Just A Dog?

 Crazy Bailey had 15 minutes left to live. I knew if I looked at Jackie, I would lose it. We each knew what the other was feeling. After 54 years of marriage, words were never needed to communicate. I had watched a dog being put down before, so I knew the ride we were in for. We had known for the last several days that this was a possibility as the growth on the top of her leg had grown larger, but one always hopes for the best. The vet informed us that she had an aggressive form of cancer. Even with surgery, she might have to lose a leg, and it would not be long before she started suffering. We had promised her that she would not suffer. 

The night before, she had played with our other beagle, Maizie. Fifteen years had slowed Bailey down, but she still had plenty of play left in her. We knew what could happen the next day, but watching her still so full of life, it was hard to believe that the end could be near. And like any true beagle, she still lived to eat. 

After the vet laid out the details, both Jackie and I knew what we had to do. We could try the surgery and get another month or two, but that would risk watching her begin to suffer. That would have been the selfish decision, not what was best for her. We had to let her go when she was on top of the world. To hold on to her when we knew the suffering that lay ahead was not an option. We had made the same decision eight years earlier with our beagle Maggie. And as painful as it had been to let her go, we had made the right decision then. 

The vet had administered a shot to make her sleep, after which she would give Bailey a shot to stop her heart. This would be the longest 15 minutes. Bailey sat there, looking up at us, asking us to get her out of the vet’s office, the favorite place of no dog. This is when one questions their decision, but that thought passed quickly. One is then torn between wanting it to end swiftly or making the final 15 minutes last forever. 

The vet placed a little mat loaded with peanut butter in front of Bailey, and she attacked it … a true beagle to the very end. I began giving her the last belly rug she would have. She would die happy: peanut butter and a long belly rug, her two favorite things. I thought back to that feisty puppy we had brought into our home 15 years earlier to join Maggie. Even though both of us were home full-time, we wanted Maggie to have a companion. They bonded quickly, so much so that when Maggie died seven years later, Bailey went into a depression; she stopped playing but, of course, never ceased eating. Maizie’s appearance several months later quickly ended the depression. 

I always called her “Crazy Bailey,” but she was no crazier than any beagle. Beagles are different from other dogs, natural comics and almost pathologically friendly. They likely are a dog subspecies, Canis familiaris goofius. Bailey had boundless energy, even climbing an inclined tree once, something I’d never seen a beagle do. She was also the “Beagle Warrior,” although the only things warrior-like about her were her appetite and constant barking, which had grown louder over the last several months as her hearing began failing. She ruled our house as any dog should. As they say, “Dogs have owners; beagles have a staff.” Jackie and I had happily served her for 15 years. 

The vet returned to find Bailey still chowing down on the peanut butter. A beagle’s appetite had no limits. I was continuing to rub that impressive female beagle belly, but she was focused entirely on that peanut butter. I glanced over at Maizie, who was confused by the whole process. Why was only Bailey getting the peanut butter? A few doggie treats fixed that problem. Did she somehow sense what was happening? In our intellectual arrogance, we often fail to realize that dogs can sense far more than we give them credit for. 

Beagles are intelligent but difficult to train. They, in fact, do the training. Bailey had trained Jackie well, turning her into a vending machine of treats. If she hesitated to come in from outside, Jackie would drop a treat. How many times had she gone outside, just to sit at the door waiting for that treat to come back in? If she whined in front of Jackie, the vending machine produced another treat. Bailey’s training of us had reached impressive levels. When I was in “her” chair, she would whine at the door. When I got up to let her out, she would turn and run for the chair, sitting proudly as she proved once again who ruled the house. 

Bailey was going to get every speck of peanut butter off that tray. The vet returned, now surprised that our beagle warrior was still going strong. It seemed food was now going to trump death. She certainly didn’t know these would be her last licks. Maizie sat quietly watching the whole process. I had suggested Jackie take Maizie out to the car, but not only did Jackie want to be there for Bailey’s last moments, she thought it might help Maizie adjust to the significant life change she would soon face. In her eight years, she had never spent a day without Bailey. Knowing the sadness and confusion Maizie would face brought on another round of tears. 

Bailey had taken to the new puppy immediately, tolerating Maizie’s nips, play, and attempts to steal her food. Bailey had never been a mother but would have made a wonderful one. The maternal instinct was strong in her. The two dogs were completely different, although both were accomplished food thieves. Bailey was the dominant one, while Maizie was even afraid of her bark. However, they were both happiest sleeping side-by-side. Maizie soon would have to sleep alone. 

Bailey wobbled once; the shot was starting to work. It would only be a minute or two more. The tears flowed again. How could something so alive soon be lifeless? Reassuring ourselves again that we had made the right decision, we watched helplessly. She was still working on the peanut butter. I stroked her while the wonderful vet sat beside her, almost in tears herself. Bailey looked up at me from time to time. I imagined she was saying, “Why are you doing this to me?” However, I knew better. She was at peace. She would not suffer. Bailey would go out on top now, not weeks later, wracked with pain. 

She finally lay down with her eyes closed. She was still alive, but to us, this was the end. The Beagle Warrior would rule no more. Minutes later, the final shot completed the process. I buried her when we got home. I half expected her to open her eyes, searching for a treat. Watching her disappear under the soil was the last difficult moment, a time to reflect and shed a few more tears. 

We’ve had people say, “It’s just a dog,” when trying to comfort someone who had just lost a dog. I feel sorry for such a person. They have never had the bond that we had with our dogs. Dogs are family, an integral part of who we are. A part of us dies when we lose our friend, 

but we also know that an end can be a beginning. We enter a new phase of our lives, and for us, that phase will ultimately include a new puppy. We can’t replace Bailey any more than we can replace a lost child or sibling. However, there is always room in our hearts for another. 

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Bailey had been getting me up at 3 am every morning, waking me with a whine. This morning, I had slept until 4 am, awakened finally by a hungry Maizie. We headed down as we did each morning, and Maizie, as usual, consumed her breakfast in under 30 seconds. That’s when I noticed Bailey’s bowl sitting on the floor. I had successfully blocked out her absence until that point. Someone should have been attacking that bowl. I had to put it away. Looking at it was bringing the loss home. 

Maizie is sleeping in the chair beside me now. She’s been looking out the window continually, as if looking for her lifelong friend. She is much more subdued than usual. I rub her head, and she rolls over so that I can stroke her belly, too. I’ll never know what she’s thinking, but she has to know something is wrong. It’s time to stop mourning the loss of Bailey and focus on Maizie. She is the star of the next beagle chapter, and our energy needs to focus on her. That won’t be hard. She’s already indelibly inscribed in our hearts. Although aged seven, she’s always remained the puppy. She’ll have to grow up now, even becoming the “mom” when the inevitable new puppy arrives. 

Grieving is necessary after a loss, but it can be a destructive process. I have seen people never get over a loss. How sad? Life is precious, and we only get one chance to do it right. The grieving needs to quickly evolve into opening the next chapter. I have encountered many losses in my life, beginning at age twelve when I came home from school to find my beloved beagle Nickie, under a white sheet in the kitchen, run over while I was at school. That was the first time I heard someone say, “It’s just a dog.” I’ve never had a “just a dog” and never will. I cried myself to sleep that night, thinking the world had ended. It didn’t. The arrival of a beagle puppy a week later reinforced that. 

Sometimes a dog’s death scares us by reminding us of our inevitable mortality. At age 75, I have so much left to do. Each day is a gift we can never get back if wasted, a gift that those who have departed will never have. When grieving turns to prolonged mourning, we begin to die ourselves. That’s the real tragedy. I have a responsibility today to make this an excellent day for the little beagle sleeping beside me. She deserves my best, as Bailey did all those years. Sometimes I think I’m a composite of all the beagles I have been blessed with. Bailey will join the others in my heart, but there is plenty of room for more. There will always be more.