My Beloved Dog

One of the most awful truths about having a dog is that you’ll out live them. For all their unconditional love, affection, and loyalty, they are only here for a very short time. In the last several months, we’ve been trying to come to grips with this. And two weeks ago today, Jolie and I came to fully realizing this awful truth when we put our beloved dog, Sasha, to rest.

Sasha turned 13 this year and we’ve been dreading the day that we get the news from the vet – the news that ultimately says, “Your dog is dying.” For us, the time came on June 7th. We’d been having bouts with sores on Sasha’s right paw caused by her excessive licking. Some said it was a common habit that dogs pick up, while others says it could be a sign of something more serious. And while the sores sometimes caused her to limp, it was easy enough to control with prescribed topical ointments. We even put on a boot to keep her from licking the paw. But one day, she started limping again and this time there were no sores. I feared it could be arthritis as it’s been suggested before, but I would come to find the reality was much worse. When the vet asked me to come in to look at the x-rays, I knew the news was bad – it’s never good when you can’t get the results over the phone.

The x-rays showed osteocarcinoma. Sasha had bone cancer on her right shoulder. And that’s when I knew – my dog was dying.

It was a death sentence. Sasha is a large breed and a senior of 13 years. So our vet was very clear, “Only consider a biopsy if you’re willing to consider amputation and chemotherapy.” Sasha’s a strong dog and in her hay day, her legs were as powerful as they get. But I couldn’t imagine putting her through the operation, the recovery, and then the rehabilitation to learn to walk on three legs when her hind legs are already on borrowed time. And then of course there would also be the potential for chemo therapy. All of that comes with no guarantee that the cancer hasn’t already metastasized.

It was difficult to accept that her journey with me would end here. It was a journey that started on one faithful day in 1995 when the neighbor’s kids couldn’t keep a puppy they brought home without permission. At the time, I was still a bachelor and living with my older brother having very little responsibilities. I was probably just as foolish as those kids, but I took her anyway. Her big blue eyes and cuddly, husky’s fur made her irresistible. And little did I know, she’d turn out to be the first girl to love me unconditionally and vow never to leave my side.

She couldn’t have been more than year old, but her paws were that of giants. She looked like a puppy wearing her daddy’s boots. The neighbor did say she wasn’t of pure Siberian Husky breed, but that she was a cross with that of a German Shepherd. Either way, she came to fill-in those boots to become a large beast upwards of 80 pounds.

I know I may be bias, but she’s still one of the most uniquely, beautiful dog I’ve ever seen. And many others agreed. Every time we were out in public, her size, posture, and features simply drew people in awe. One of her most striking features were her eyes – once big and blue as a pup turned brown and the other white as an adult.

I always said if I had a dollar for every time someone commented on her good looks … well … I’d have a lot of extra money! One time a vacationing family even took pictures next to Sasha as if she was some sort of novelty. You can imagine the how proud I was. But even then, I recall thinking to myself… Sasha’s picture will be in the family album or mantel of some stranger somewhere … long after she’s passed.

Sasha hasn’t always had a good life with me. In fact, most of her life left a lot to be desired. I always said I wish I could have met her when I was much older and could have provided better. Being young and stupid and barely being able to take care of myself, I knew little about raising a dog. I didn’t have my own place, so whether it was at my parents or my brother … it was always “No pets inside the house.” She only came to know the comforts of the indoors when I finally had my own place years later. She also went without regular check-ups or proper vaccinations or the best diet. It wasn’t until I met Jolie about 10 years ago did I learn how to treat my dog right. Her dog, Sadies, was literally a family member. But no matter how harsh of an environment Sasha lived in or forgoing the comforts of the indoor, Sasha proved to be a resilient dog. She may not have been pure-bred, but she was nonetheless top breed. Her first vet checkup at the age of 10 showed all her blood panel to be normal. Up until her diagnosis, she showed no signs of failing organs or any complication.

Perhaps her strength comes from the fact that she was a mix breed – perhaps she had the best of both the husky and the shepherd. Though the husky-shepherd mix is a common breed, I’ve yet to find another that has her distinct features. And there were times when we wondered if may be there weren’t more to her. I’ve often been asked in public if she “was part wolf”. And on days I felt playful, especially when kids were involved, I’d answer, “Yes … timberwolf to be exact.” I wait for the “oooohs and aaaahhhs” thereafter, and one time, I even heard one kid say to another, “I told you so!!” Sasha was the alpha female. She was great with people and kids, but put another dog within reach and she’ll likely put the them into submission. But there was one incident Jolie and I will never forget and what will probably make us always wonder. We were in Estes Park – a mountain town – and walked inside a small, REI-type store. As we browsed through the racks, the store owner approached us after noticing Sasha by our side. I was sure he was going to ask to us to leave her outside, but rather he was completely enthralled with Sasha. He too asked if she was a wolf-dog. And when we said no, he said skeptically, “Are you sure?” And of course we couldn’t be completely positive having without formal documents from a breeder and having only adopted her from our neighbor’s kids. This weathered, older mountain man felt her up and down… feeling her chest, her waist … her girth … looking at her from all angles like as if he knew precisely what he was looking for. He then said that he once bred dogs with wolves and made several comments about her size, features and markings. He then said that he had no doubt that Sasha was part wolf. Jolie and I could only look at each other, then at Sasha, and say, “Wow…”

But even if the mighty blood of the wolf did flow in her veins, it wasn’t strong enough to overcome the malignant tumor on her shoulder. Forgoing any anti-cancer regimen, we did what we could for her from then on – pain management. She was on pain medication round the clock, including Tramadol and Rimadyl. Days after the diagnosis her limp would go away, which gave us some hope for her longevity. The vet warned us, though, that she would have her good days and bad. And she did, having the limp seemingly disappearing from week to week. But the most important thing to know, as I’ve learned, is that dogs are stoic creatures. They do not readily show pain. It is easy to be fooled by their contentment. Soon, however, Sasha’s good days became outnumbered by bad ones. No matter how stoic she was she couldn’t hide the fact that she could no longer walk. Her daily walks in the morning and evenings around the neighborhood became walks around our short block. And before long, she could barely make it to the corner of our street laboring heavily as she limped on three legs. It was difficult to see this once magnificent creature reduced to this. Her powerful stride once pulled me on rollerblades from one neighborhood to the next. She ran like the wind with no end. It does seem like dogs of this size don’t simply run anymore – they gallop. What I would do to see that stride again.

I often wondered if Sasha would simply go to sleep on her own one day. As the cancer grew and became more and more debilitating, Sasha became less and less interested in coming inside, preferring to be outside in our front lawn. And as we agonized about her condition, I wondered some morning when I go outside to greet her if I wouldn’t find that she had died in her sleep. How easy that would have made it for me, I thought. But every morning, no matter how cold it got the night before, she would eventually look up at me as I approached. With her piercing eyes, propped ears and wagging tail, she’d look at me with the same spirit, the same eagerness and enthusiasm as she always did before. It was difficult to know when it was time … difficult to decide for her when she’d had enough. But cancer was seemingly advancing more rapidly after each passing week. It had gotten to a point where Sasha could no longer put any weight on the leg. She wasn’t only having to carrying the leg, but also this heavy bulge that eventually appeared on her shoulder. It was a boulder-like mass that you could see and feel under her coat. It was the closest I’ve been to putting a face on cancer. And as the cancer continued to grow, circulation to the leg was also affected causing the leg to swell. Watching her struggle more and more to walk, and sometimes even stumbling, made it difficult to continue ignoring, even denying, the decision only I could make. “She lived a good, and healthy life,” our vet assured me. She was a strong dog with a strong spirit who continued to be hardy and eager all the way to the end.

I know I letting her go was the right thing to do and I find solace in the thought of her being free from the pain and burden of the cancer. We’ve had a couple of weeks to absorb it all, but I continue to have my moments of sadness and cheer as I mourn her lost. And there’s going to be plenty of opportunities in the near and even far future to pick at the wounds. We prepared Parker for it by telling him that Jesus was going to take Sasha and walk her to her new home. But I anticipate the day when he forgets and asked us, “Where’s Sasha?” I anticipate the day when Nina will be old enough to talk and recognize pictures of Sasha and also ask. I can only picture me telling her, “She was our dog. You did meet her, but you were just born when she passed away.”

She was a magnificent beast and the decision to euthanize was not only out of compassion to free her from the pain, but also to leave her with whatever dignity she had left. I spent her last two days with her. We drove to the lake on Thursday. Sasha loved the water. And I backed the truck as close to the water’s edge as I could. The gaze in hers eye said she still had the spirit to dare the ice-cold lake water, but we opted to just sit in the back of my truck and she seemed content just to have me by her side. With the tailgate open and her free to see, I drove. I drove slowly through the neighborhood she once roamed hoping to give her one last look to see, hear and smell the world she about to leave behind.

On Friday, November 7th just one hour pass noon, on our front lawn where she loved to be … on her own patch of grass and seemingly on her own terms … by her side I watched Sasha fall asleep one last time.

I’m gonna miss you old girl, but if it’s true, I look forward to seeing you again … at the bridge.

I want to thank Doctor Judy Welcome of Gunbarrell Veterinary. Thank you for all the care you’ve giving Sasha. We are so glad we took her to you the first day we brought her to Colorado.

To Doctor Ann Bradenburg-Schroeder, thank you for the compassion and tenderness you took upon Sasha and us. We are so happy to have had you help us put our beloved dog to rest peacefully and with dignity.

As of this writing, Jolie’s family dog, Sadies, back home in California with her mom and brother also passed away just within days of Sasha’s passing. We love you Sadies.