Hank: Death of a Dog

 

I had to put Hank down today. He was a rescued German shepherd. When I got him, the shelter said he was probably about 10 years old. I’d had him for two years.

This morning, he couldn’t walk at all, not even drag himself with his front legs, the culmination of a slow loss of function in his hind end. He also refused to eat or drink, which was the sign for me to call the vet.

The vet showed up at 1:00 this afternoon. She was sympathetic and efficient. I wore my Alpha Bitch tee shirt to call up the courage to be the one who makes these decisions. The whole thing took about 20 minutes, which I appreciated. I had already done much of my grieving for this uncomplaining, easy-going old dog and didn’t want something drawn-out.

I clipped a bit of Hank’s fur. Spoke to him, and let him go.

Right now, I can’t believe he’s gone. One of my two remaining dogs searched for him in the back yard, even though those two had watched the whole procedure, including deceased Hank being taken out on a stretcher.

Is he really gone? I think Hank’s spirit, the Life Force, has returned to the universe. What will happen to him next? Dog Heaven? Reincarnation? Joining me on my spaceship adventures when I die? Hard to tell.

I am no stranger to dogs dying. My story “That Nice Girl with the Dogs,” posted on this site, is a creative nonfiction piece which describes some of these experiences.

The story is also about the death of my mother, lost to dementia.

Some deaths are quick, some slow. Sometimes love is straightforward, sometimes intensely complicated. Whatever the circumstances, we still grieve.