Things no one ever tells you before your pet dies

When compared to other types of grief, the loss of a pet is in a class of its own. This loss is really serious. The value of pets in our life is unique but no less significant than that of human beings.

Every aspect of our pets’ lives is decided by us. What they play with, what they consume, how they interact with others, whether or not they get medical attention, and how often they go outside all contribute to their development. Everything that has happened to them is due to our volition. And even if they don’t need as much supervision as they did when they were infants, the fact that we have complete say over their lives and decisions remains unchanged as it would for an independent child.

Your pet’s complete and utter reliance on you will be a constant source of pride and happiness. It’s a great feeling to provide for someone who is dependent on you. They’ll never grow up because we’ll always be their parents. Dogs in particular have the mental capacity of a 4-year-old at birth and continue to improve with age. Throughout history, they have remained eternally like children.

The concept of guilt can be described as follows:

A mental or emotional state triggered by the belief or realisation (whether accurate or not) that one has violated universal moral standards and is primarily responsible for this transgression.

As a result, it’s only natural that pet owners feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility whenever they make a choice that could affect their pet’s health. We make all of these other decisions for them on a daily (or even hourly) basis because we believe that producing a healthy, well-adjusted pet is a worthwhile endeavour.

However, genetics and biology are beyond our sphere of influence. Averting the spread of disease is impossible. The older and sicker our pets are, the more weight and emotion is attached to each decision we make for them. However, we never stop making those decisions or relinquish that control. Therefore, no matter how they pass away—through euthanasia, natural causes, or tragedy—guilt will always follow. Because we are responsible for our pets throughout their entire lives, we will always feel guilty when they pass away. In spite of the fact that our pets may hold us in a divine esteem, we are neither gods nor all-powerful demigods.

In my life, there have always been dogs. A few foster dogs came and went, but Trog and Dude, two enormous beasts, were my primary canine companions growing up. We brought Trog, a wolfdog/German shepherd mix, home the week before I started kindergarten. About two years later, he had puppies with my brother’s Saint Bernard-Lab mix, who is absolutely adorable but incredibly stupid. We kept Dude, the runt of the litter, and he ended up being a ginger, 130-pound anxiety monster.

They both made it to roughly the same ripe old age of eleven and a half years. Both ultimately died from their individual illnesses (spleen cancer and an undiscovered esophageal tumour), and when we realised there was no chance for them, we terminated them humanely.

I was a teenager when they both died, and even though it wasn’t my decision, I felt terrible remorse for months afterward. Just what were we supposed to do? Shouldn’t we have tried another operation instead? Exactly what did we fail to notice? Have we made the right decision? It was as if we had committed a double murder and abandoned them.

Unfortunately, I was unable to follow through with my plan to euthanize Czar and give him the final “good gift” he deserved. He had been doing well for a while, and then on the Thursday before Halloween, everything went downhill again. A seizure disorder set in, and for the next 36 hours, he could not even sit up on his own, let alone eat or drink anything.

Even though I was aware of the gravity of the situation, I managed to keep my composure and focus on the present. The vet wasn’t certain he was having a seizure and suggested treating him in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. We had already decided to take things slowly and cautiously, so there was nothing else to do but wait it out.

Czar’s seizures got worse that Monday night after a relatively quiet day. Neck craning, eyes rolling, jaw clicking, and legs stretching. Between each incident, he stayed awake long enough for me to give him water from a condiment bottle. Two faeces logs emerged from his body, one of which had a piece of plastic from Saturday’s pee pad chewing (a sure sign he was feeling better, I thought at the time). This morning I will be sending a video to the vet, so I decided to record it. I was aware that we didn’t have much time left, but I hoped that just being there would help ease his mind.

I slept with my foot on his back, as we often did in the past when he wanted me to be close to him (touching) but not on top of him (spooning). For over a week, he had refused to sleep on his own bed because of how secluded he felt there, in his den-like space nestled into a nook under my loft. Since there wasn’t enough room for me to embrace him where he wanted to lay, I figured this was the next best thing.

When I woke up at 5 o’clock that morning, I didn’t even have to look at him to realise he wasn’t there. There was a noticeable change in the air. In spite of this, I sat up and watched his bony ribs, hoping against hope that his chest might rise even once. I, however, was well aware of it.

After I made the necessary phone calls and freed him from his restraints and bandages, I posted the news on social media. I didn’t sugarcoat the fact that he probably passed away in the throes of a seizure. I confessed to him that I was sorry for letting him down. People flooded my comments and posts, telling me I was the best dog mom ever and that I was doing so much more for my dog than the average person.

To be honest though, I never doubted that I would be a decent dog mom. I know I did a good job up until the very end of his life, and I can recount every action and sacrifice I made on his behalf. A spectre that doesn’t have to haunt my friends is the image of their pet’s last breath as they craned their neck and stared at it with wide eyes. Czar started having seizures again after we went to sleep, but I dismissed them as unimportant. His body was lying in a pool of urine, with his mouth open, his legs stretched, and his faeces tumbling out.

Guilt and relief

The vet said Czar probably wasn’t aware of what was happening and that it wasn’t unpleasant, but I’m glad I don’t have to watch a dozen movies of his dog seizing over and over again in his owner’s phone gallery. There were no cute photos of him wrapped in blankets with a smile or a toy. Negative emotions only. I doubt his deteriorating liver felt fantastic, even if the seizures didn’t hurt.

So that’s the shame I have to bear now. The guilt I’ve been carrying for far too long, that I was being selfish by not pressing for an immediate euthanasia decision. The knowledge that Czar’s death was a painful one. It’s a shame that after all my efforts to be ready and to fill every available moment with compassion, love, and consolation, this is how it turned out. I should have paid closer attention to his liver function back in July, when I realised he was entering the final stretch, but I completely forgot about it until we started talking about his medications. Since I was exclusively responsible for all of his care decisions, I feel guilty that I was unable to keep him pain-free despite my best efforts.

The worst aspect about my guilt is that I am relieved to have it lifted off my shoulders at last. Knowing that it was all done, for good this time, is what kept me calm during his final days and in the hours after Czar’s death.

The last few months of caring for Czar had exhausted me completely. As opposed to Trog and Dude, who had family and round-the-clock caretakers they could pass the baton to and take breaks when they needed to, I was responsible for all of Czar’s many needs. Unfortunately, the closer dad got to passing away, the more assistance he need from me; nonetheless, all my efforts would be for naught in the end.

That’s not an isolated incident. The situation in which Czar finds himself is not exceptional. At 15 years and 10 months, he was exceptionally old for his size and breed, and it was inevitable that his body would break down at some point. The one vital organ that had always been a little finicky would be the one to kill him.

This, however, is the subject matter that comes up when people talk about feeling guilty about their pets’ suffering. For all of the grace and elegance of the animals we love, it is shocking to realise that their deaths are never pretty. Even if we euthanize, they will still feel some pain.

We also feel guilty because we’re relieved of the burden after they’re gone, even if we’d do anything to have it back.

I can only fathom the depths to which pet owners might sink into despair when their beloved animal companion is lost due to a tragedy other than old age or intentional euthanasia, such as being hit by a car. The life of a loved one who is entirely reliant on a caretaker’s efforts can be lost with only one careless error or missed warning.

Since I haven’t been through this myself, I’ll share this link to learn more about the feelings of guilt we often suffer after the unexpected death of a pet.

The takeaway message is that remorse is inevitable after the loss of a pet. This is an inevitable reality. It’s natural to feel guilty about our dogs’ deaths given how responsible we are for them. Although feeling guilty about the loss of a pet may be categorised as part of the “bargaining” stage of grief, it is more of a foundational emotion than a transitory one.

When they get sick, when their treatments backfire, and when they pass away, we can’t help but feel guilty. Even though we’d give our right arm to have the responsibility back, we feel bad about being relieved of it once they’re gone.

If you’ve recently lost a pet or are anticipating a loss, it’s okay to feel guilty. This will be your closest company as you go through this challenging period. Take care of it and attend to its requirements like you would any pet.