I have a very good friend and client Carole, who breeds
sphinx cats.
She didn't start with this breed, she ended with this breed.
Her
breeding history has evolved from small dogs, to Dobermans, ( I met her at the
end of this time) to sphinx cats. She is a devote lover of pets, a highly
religious spiritual person, and she has been fighting a life threatening
disease for years. She has been hospitalized for weeks at a time, and has been
told to make her “final arrangements” many times.
One of the most difficult euthanasia’s I ever took part in
was her beloved companion Silas. He went with her everywhere. And when I say
EVERYWHERE, I mean it. She had every canine good citizen certificate and
service dog title they make. He had more medals than my husband accrued in 26
years of active duty and multiple trips to war zones. He went with her on airplanes. Yes, he
had a seat, He also went to every restaurant, in every
building, continent, hotel, etc. I am sure he was more world traveled than our
current secretary of state. He was a big, soft, kind gentle soul. And he was so
devoted to Carole. They were mutually inseparable. He lived a long and very
happy, very spoiled life.
When he started to fail it became time to start
thinking about his final arrangements and so I was put “on call” to be ready to
come to her house to put him down. There were many days of her just crying uncontrollably
as his time grew shorter. She couldn't imagine going on without him, and she
stated on multiple occasions that she hoped god would take her before he took
him. I knew it was going to be an
emotional catastrophe, and I was glad we were going to be at her home. The
veterinary clinic is never calm or quiet enough to ever allow a client to grieve freely.
When that dreaded phone call came, it came from her husband.
She couldn't speak and she certainly couldn't utter the words that it was his
time.
I came to her house and she was lying on the floor on Silas’ dog bed by
the front window. As soon as I walked in he jumped up and grabbed his ball. I
know he used his last shred of energy to do this. But this was part of his
welcoming ritual and it was hard-wired. There was no convincing him that he was
too sick to stop doing that.
When he got up and grabbed his ball his mom went
from sobbing to hysterics.
He immediately lay back on his bed and I looked at
his lips and saw that he was ghostly white. He started panting and his distress
and his mom’s distress pushed him into agonal breathing. I was trying to get
everyone to calm down so that everyone didn't go into cardiac arrest and I just
looked at his mom and gave Silas the syringe. He died very quickly and quietly.
Then the hysteria hit a new level. Carole fell apart. I was really worried that
she might not be able to recover from his loss. It took her months to
re-surface. She has never been the same woman. There is a whole wing oh her
house dedicated to him, and she received hundreds of condolence cards and gifts
and all of her friends gathered around her to try to carry through the loss.
After Silas she started raising sphinx cats. These are the hairless cats. I
have grown to love them. At first I thought that they were just these alien
looking little loud mouths. They are very demanding, affectionate little
critters. They love to snuggle, purr on impact, and they are always seeking a
warm body to steal some body heat from. They get filthy within a day(no fur to
keep them clean, they have black stained teeth, (I still don’t get why this
is?), and they have the most outgoing abundant personality. If you want a
little naked, self-assured dynamo you need a sphinx.
She breeds sphinx because after Silas she decided she never
wanted to keep any pet long enough to see them die. She never keeps a cat longer than a few years. It is a hard thing for me to accept. But I
guess when you flirt with death as much as she does that maybe I understand her
desire to avoid any more funerals.
For as long as I live I will never forget euthanizing that
sweet big boy with a ball in his mouth.
