Pets in Memory 

 It was a cold winter morning when I had to let my Tipsy go. I called her my little old lady. At 15.5 years old she was still doing well - that was, until two days earlier. She suddenly stopped eating, was vomiting and was not herself. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and her steps had lost their bounce. I kept begging her to get better. She didn’t. 

I sat with her during the night trying to absorb all the feels and smells and make these memories last forever. I decided to take her on one last road trip. She loved car rides; whenever I asked her if she wanted to go, her ears perked up, her butt wiggled and she tilted her head to one side. But when I lifted her into the car that morning, she just laid down. She looked at me with her big brown eyes, and I could tell that they were just so tired. 

Instead of our road trip, we drove to the clinic with her head resting on my hand. She had no energy left. I looked at the clock: 15 minutes until we would be at work. These were my last 15 minutes with her. The closer we got, the heavier my heart felt. It hurt. I knew it was time, but I didn’t want it to be. 

We arrived at work, and I coaxed her up and lifted her out of the car. She found some strength when she arrived, walking over to everyone with a slight tail wag to say hello - or perhaps goodbye. We slowly walked through the clinic, and she laid on her bed exhausted. I sat with her and thanked her for being such an amazing dog, friend and companion. I gave her an injection to make her relax and I cradled her in my arms until she fell asleep. Then while kissing her forehead, I let her go. 

The next day was the hardest. I woke up and saw her empty bed, and it hit me all over again. Walked past her dog bowl and didn’t have to fill it, went through Tim Hortons and only ordered two Timbits instead of four, and when I looked in my rear-view mirror she wasn’t there. My heart felt like it had the biggest hole. 

In 2019, I had started doing yearly mini senior photo shoots with Tipsy. She was going gray, her eyes were cloudier and her cheekbones more prominent, but she kept going! She was on two different types of pain medication as most of her spine was fused, but she still jumped out of her kennel at the end of the day.

In January, I created a memorial photo for her. Looking back, it was exactly one month before I had to say goodbye. I know how lucky I was that she made it to 15.5 years of age, but it’s just never enough.

What I wouldn’t give for just one more day, one more time holding her soft paw, one more time where she would follow me wherever I went, just one more time…But ultimately one more was not worth it when she was suffering. As much as I wanted to hang on, I owed it to her to let her go peacefully. 

As veterinarians, we play such a big role with end-of-life discussions and euthanasia. We know how difficult this decision is to make, how hard it is to go through and how hard it is after it’s done. We are here to support clients during this process and hope you feel comfortable reaching out.