Keeta Dog’s Dying Day

Four years ago my friend Nicole brought her 10 year old husky Keeta to live at our place. Nic was moving to an apartment in the city and had no success trying to re-home her elderly dog with a lupus condition. Keeta had woo-wooed me into committing to take her if no other home came available, one day while I was at Nic’s house.

So, a short time later, Nic arrived after having shoved the screaming bundle of squirm into the car to drive her out here. Keeta hated car rides. She thought leashes were for dragging dogs around, so she “assumed the position”, lying on her side. She wouldn’t necessarily come when she was called. I wasn’t optimistic she’d settle in and not wander. I’d already posted her photo to my neighbours with a “heads up” we have a new dog, please call if you see her note attached.

When Nic opened the hatch on the car, Keeta promptly leapt out and streaked for the tree line on the far edge of hayfield. I’d planned an introductory walk for her and my dog Angel. “Let’s go”, I said to Nic, “either she’ll join us or she won’t, all we can do is look like we’re really fun”. Thankfully! she did.

She made herself my daughter’s dog and we had a lovely 4 years together. I came to deeply respect her sense of justice, dignity and intelligence. We negotiated an agreement on furniture usage, “no” to the bed and “yes” to the couch which thrilled Angel. Over time, on walks she would come joyously bounding when called and sit and lie down with the best of them. Duck jerky worked wonders!

Last year, around this time she went through a phase where she would sit on the floor singing very sad songs while making significant eye contact. I consulted animal communicators. The first one told me she was ready to go, which precipitated us making a plan together. Guns and car rides were out, an assisted death was “in” if necessary, but would require a vet making a farm call. She was made aware that if she wanted to be buried here, she would need to die before the leaves were off the trees. I talked to Nic and she offered to contribute to the vet bill. Keeta promptly stopped singing us the pitiful songs and doubt set in. We consulted a 2nd animal communicator who supported the plan and questioned the timing. We decided to wait.

This fall we started having trouble finding something she would eat. I think the years on antibiotics to treat the lupus had done a number on her guts and the ulcers on her nose may have also affected her ability to smell. We discovered the most expensive raw dog food on the planet in the “what will she eat?” quest and had come to rely on the lamb. But lately, even that failed. She wasn’t eating, she was getting tottery and looking more “gone behind her eyes” day by day. Her hind end was giving out and she was lagging on walks.

So we put the plan of the previous fall into action. I can’t tell you how much less difficult it made having a plan in place that we’d consulted on together. My daughter, husband and animal communicator were all in agreement that it was time and arrangements were made.

The vet came the morning of my daughter’s birthday, I’ve always said I like a little birth with my death. The juxtaposition wasn’t intentional, when you live as far from town as we do, you take what you can get. The only thing I was unsure of was where it was to happen. Was it on the couch? on the floor in my daughter’s room? where??, so I made beds everywhere. About the time the vet’s truck would have been turning onto our road, Keeta asked to go outside. Hmm, I thought. I went out with her, having been well trained by cats not to let them out of my sight when any plans requiring participation on their part is an expectation.

Not to worry, she met the vet’s truck woo-wooing and wagging, greeting them before they were able to get out the door and checking the truck for pepperoni in grocery bags, one of her favourite steals. Although she would scream if you tried to move her towards a vehicle; she would get into them to grab groceries when no one was looking. Or perhaps she had some magical skills that floated the meat out of the bags and into her mouth while she waited nearby. We were, after all never able to confirm she actually set paw in the vehicle.

As she greeted them I made a bed on the grass, sat down on it and called her over. I used the same method we’d evolved to clip her claws while the vet gave her the sedative shot; I let her chew the duck jerky out of my closed fist while he did it. She hardly noticed. Then I petted her beautiful face while the tears ran down mine as she drifted off. When they gave her the next shot she breathed her last breaths and was gone.

I had a good howl after the vet left. That grieving wail that comes from me when the “doing” of dying is over. Then I settled down on my chair to gaze out at the lake, prepared to make space for the experience of pain and loss. It didn’t feel right. I had the thought that instead of moving through it might pitch a tent and stay a while, so I decided to take Angel for a walk. Attend to the living, so to speak. Along the walk I could see her doing her happy, bounding, squinty eyed with smiling run that she’d do towards me when she was feeling good or had just seen my hand come out of my pocket. It was lovely, some tears fell but they were gentle flowing tears.

I felt “happy”. Not the happy that comes from an experience or reward, but the happy that they talk about at the Buddhist Centre. Peace, joy, sadness, grief, gratitude, all welcome, all valuable, all sweet. I had another good sob while I watched my husband Charlie lay the first shovelfuls of dirt over her swaddled body in the grave, so tenderly. Brings tears to my eyes again, as I remember and write.

So much love. So much beauty. So much loss. So much beauty there, too. I have played this role for my beloveds so many times in the last few years. It does get easier but I don’t think it’s about the repetition. I think it’s about trusting in myself, not abandoning me to the thoughts that I should have….whatever, or the doubts. I think I’m learning the difference between doing victim to it and being present, soft, open and intimate with it. I may be mastering the ability to stay open to gratitude in the face of death and trust that death is a kindness and a part of life, not the opposite of it.

We’ll see, there may be more challenges to come to my presumptions of mastery. I do have a reputation for getting ahead of myself. Meanwhile, I feel as if I’ve achieved something in the way of equanimity that is a bit disorienting. I used to equate suffering with loving. It’s odd to feel so comfortable with death. I’m a bit afraid people will think I didn’t truly love her because I’m okay, when actually, I’m better than okay. I’m happy.

I’m happy to have had her as a member of my family. I’m happy she was the first dog my daughter felt was hers. I’m happy we were able to plan together for this eventuality. I happy I have the story of her asking to go out being synchronous with the near arrival of the vet, to reassure me she was in on the plan and fully participatory. I am happy to have shared 4 years with her funny, smart, songstress, squishable, fluffy-pants self. And lastly, I am happy to have this experience of death moving forward in my life towards the deaths of the next beloveds, and the next.

Here’s a video of Keeta woo-wooing on a walk with us, the last time Nicole came to visit.