's photos are posted with her permission.

Why Women Apologize and Should Stop, NY Times.

It's Time for Women To Stop Apologizing So Much

Suicides Among Veterinarians Becoming A Growing Problem. Washington Post

Taking A Stand And Facing Consequences. What Would You Do If You Were Asked To Euthanize A Pet You Didn't Believe Was Ready to Die? How often do you think it happens? I know most vets euthanize anytime asked. Why? Because if you dont you get labeled as "uncaring."

Compassion Fatigue. Lessons on avoiding the lure of veterinary suicide.

More on Jarrettsville Veterinary Center here.. JVC is a place where compassion comes first. Compassion towards our patients is paramount. We are kind, generous, and never allow financial constraints to dictate access to care.

If you would like to know more about the topics I discuss here please find me on Pawbly.com. It is free to use and open to everyone who loves pets. Pawbly.com is designed to help educate, inform and inspire pet people everywhere. We have just added our "storylines" section to help people share their own pets experiences and to help others learn from them. Please also consider joining if you have experiences to share and pet support to lend.

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Terminal Mom. The Pet Mom I Became While Losing My Jekyll-Pup

Death. It is unavoidable.. Un-avoidable!. In my veterinary day to day practice I see death most often creeping in like an insidious pestilence. The end,, that precipice place right before life meets forever absent, well that place, where I am mired now, that place sucks,, bad.

Your life and the way you see it, the lens you see everything through, changes. It has too, you have to filter out the clutter, minimize the distractions, focus on the living left to do. Life here at the transition out of it is like a vacuum, a quiet, lonely, absent, dark void.

I was one of those overprotective, hovering, helicopter moms. I have a beagle after all. You let those beagles out of your sight and off they go, into the clear blue yonder, nose to the ground, running, ears flapping in the wind their heels kick up. Beagles live on short leashes, or in kennels, or anchored to a pack and a leader. They make bad decisions if left untethered. Truth is they don 't know any better. It's genetics screaming at their primitive primal brain imprisoned by a nose that must follow where the trail lies, the bunnies are, and the adventure is certainly awaiting. They can't help it. They are a body enslaved to a nose they cannot turn off, nor ignore. I am that mom to a kid possessed, called, beckoned, reckoned to be elsewhere (except when the dinner bell rings or it is raining...beagles are bog avoiding babies in the rain). I am also the mom who keeps tabs,, makes sure they know where their kids are at all times.. I should say, was, I was that mom.

Now I am a mom with a kid on a short timetable. Weeks, maybe months, but damned unlikely to be a enough months to amount to a year. Life changes when the calendar gets to pages, single digits, pieces of a lunar fluctuation, or,  "this might be the last time we get to..." thoughts. My wishes for him have changed, come full circle. I want him to run, play, be the boy his beagleness calls him to be. We go for long walks, unleashed, unmonitored. He gets lost in being the boy with the nose in the dirt. We live without consequences in the wild. To die on the trail, possessed and unfettered by a disease that is eating him up from the inside, and backside out. If he passes while doing what he loves, being who he has always been, kicking up the scent he is intoxicated by, tracking his shadows and howling for their surrender I will be at rest with the unfair, unjust hand he was dealt. We all want our pets to die peacefully, in their sleep, oblivious to pain, in their beds at home. Me, for my hellion child, I want it to be living the life he was most fulfilled by. Running in the woods, being caught up in the moment and living the life of the boy he has always been, unleashed, undying, and blissfully euphorically purposeful.

 

P.S. I have to post this after Jekyll's passing. It was not completed in time to see his paw prints on my doorstep any longer.

I can tell you all that he got to be the beagle he was up until his last moments with us. He was loved, on his rolling hills of lush green and endless possibilities always calling him yonder.

P.S. Jekyll passed away August 26, 2018. I miss him everyday. I honestly didn't know how I would, or could go on.... but I did.. and I'm still grateful for everyday together.

For more on Jekyll, his disease, my struggle to get through it, and what the other side looks like, please follow this blog. Or you can find me answering questions for free on Pawbly.com, or, sharing cases, and living life helping other companions at my Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page, or on my YouTube channel.

Slipping Back Into Dying. When Remission Slips Away.

We got what we wished for. We got him back, for a while. An amazing, surprising, blessed few moments. It was more than I had hoped. It was everything I needed. Yes, as selfish and maniacal as it sounds, it was a miracle we wished for, bought, and had for a little while. Just a little while.

My dog Jekyll is the little beagle who stole my heart all of those years ago. He has always been a bit of a lemon. Always a little broken, a little fragile, and for 8 years a beagle hell bent on finding, exploiting and reveling in trouble. Running for hours on the lamb, bunny-drugged and possessed to be their shadow. He was his own pup. Loving a dog on their own terms is a challenge. Always. Always who he wanted to be, rarely who I wanted him to be.

Jekyll stumbled in November 2017 with an odd pain I couldn't quite identify among his lifelong of physical inadequacies. It took me 8 weeks of looking, hunting and knowing he wasn't quite right. It was January 2018 when his cancer was hunted to the ground: TCC, transitional cell carcinoma of the urethra. This cancer grows until it cuts off the passage of urine out of the bladder. You gotta pee, and when you can't long enough you die. Jekyll was dying. I was reeling with the quickness and mercilessness of the diagnosis. He had days, maybe weeks to live.

I wanted more time. I wasn't (yes, more selfish "me's" here) ready. I just couldn't believe it, and I wasn't going to accept it if I had any choice in the matter. I made desperate phone calls. The kind a frantic mom does when her kid is dying. Chemotherapy started in late January 2018. Jekyll had nine rounds of weekly chemo. Some worked, most didn't: but the ones that did he faced without pause or hesitation. He faced every day of those i.v. catheters, drugs, anesthesia and strangers poking him bravely and fiercely. He walked away from 4 months of drugs a dog with a new life. All of the pieces of him that had started to surrender to dying retreated. They stayed out of our life for two months of blissful, puppy-playtime joy. He was back to himself and I was left knowing that the beast we slayed was merely sleeping. We hadn't banished him, we had maimed him, but, he would be back. BUT, OH THOSE AMAZING MONTHS! I cannot tell you how wonderful they were. I cannot express how perfect life was again, and, how grateful I was to be watching him so full of life. His old troublesome, untrustworthy to stay at home self. He was his own destiny, life was all his to be whatever he wanted it to be. It was miraculous. Simply that.

The grip of cancer is creeping back into his life. I see it in small glances and ever increasing straining to urinate, sleep through the night, and leaking urine in his bed.

He is surrendering slower this time. The beast within is not as big and mighty this time around. But it is still there. Insidious, unrelenting, ever present if you look closely. I cannot, we cannot, escape him, that beast of cancer that dwells within.

Jekyll had a magnificent reprieve. A time of running, sniffing, playing, being happy. Really, truly, blissfully happy. Happy to be a beagle in a world of beings to discover and uncover. The truth is that I am/was most fulfilled to be the mom, the vet, and the person to help get him to that place of youth again. It is the essence of a veterinarian. To alleviate. To understand, dissect and unravel to make the patient whole again.

This is the curse you are given at some point on the journey of life. The plot always has an end. For me, what I have learned, is that what you put into this life is what you get out of it. Trying to thwart the ending, the tragedy that the end brings is cutting the corners. Negating the path of a long journey for the road that might be paved in good intentions but cheats you on the little joys that hardship, challenges, and grit built doesn't ever get you to utopia. And really, who wants to be anywhere else? You have to be really careful in protecting your heart if your heart is all in. I have failed being reasonable, finding peaceful passage when the road looks rocky, dark, uncharted and even treacherous. You walk on. Me, and Jek, we walk on. For today, hopefully tomorrow, but always grateful we had the time we did together. It is the life, unfettered, unforgiving, and never promised for tomorrow.

There are two important life lessons for me here, at this place where an end is still looming;

My job, my life, my purpose, is to help the suffering (the four legged kind). There is, and always should be much more to this quest to end suffering than a pink injection syringe. Right or wrong veterinary medicine does a lot of final mercy judgement in killing. We "end suffering" a lot more than we extend our necks to provide a brief respite for our patients and their family. Far too much to remind us to be compassionate and generous. Giving up too soon, or without a fight, a plan, a list of options, sells our profession short. It makes us able to euthanize without stopping our day to recognize the loss it brings. We have become hardened to euthanasia to the point we validate it for almost every possible condition and reason. It is the easy way out, and too often at our patients expense. What if it wasn't on the table as an option? What if?

There is life within dying. Little pieces left to cherish. I cherish every single one on a different level today than I did last year. What if every human cherished life to this extent? What if?

Lastly, I have to remind myself at the end of this there is a beginning awaiting. I have to. There is another beagle out there who needs me. Whom I need to be reminded why I am so dedicated to animals and the beauty they bring to our lives. I cannot shut down. I cannot bury myself in this grief, as comforting and consoling as it feels to be there. Wrapped in the memories of my beloved pup.

More on Jekyll here;

The Turmoil Of Contemplating and Deciding How Long To Fight For Your Pets Life.

If you are a pet parent in need there are lots of ways to get help, and even help others. You can find me, answering pet questions, providing support to pet parents, and building a place for others like us, here at Pawbly.com.

I am also at the clinic, JarrettsvilleVet.com and Facebook. Or see my helpful videos on YouTube.

Be well. Live Life. And GO ON.

The Turmoil Of Contemplating and Deciding How Long To Fight For Your Pets Life

Jekyll has been actively dying for 6 months.  Getting here is like living in a dark tunnel you try to claw to the light from. It is an abyss of emotions that leaves you struggling with minutia details that define your whole day. You live your life in snippets that are defined by day and night and rarely last longer than a 24 hour time frame. You don't make any plans at all,, for the near future. He is dying and I am not going to miss a minute of it,, the living we have left to do that is..

For me it means I have cancelled (or rather, failed to make or dream of) any Summer plans. My scheduled list of Summertime activities which has always included a few days away to Cape May on the Weds through Friday before Memorial Day, my week to the beach for sand between my toes and a long awaited escape book, and my hopes for day trips to my favorite spots, are all laid aside for now. I would happily exchange each 'escape' trip for another day with him.. and so I do. I cancel everything, I make no plans, and remind each invitation that "I cannot commit at this time."

I live in limbo. I fight in moments.

I ask myself over, and over, and over, where my line is? Where is that place that is The End?

The abyss of dying. Of knowing you are there is where I define who I am. The adage about;

We veterinarians rarely get to that Holy Grail place of ... and the "Diagnosis Is". We plod instead in Obscurity and Guessing. These are too often the place of decisions and dire consequences in veterinary medicine. We are presented with a patient and a parent who is describing a set of clinical signs. A series of incongruous clues we try/attempt to string together into a neat series of features to fit a diagnosis and allow us to define a course to cure.

There is a short dire list of diseases you don't escape alive from. Jek picked one of those. One of the diseases that is only met by "I'm sorry," when you reveal it to another veterinarian. It is just a disease with a Hallmark card footnote. Jekyll picked a disease that is always cured by death.

For me the problem, the real life dilemma lies now in knowing where our line is?

I have been grappling with this for a long time. Perhaps made more acutely painful by the not too distant memory of Savannah who fought for a year to not die. That was a year of trying to keep her happy and alive. I vividly remember the exhaustion and uneasy release of the burden that caring for a pet so intensively takes. I remember being so tired after I finally said goodbye that I felt guilty to feel relief from that intensive care she required. I could bury her with the weight of relief that surrendering to a force you cannot defeat brings. Oh, my, God, was I spent. I was so tired I hid for days. Just sleeping and processing what life might look like and feel like without her. I remember waking up the next day feeling as if I was not used to the house so quiet and still. The fretful chaos had departed. I also remember catching myself in panic stricken moments thinking I had forgotten her outside, or hadn't heard her in a little while therefore she must be stuck/distressed/etc. The panic attacks after her passing were after shocks from the daily worrying I had grown so used to. I had to resolve these along with the grief of not knowing what to do with an easier day-to-day life. I also remember looking at the puppies she left behind, Charleston and Jekyll, who had existed around Savannah's needs for a year. I had essentially ignored them and overlooked how good they were. They had been quietly waiting for my time and attention. I remember the guilt of that too.

When you find yourself in a place where questions collect unanswered, and the ability to move in any direction is mired with contemplation so profound you end up paralyzed, you seek advice from mentors, friends, and confidants. That, well, this quest for finding myself an answer, the one single answer I am still trying to find,

"When do I give up on him?"

is not giving me answers I am satisfied with. I have asked so many people. (Heck, I am supposed to be the expert on this..).

I know why I am not able to answer for others, and I cannot come to terms with why I cannot answer for myself.

I am not another person. I am me.. way too over invested. Way too attached, and equipped with lots and lots of options (granted some are borderline crazy-town) to not be forced to give up. A large tool box and options are the curse of having the freedom to impracticality.

As a veterinarian in the trenches everyday I have to give parents terrible news about their pets health and prognosis. I do not ever underestimate the magnitude of this, nor the consequences if I am wrong. I have to be so careful to not over-promise, under-deliver and pass around prognoses based on scant advice. IF, I give a pet a dire prognosis I damned better be better than 100 percent sure of it. Lives are given up on if I hand out a premature, or an inaccurate, death sentence. I am not perfect, and no person knows all. Veterinarians, doctors of all persuasions, need to remember this. Many a person will not be able to afford long term end of life care, many more will simply chose to not strap into this lifeboat to nowhere, and others have lives who cannot weather terminality.

I learned a long time ago to be very careful with my diagnosis of certainty. You never know how people will react and act to impending, pain, suffering, or dying.

As for me, I am trying desperately to look the creeping insidious crusade of death in the eye and stare it down... for as long as it takes.

It is the person I have asked others to consider being. Unafraid of in-eventuality and inevitability.

Life remains, for me, at this singular time, a quest. To see what I am capable of, what life brings for us to enjoy at this once-in-a-lifetime moment, and to stay on the pursuit for another meaningful moment in a fleeting life's journey.

Life or me, and my beloved beagle Jekyll exists in a place where only today matters, tomorrow is a veiled shadow of uncertainty and a line of life meets death that I cannot define.

I do not know where that place is that I give up on him. I know there are a million excuses and reasons I can give to say that it is here and now. But, I made a promise, I hold a commitment and it isn't a clearly narrowly defined moment. It is days, and little suggestive clues, and a compromise that I will find a way to say goodbye while not denying him a chance to find a meaningful moment in the shadows that grow nearer.

I have pushed death much harder than most of my clients do. I do not presume to say I am right about this. That they aren't more forgiving and compassionate than I. I can only live my own life, and beat myself up for my own decisions. I do not know what is best, nor do I know what is concrete and without exception. I accept that Jekyll is leaving me sooner than I want, but I will not let it be without a chance to gain another day, good or bad, hard or easy. My line is not here, and it is not today. My line for his life lies somewhere in managing pain and maintaining functional life dependent necessities.

There is a road of scenarios in front of us. I have shared them with my family, the people who have to share and carry this decision. I have asked the experts who share the burden of navigating his path. We have all decided where we will not go. The outskirts of medical and surgical intervention we will not cross. I may not know where the end is, or what that date, place, or picture will look like, BUT, I do know where the suffering without benefit lies, and where the boy I love so much needs to be loved enough to let go.

For all of you out there who have to decide someday, or who have already had to surrender a pet they love so dearly, I can only remind you that life isn't supposed to be easy, it isn't supposed to be convenient and simple. It is hard, the veracity of that is what makes it meaningful. It is ok to not know, to question every step. But, please remember that the "light you see in their eye" the loss of the being they once were might be a medical need, it might be that it is time to ask for help and not just say goodbye. That maybe there is beauty and deeper understanding of all that life is in the hard days? Maybe you find the answers to the questions that trouble you in just being there? Maybe humanity lies in the edges and the fringes and not in the power to end? I ask myself these questions every single day. And for us, there has been joy and happiness in each as we struggle to see the light that lies ahead.

What have I experienced as a veterinarian? That people love their pets, that they feel pain and suffer when they say goodbye, and that we often think goodbye earlier is kinder than struggling later when there is no hope otherwise.

What I have learned as a mom to my beloved pets is that the most deeply meaningful moments were in the hard days, not the easy ones, and that I can love them even when they are leaving, and that mercy is the lifeblood to salvation and peace.

More  on Jekyll here;

Jekyll Arrives

Jekyll Loses His Tail Mo-Jo. Tail Droop.

The Things Only A Mom Knows. Planning for our pets lives beyond our own.

A Tribute To A Beagle, Jekyll.

Slowing Down Without Giving Up.

If you have a pet story that you would like to share, or an experience with this condition please add it to our Storyline page at  Pawbly.com.

Please also follow me on Pawbly.com, our my vet clinic website Jarrettsville Vet, or our Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page. 

I am also on Twitter @FreePetAdvice, and YouTube

the Little Things

There are too many "little things" that Jekyll does that have me reeling. How can I go on without them? Never seeing them again? I cannot imagine not having them in my life every single day. He is going to not be here one day, soon, and with each passing day I wonder, "Is this the last time he....?" 

The "little things," his little personal idiosyncrasies, those special things he does, only he does, are the spirit of his independent originality. They are what makes him who he is,, so irreplaceable and magical. They are the pieces of his life that made me stop and take pause and leave me now feeling as if there will never be another perfect moment captured just like this. These are the things that largely no one else knows. They are what make us.

His life is the series of "little things" I don't want to imagine living without and never seeing again. 

Here's to you my Jekyll-pup.. all your guts, glamour, and gluttony. I'm grateful for every second we had, until the very last of each of them.

Here's to all of your "little things" ....

The cowardly curiosity of the walnut in the pond. This boy loves the abundant life of the farm. He loves the pond and stream obsessively. There is so much hidden moving living mystery that lurks beneath. But the uncovering of those mysteries is often too intimidating for his cowardly curiosity. For instance, he will focus on a bobbing being for an hour. Too perplexed to look away, and too frozen in fear to challenge it. Almost always it turns out to be a walnut, a leaf, some odd shaped stick. He will jump backward 10 feet if it haphazardly approaches him too close. Until eventually, inevitably it is revealed as it is, dead, lifeless, and harmless.  To which he will paw at it, remind it he is master of this (and every other domain) and move on to thwart the next wayward detritus.

At the base of the heart of every beagle resides two things; firm, steadfast, and consistent through the ages; love for all, and dedication to food.

The explosion of joy that was running for breakfast to be made. The running full tilt to the kitchen for breakfast. Getting up in the morning is the most wonderful moment of the day because FOOOOD!! comes after.  The running of the bulls has nothing on the bellowing, bucking, bouncing race of the beagle to the kitchen.

The way he will greet anyone and everyone with the same gentle charming curiosity..

The howling for attention when Charlie was stealing the show. For the small number of times that Charleston (his older, quieter, less assuming pitbull mixed brother) had one second of attention Jekyll would howl to remind you that he was still here."

The digging for grubs. This pup of mine was gifted with a nose more acutely intelligent than any morsel of carbon (past-present-or-future), kernel, or remnant could elude. I tell people that "in the event of a Zombie apocalypse you need only grab Jek. He can find food in the desert." (Although convincing him to share it is another thing). He used to wait at my feet for the morning kibble to clink to home to his bowl. If I dropped a kibble he was on it faster than you could bend or grab. He has stopped doing this.. I miss his obsessive food frenzy. (I now beg and bargain to get food in his gullet).

The afternoons with the sunshine on his face the the nose on full alert. He was a proud unsurpassed valiant sentinel. He loved everyone  he ever met, but you better have been invited to his house first.

The way he never misses a nap with his brother... Who always loved him more than he probably deserved. (Jek usually got his big brother into terrible situations and then abandoned him to catch the blame solo).

The racing through the fields, nose locked on the whisps of a scent left behind by a fellow fawn colored furry fieldfellow. He can track a molecule of aura like a gifted psychic. He is called. He cannot be dissuaded. And you cannot escape the millennia of hound genetics that built him.

The way he always understood, and hated, being the prodigy of a veterinarian. No other pup ever had to endure more intensive veterinary training, practicing, and care. The plight of a beagle is their compliance and docile demeanor. It is why beagles are the chosen breed for all of the testing and teaching done on dogs. I'm sorry Jek... I'll call it devoted care, you can call it biased training.

The fact that he will ALWAYS sneak on the couch when you are not looking.

The glass was always half full. We should all be so lucky to see the world through Beagle glasses. The world is his oyster, his grub-hub, his cornucopia of delectable delights.

The way you can take him anywhere,,,  and he makes himself at home.

Independent Brewery loves dogs! We love them too!

The way he worships and eeks affection from everyone. (That face is irresistible!)

The way I worship him.. (even though he probably doesn't love me as much as I love him too).

The wiggle dances on the bed. Nothing signifies true raw joy to be alive than his wiggle dance. Belly up, snorting face sniffs of exuberant glee, and an itch he cannot reach but doesn't give up on.

The utter deference to the cat who claimed him. He cannot walk. He cannot be. He is Jitterbugs bequeathed. I don't know why he never challenged that cat? But he never did. He never has. And there are days that I know he feels bad...really sick and painful bad... and still Jitterbug reminds him he has a cat to coddle.

The boy and the cat who claimed him.

All of those crazy ways he chooses to get himself comfortable.  He is usually side split sway footed. He is a goof and it is endearing.

The front seat of the pick up truck. He has this crazy way of sitting  half on your shoulder (if you are driving) and half on the seat. That way he can maintain balance and keep an eye on the road. He feels like a parrot on your shoulder and he is incorrigible.

The joy in how much he loves going for rides..

The shot gun of the Gator. It took a while to get him to ride in the Gator with us. Once he realized that the "Land of Abundant Opportunity" That Gator was his ride to the ends of the earth, the walls of his domain and the ticket to ride without having to over exert yourself. (He is a smart cunning cookie).

The perching the one leg and half butt cheek on your shoulder for stability and viewpoint, and how incredibly difficult it is to drive with a beagle perched on your shoulder and leaning on your head...

The low wag throwing himself at anyone else.

He has this way of greeting  his old friends. He lowers his ears, he drops his back and bends at the knee. It is a curtsy as much as it is an invitation to be reminded how wonderful he thinks you are. That face. This one act of true loving affection is the one single thing that reminds me how precious he is. How lucky we all are to know him. He is love and gratitude and he dishes it out to those he truly loves.

When he loves you he tells you...

The elephant memory of a snack he scored from years past.

The pawing for attention if he could get himself into the passenger seat. If he ever has to share a car seat he will remind you to use your time and proximity wisely. He will paw at your arm until you surrender the affection and land himself a belly rub, ear tickle, or soft pat of reassurance that he is still the center of the universe.

The snorting happiness,,, his way of expressing his own joy to no one but himself.
the sharp bark of alarm. He stands watch in repose. But, he is always on the job,,, even if it only looks like he is sleeping on his front porch couch.

We call it "the perch."
It is where he does his best work and works through all of the problems of the world.

The magnitude of his presence... maybe I am the only one who can feel it?.. but I know where he is even if I cannot see him or touch him.. I know if he is near, and I know if he isn't feeling well,,, lately, it feels as if it has been too much of the later.

The fishing anticipation. To everyone else who tried to go fishing at our pond I know he drove them nuts. The anticipation of a wiggly-jiggly-floppy fishy pops from the waters and slithers its way onto the bank. It is like Christmas! How else do you get delivery in the boonies?

All of these "little things" remind me how long our journey has been, how much we shared, how hard living with an obsessively independent, adventure driven boy intent on keeping the woods free of bunnies, deer and any other self indulgent bold soul is, and has been, and how much it will all be missed.

He is a companion to cuddle with as much as he is a force of nature to reckon with. He is, like all dogs we share our most quiet times, or most painful moments, and the tiny insignificant life defining moments that shape our concept of what our life means.

Walking out  of his fourth radiation treatment, smiling..

Every life is a collage of pieces and moments to remind us how lucky we all are to have our pets to share it with. Jekyll has been one of those lives I am beyond grateful to have known and loved. I will miss him when he isn't with us any longer to share his little things with. But, as with every part of this life I will get another beagle, invest my whole heart and soul into them, build a new set of memories and I'm sure see little pieces and flashbacks to this boy, his immense presence, and his utterly undeniable magic.

Until then, my friend, I am here for you until the end,,grubs, rubs, and all our "little things",,

More  on Jekyll here;

Jekyll Arrives

Jekyll Loses His Tail Mo-Jo. Tail Droop.

The Things Only A Mom Knows. Planning for our pets lives beyond our own.

A Tribute To A Beagle, Jekyll.

Slowing Down Without Giving Up.

Threats to Impending Death, and a Vet Moms Promise

To all of you who have a pet that you adore, or have lost a pet and left you feeling lonely, I empathize. It is impossible to say goodbye. Know that the day is coming when they won't be here. I want to say it's ok to grieve. To mourn, to not know where to go, or what to do. I feel it too.

Be who you are. The most precious and beautiful parts of everything are fleeting. Savor and celebrate them even if they hurt later. The hurt will fade and the joyful memories live forever. Protect your compassion with everything that you are for it is your most valuable asset. And, lastly, go love again. There is another soul out there who will love you back and help you go on...

If you have a pet story that you would like to share, or an experience with this condition please add it to our Storyline page at  Pawbly.com.

Please also follow me on Pawbly.com, our my vet clinic website Jarrettsville Vet, or our Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page. 

I am also on Twitter @FreePetAdvice, and YouTube.