To everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die.
Rita died on Monday. She was old, but she didn’t die of old age. We requested euthanasia. The vet agreed it was time. She was 13 years old. Her hips were shot.
Still, she’d had her moments over the past few weeks. We’d tug her up onto those wobbly hind legs; she’d waddle off, tail wagging, and look back at us proudly. We noticed her gallant effort. And that made the road ahead harder.
If she had been able to talk, I would have asked her: Do you really want to go on living this way?
What kind of question is that?! Of course, I do! Ever notice how you limp more and more? Your right knee is shot. Is it your time to go?
Maybe it’s good dogs can’t talk.
To everything there is a season. A time for love and a time for hate.
Yes, I hate her for stealing our hearts, for trusting us with her life, and then forcing this upon us. All the way to the clinic, she said not a word. She sat on her haunches looking out the back window as though she’d never see this world again.
We opened the back hatch and lifted her in our arms. She gazed softly into our eyes. She knew we’d never do her any harm.
She had come to us from a rescue center as a scared and skittish puppy. It was a cold February day. We carried her into our warm house. Maya, our black lab, couldn’t wait to sniff her butt and lick her ears. And just like that, Rita had a mate.
When Maya died a few years later, we adopted a black lab. Rita adored her younger sister, Lucy. She sniffed her butt and licked her ears. Lucy gladly returned the favor. Often.
When our infant twin granddaughters crawled on the floor, Rita would sniff their diapered butts and lick their ears. They hugged her hard and tight. She watched over them. They came to call her “Dog Mom.”
Now our lovely Rita is gone. And Lucy is forlorn. She sits on her haunches and gazes softly into our eyes. And we into hers.
To everything there is a season. A time to speak and a time to be silent.
Tears…. God spelled backwards. Is it a sin to mourn more for our animals?
Not in my book. Tears are a measure of how much we loved and have lost.
Thanks for sharing, Randy. You and Paula have our deepest sympathies. Putting a beloved pet down can be one of the most traumatic times in our lives.
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-we-need-to-take-pet-loss-seriously/
“Although grief over the loss of a cherished pet may be as intense [I say more intense] and even as lengthy as when a significant person in our life dies, our process of mourning is quite different. Many of the societal mechanisms of social and community support are absent when a pet dies. Few of us ask our employers for time off to grieve a beloved cat or dog because we fear doing so would paint us as overly sentimental, lacking in maturity or emotionally weak.”
You got that right. And I know you know that feeling well. In 42 years of pastoral ministry I can remember only two requests for “funeral rites” for a pet. I suspect many more would have asked, if it hadn’t been considered “a little weird.”
Poignant tribute to Rita. Grieve well dear friends. Terrible loss.
So very sorry to hear about the loss of your dear canine friend. Our animal companions are such a part of our lives, and I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that we often are forced to make the decision to end theirs. I don’t think it would be weird to have a funeral for a pet — I think most of us have done it ourselves without benefit of clergy! When we were in England, we were amazed at the number of well-marked pet graves (hundreds of years old) that we saw in parks and castle grounds–and even a couple of horse graves.
Thank you for pointing out that many pet lovers do hold private burial rites. Nothing weird about that at all. Perfectly normal for sure. I’ve known of many such ceremonies, including one for a beloved gold fish.
Here it is late Sunday afternoon; been working my butt off most of the day; and I see your latest post and now sit here with tears in my eyes. Geez, man, tell me joke. Or something.
I saw a bumper sticker: CURB YOUR GOD. I thought that was a little bit funny.
Losing a pet is the worst feeling in the world. I feel for you. Two of our dogs are buried in the pet cemetery in Williamsport and we go visit them regularly. I like to think that when I get to heaven all my little dogs will be lined up waiting to greet me.
That’s the kind of heaven I imagine. And to think, for dogs eternity is seven times longer.