Saying Goodbye to Your Best Friend

     My Australian Shepherd, Miles, is probably about fourteen years old. I got him when he was about one year old, at the animal shelter. They asked me to please take him home. He was a beautiful dog, but he wasn't friendly with people. When I went into the greeting room to meet him for the first time, he acted like he could have cared less if I was in the room or not.

     I found out that he was a purebred Aussie, and the people who had bought him from the breeder apparently didn't like him, and had left him alone in a yard for a year before taking him to the animal shelter. He had never been socialized to people.

     When I got him home I found out he was afraid of multiple things. He was afraid of the dark. He was afraid of steps and didn't know how to navigate them. He was afraid of being alone. Being afraid of the dark he overcame gradually. I was always there when it was dark, so I think that helped. I taught him how to go up and down steps. I tried to train him to be ok with being alone for awhile by leaving for three to five minutes, gradually, unpredictably, and then coming back in the house. I had read in a dog training book that was supposed to work. Finally I had to leave for a couple of hours and when I came back he had aptly demonstrated the failure of this technique. He had destroyed a sofa, a chair and a recliner down to the frame. There was material and stuffing everywhere. Then he had peed and pooped on the ruins.

     I stuck with him though, and eventually he learned not to go crazy when left in the house alone. He saved my life once, and possibly twice.

     Last time he went to the vet, about a year ago, the vet said I might have weeks or months with him, He has debilitating arthritis, and huge fat tumors. One fat tumor might weigh eight to ten pounds. The vet had said it isn't worth trying to remove them since it is unlikely he could survive the trauma of surgery.

     The arthritis means he walks very slowly and and sometimes his back legs don't work. He has always gotten the use of them back- at least until today.

     He also has diarrhea multiple times a week. I have to cut poop out of his fur, pull it off with paper towels, wash it off by dousing his back end. It stinks horribly and he growls at me while I do this. If I didn't do this we couldn't stand to have him in the house.

     Tonight he was outside and when I called him to come in, he couldn't get his front paws over the small rise from the porch to the frame to the sliding glass door. He tried multiple times, growling while he tried, but it was no go.

     I thought maybe I should leave the door open and leave him alone to figure it out, since encouraging him to come in wasn't helping.

     Somehow he got himself off the deck and into the yard. It was cold and dark out. When I called him he did not come. I went out into the yard and could see that he was trying to come, but his back legs did not work at all, and he was dragging them. His front legs would not extend fully, and her was trying to move them forward, growling all the time.

     Finally he scooted himself to the deck. I tried putting a leash around him to try and encourage him. No go. I tried offering dog cookies. He couldn't do it. He was growling and seemed afraid, confused. I was afraid for him, and also afraid that if I came too close he would bite me.

     Not wanting to leave him out in the cold and the dark, I got behind my 80 pound dog and picked up his back end, lifting both his back legs of the ground, and pushed forward. Miles growled, but he was able to scoot on his front legs to get into the house.

     He is in the house now, but he hasn't moved since this ordeal. When I went over to sit next to him, hoping to comfort him, he growled at me.

     I think Miles is done for. Even if he recovers his back legs temporarily this will happen again. I think it is time to say good-bye.

     Tears. Lots of.  (Love you, Miles.)