We once thought about devoting ourselves to adopting old dogs from the shelter and giving them a good home for their final years. But today we had Abi put to sleep and it's awfully hard to do. I thought putting a pet to sleep would get easier after going through it once before (with Caleb). While the process is easier, now that we know who to call, what happens, and what to do about the, uh, remains, making the decision to end a dog's life will never get easier.
We never officially adopted Abi. He just came to live with us after being abandoned in the yard of someone who couldn't keep him. We had been looking for a second dog, someone to keep Georgia company and maybe teach her how to be a good dog. So we brought him home and named him Abi, a Turkish expression of respect for older men. (I'm sometimes called Abi when I'm in Turkey and I consider it a great compliment.)
Abi took to his new name and to his new home and to his new role. He greeted visitors with well-behaved affection while Georgia, skittish even with people she knows, stood back watching, figuring out how to get some of that affection for herself. In this way Abi taught her how to behave with people.
Five years ago next week, when we took Abi in, a vet guessed that he was about 10 years old and looked to be in good health, but otherwise, we didn't know much about him. We figured out a few things, though. His favorite toys were Frisbees and he knew what pizza was and always expected his own piece. We suspect he lived with a bachelor.
These last few months he could barely hoist himself up from his bed to go out. Once he was outside, though, he loved being outside and he especially loved snow. He liked lying on the front porch with us and barking at passing dogs. When he no longer had the stamina for a full walk around the neighborhood and could no longer climb the stairs up to the house, we walked him around the outside of the house. In the last few days he would walk from the back door to the front and lie down. I began sitting with him in the dark yard. I sat with him last night until I could no longer stand the mosquitoes.
A few days ago KR made the appointment with the vet and became a little misty immediately. It didn't hit me until yesterday morning. As I left the house for work I patted his head and said, "Watch the house," like I always do, and realized this would be his last day to watch the house. I was wiping at my eyes half the way to the bus stop. Those last 24 hours were pretty rough, with all the "This will be his last dinner," his last walk around the house, his last time struggling to get up the step and in the back door.
We decided to have a vet come to the house because we wanted to spare Abi the stress of a visit to the vet's office. We also wanted to give Georgia the chance to understand where he's gone. As the vet gave him the two injections, KR held Abi's head and I had a hand on his side as his panting changed and eventually stopped. Once it was finished and the vet had gone to take his bag to his truck, we let Georgia in the room to have a look at him, but she was more interested in sniffing the chair where the vet's bag had been. She did sniff Abi's face briefly, though, and I have to think that was enough for her.
Once Abi was gone from the house, KR, Georgia, and I wandered out to the front porch and sat on the top step. The sun was shining and birds were singing in the trees.