(WARNING - this is longer than usual and the topic is death, although no one dies)

When we bring a dog into our life, we know, although we try not to, that at some point we might be called upon to end their life. It is profoundly important, when having to make these literal life and death decisions, to understand that there is no objective right or wrong. When we couch these choices in terms of ‘doing the right thing’ it can infer that those who make different choices are, by definition, doing the ‘wrong thing’, a bad choice, one that is somehow damaging and less good. Words are far more harmful than decisions. We make decisions that make sense to us, that bring us comfort, that give us closure and a sense that there is right and good somewhere.

As Kiss moves in the direction of death, I think of this often. As someone with a disability, who lives with chronic pain, I have, over the years come to profoundly change the way I think about euthanasia and what 'the right time' means. We want our dogs to be happy. To live their lives carefree and pain free, enjoying everything to the utmost. We choose the kindest teaching methods, we feed them the highest quality foods, in all ways possible within our means, we give them the best we can. In many ways, dogs are our proxies for what ideal life should look like. We offer them something we might not always find attainable for ourselves.

I have had chronic, sometimes severe, pain for as long as I can remember. Pain that caused me to be hospitalized as an infant, as a child, and on and off as an adult. Although it is not constant, the specter of it is. There are days without pain, weeks with only minor pain, and at this point, medication keeps all pain down to a reasonable amount almost all the time, but not without side effects. Pain is expensive, it takes away my ability to work. The medication costs a lot. It sucks.

But it is not enough to make me want to die. I love being alive, pain and all. I enjoy my life, my work, my hobbies, my friends. My world and my heart are full, even though I do not do as much as able bodied people. There are a lot of people with disabilities, many far more severe than mine, who feel the same way. And there are others who do not want to go on. There is no right or wrong.

When do we choose to euthanize a terminally ill dog? People, with the kindest intentions, will gently remind one that ‘letting them go’ before they are in too much pain is the greatest kindness we can give them, that we need to think of their needs rather than ours and not drag this on forever just because we can’t say goodbye. There is so much talk about quality of life, and that it’s better to go sooner rather than later. After all, isn’t that what you would wish someone would do for you? For some the answer is a resounding yes, for others it is not.

Kiss and I are walking our path slowly. Methodically. I am not a pacifist, and the language of fighting does not enter here. We are not battling her cancer, we are not taking on death as some kind of opponent. Death is coming, I am preparing for how we are going to meet, reading myself for when Kiss is ready to die.

Last August Kiss weighed two thirds of what she should weigh, was bleeding copiously from her nose and mouth, and struggled to stand. Even as we started treatment, for nearly three months she had massive bouts of anxiety at night during which time she was nearly inconsolable. THREE MONTHS. This is a long time for a dog who was already twelve and had a severe terminal cancer to be suffering. I put myself, inasmuch as I could, in her place and opted to keep going. She is still going. She plays every day. Yet I would understand someone who had made different choices. Answers are answers, there are no wrong ones.

Her medical bills have been astronomical, had she not had insurance, the answer would surely have been different. Even with insurance we struggle every day. Her medical care takes time and energy away from the other dogs, something I am acutely aware of. But after the initial three months, she bounced back. She runs, she swims, she does a little agility, participates in the seminars I teach. And she has bad days. Following the path of human hospice, we rely on pain medication as needed. She has much joy in her life. She is surrounded by love.

A dear friend and mentor says keep my body next to hers, synchronize our breathing. We wake up together, we go to sleep together. One day we won't.

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(Kiss's medical journey has been very expensive. A friend suggested a Go Fund Me to help with the expenses not covered by insurance. This includes days off work, special diet, travel to see specialists and the like. If you feel moved to help us, I've included the link. Or take an online class :-) I've cut my budget as far as I can to accommodate her needs. Thanks for considering)

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