One of my earlier elkhounds, Dagny, was that once-in-a-lifetime dog for me. I took great care of her too. But that didn't stop a fast growing inoperable pancreatic tumor from killing her a month shy of her 10th birthday. It's been 18 years now and I still grieve.
It makes me wonder if the unusually long time I've had with Jody is some kind of cosmic balancing. At her age she's like a nursing home resident who needs an attendant to help her do things she used to be able to do on her own, plus she has some doggy dementia. Although I can't make her young again, it's definitely my duty to make things easier for her until she's ready to let go.
I feel you there, Dave. When, in 2011, I made the decision to let Nick, my 18.5 year old cat, go it was terrible. It was the right thing for him but still terrible. I got him and his brother together in November, 1992. His brother Finway hid lympho-sarcoma from me for 3 months before we caught it. By that time it was in his lymph nodes and one had ruptured. At the vet I tried to make him eat and he did the first time. The last time he looked at me, looked at the food and turned his head away. I knew then he had told me what he wanted.
Nick was totally fine and in great shape for an 18.5 year old cat. Thin, but in good health. I took him in for a tooth cleaning and they discovered and removed a bad one. He lost a little weight, gained it back and was doing well before his health suddenly plummeted. I think he was just on that thin line where he was fine as long as nothing disturbed that balance.
My third cat, Gideon, who had a rather odd sense of humor, dropped dead a year after Finway. I think he saw what Finway went through, wanted no part of that and so keeled over.
I miss the hell out of those cats.
