This week, John and I made the very difficult decision to say goodbye to Martin. Our beautiful, handsome, and gentle boy would have been 17 y/o in March. We used to joke that none of us ever expected him to be the longest living of the lot (Remy, Bodie, and Jake): Martin was a simple soul for whom we didn’t have high expectations for anything– intelligence, protection, achievement. But through the years, his steady, calm demeanor and easy-going nature captured our hearts quickly and wholeheartedly. I think he could have reached that 17 year milestone: he had a heart of gold, with a quiet yet persistent will to please. He would have given us every last ounce his feeble body could muster.
I used to complain that Martin prevented my Houseboat from being AirBnb ready. As he aged, we put covers over our white sofa, floor runners over our dark floors… I made those comments in jest, but today I take no joy in removing the sheathing to uncover the pristine sofa and gleaming floors. Even as my vacuum sucks up every last shred of fur and dirt, I sit here crying inconsolably. I wish I had expressed my love to Martin more clearly.
For a long time, his resilience and will to live fooled us. In the last two years, he battled multiple bladder infections, chronic kidney disease, deafness, dementia, anxiety, trembling, not to mention a pre-existing congenital heart murmur (the vet always said his heart whistled). About a year and a half ago, he was receiving daily subcutaneous injections to help his kidneys process his food. Since then, he endured several bouts of repeated vomiting and weight loss… We made incremental adjustments (e.g., home-cooked food, anxiety drops, supplements, shift/curtail his walk) and invariably, he would ALWAYS bounce back. More recently, there was the incontinence and his weak legs. This week, even the diapers could not keep him dry. Through all of this, Martin never complained. He cried sometimes when I poked him with the subq needle, but otherwise, even when he lay in his bed trembling on Tuesday night, he never once uttered a sound.
On Wednesday, I finally realized that even as his mind and body still mustered the strength to walk with us to the park, he was no longer enjoying the things that used to bring him joy. On the walk, he had to sit and rest more and more frequently. I had thought earlier that Martin would be perfectly happy just being at home in our presence, getting our pets and hugs. But those were selfish reasons: I wanted to continue having his clear eyes watching me; I wanted to continue petting his soft fur. He was tired, and even though he was sleeping soundly now through the night, each step during the day got more and more tender.
With Remy, I remember that final day we went to the vet: She could no longer walk. In the yard, I held her up with towels on both ends. Naively, we thought the doctor would give her pain meds to regain her mobility. But the vet explained that dogs, as predators, always appear stronger than they truly are. I see now that perhaps we waited too long for Remy. I had asked too much of her, and I knew that with Martin, I didn’t want to do the same. And so on Wednesday morning, we decided it was time. My vet sent me a list of mobile euthanasia doctors. I did some research on Yelp, and we made the appointment for Thursday at 3pm. The following 24 hrs. felt both too long and too short. For the most part, I felt sure of our decision… until one hour before the doctor’s arrival. I looked at Martin, thinking that he still looked so good: bright eyes, shiny coat, he was walking around the house that day. I led him outside, but he just stood there. He didn’t smell. The sky was gray and cloudy and the winds started picking up. We came back in, and some tiny part of me still believed and wanted the vet to remark on how amazing he looked for his age. Maybe she would think it was too soon.
We heard the front gate, and I opened the door. By then, it had started to rain. She came in and took off her boots and drenched parka. He walked up to her, and she said she could see he was very frail and skinny. And his back legs were weak. My heart dropped, bc I knew then there would be no other option.
I feel very fortunate that we were able to have him home. Dr. Winnick was incredibly calm, patient, and compassionate. I don’t think Martin knew, but I do think he was surprised by the sudden access to so many forbidden foods. The process wasn’t perfect, but he was ok and didn’t feel pain. The first needle went through and punctured on the other side, so Dr. Winnick had to inject the sedative again. In a few minutes, Martin started sleeping deeply. Then, she shaved his back leg and set up the catheter. She seemed to have to apply a lot of pressure on the plunger for the drug to enter his vein. She got halfway and the pressure snapped the syringe off, so she had to go back, re-set, and inject the rest. Given the difficulties the techs had had with Remy, it was unnerving to witness complications again… But Dr. Winnick remained calm, and within seconds, I felt his breathing stop.
Medically, the experience was so much better than for Remy. But it was still unbearable and both of us were complete messes. She gave us a few minutes, came back to take a paw print, and then we moved him onto a stretcher. She set his head on a pillow and covered him in a blanket and then we put him in her car. She drove off and the rain poured out of the sky.
I am so sad he is gone. I thought I cried all the tears out of me. Last night, I even thought that I would still attend the company meeting and holiday party this morning… yeah, didn’t happen. Making the “right” decision didn’t make it any less painful.
I have periods of calm (like now). But the empty nest is quiet. For my entire adult life, I have never been without a dog. Today I feel pangs of regret. For so long, Martin was overshadowed by Remy. I didn’t see and acknowledge the beauty of his soul early enough. I wish I had cherished him more. Sigh. I hope he felt deeply loved.
Thank you for being our loyal buddy for all these years, Marty. Goodbye my beautiful precious boy.
