The End of a Journey

This will be the most difficult blog I have ever written, but I've put it off long enough.

In late December, early January, I noticed Jake, my beloved, 13-year old golden retriever, had what looked like an abscess in his mouth. He had a standing order at the vet for oral antibiotics, so I picked up a round and started giving them to him. The swelling didn't go down. It got bigger.

By February, it was a noticeable growth, as seen in the photo above. I was pretty sure I knew what that meant. The wonderful lady who runs Jake's daycare, Paula Reynolds of Alpine-Vistah Kennels, looked at it and concurred. Most likely cancer. Probably not much to be done. As long as it didn't interfere with his eating, just wait it out and relish whatever time we had left together.

Then, in March the tumor had a sudden growth spurt. And it smelled necrotic. Over the weekend of March 19-20, it doubled in size. On Monday, I made what I knew would be Jake's final vet appointment. Tuesday morning, I noticed the tumor had doubled again. Jake went out, chased a squirrel, ate his breakfast, and left a water bowl full of bloody water. I went to work for a few hours until the vet appointment, but couldn't focus and kept bursting into tears, so I came home to spend a few final hours with Jake.

Normally when I come home, Jake is standing and straining againt his cage door, anxious to get out and greet me. That day, he just lay with blood pooling around him. I knew it was time and that I had made the right decision. But it was breaking my heart. I cleaned him up the best I could, took some photos and comforted him until it was time to go. When I got his lead, he was happy and anxious like always, unaware that it would be his last ride.

To make a long, horrible story short, the vet confirmed that the cancer was basically inoperable and that euthanasia was probably the best recourse. I couldn't make my voice work. I had to nod and sign papers and let them lead him away to insert the pic line and wait for him to return, so happy to see me. The vet, indeed everyone at the office, was incredibly kind, but I was devastated. We got Jake to lay down on a blanket and the vet gave him first a shot of general anesthesia and then the shot that would stop his heart. I held him and stroked him and told him what a good boy he was. And then, on March 22, 2016 at 3:07 p.m., it was over. The vet left the room so I could be alone with him for a time. After I sobbed my heart out, I took this final photo:

I cried all the way home and for most of the next two days. My friend Joe came over and sat with me and watched Daredevil on Netflix. That helped.

A few weeks later, I got a voice mail that I could pick up Jake's ashes. This is all I have to show for 13 years of companionship, brotherhood, parentage and love:

And I wouldn't have missed a moment of it.