A Beautiful Ending: Saying Goodbye to my Soul Dog
(And Why How You Say Goodbye Makes All the Difference)
On August 26th, we had to do something that we had been dreading for sometime now. Ever since our family dog, a coy-dog-husky mix named Jaeda, had developed the first signs of arthritis, we were faced with the inevitable fact that she would not be ours forever.
After her 14th birthday this June, it became pretty clear that we would be saying goodbye sooner than we wanted.
A puppy face even as an old gal.
She was no longer just old and arthritic, Jaeda was sick. Her liver was failing, and several vet appointments revealed a mass in her liver that was getting larger each visit, and likely cancerous.
She was still happy, and managing… until she wasn’t. Fluid began to fill her abdomen, pushing on her organs, making even basic functions uncomfortable, like eating, breathing and sleeping. It was also an extra several pounds on her frail frame, making it even more difficult for her to maneuver.
After many conversations as a family, with the vet, and with God, we made the difficult call to make a call.
And despite my initial hesitation, I would not have wanted my beloved Jaeda to have gone out of this world any other way.
Jaeda’s death was beautiful. It happened not a day too soon, not a day too late.
The morning of the appointment, the sun was shining, lending a bright warmth to an otherwise mild day. Jaeda was still sleeping in her usual spot by the fence in the garden, breathing deep and slow, her hind legs trembling slightly, as if dreaming about running in the she hadn’t been able to in so long.
Morning, Jaeda baby.
I spoke to her the way I always do, before placing a hand lightly on her head as to not startle her with her declining senses. She slowly opened her eyes, lifting her head with her ears back to greet me. Her ascites had seemed to have gotten worse overnight.
She staggered to her feet, her belly swinging like a pregnant mare as she slowly made her way unsteadily to the porch where she would spend the rest of the morning.
She flopped back down after getting some loving strokes from my parents, her snout resting between her paws looking off the stone step into the garden.
I made her a last breakfast of her recent favourites, a fried egg with the runniest of yolks, and seared strips of rotisserie chicken. When I carried the steaming plate out to her, she barely turned her head.
It was only when I placed the plate in front of her that she ate it-- although when she started, she didn’t stop until she had licked it clean.
She then continued to sit, resting and gazing out at the sunlit yard, the rest of us sitting quietly near her, moving in to pet her on occasion, but also careful not to overcrowd her and make her want to seek her own space, which she had been doing lately.
I asked my mother to find a candle, and we kept it lit as long as we kept vigil by our beautiful dog.
There was a sense of easy, peaceful silence in the sunny moment. Jaeda’s lack of energy and quietness made it pretty clear for all of us that she was ready. There was nothing keeping her tied to this earthly body anymore.
Jaeda looking a little ragged and senior, but still happy.
At 10:15, the vet arrived.
We donned masks and brought her to the backyard. Jaeda heaved herself up to her feet, greeting the vet with a whisper of a bark, before accepting a few ear scratches from the new stranger. She quickly lost interest and found a new part of the porch to lay back down a little further from the now larger group of humans in her space.
With soft voices, we went over Jaeda’s recent medical history with the vet: lots of medication, a tumour that couldn’t be treated, and now a abdomen swelling with fluid so rapidly, we didn’t know how she had any appetite left at all.
“You guys have timed it right.” The vet assured us. “I’ve seen dogs where when they drain the ascites it fills back in minutes.”
I had my hand in the peanut butter jar, functioning as a human dog treat keeping Jaeda close by and content licking peanut butter off of me as the vet walked all of us through what was about to happen.
Given her apparent difficulties breathing as of late, we opted out of the first mild sedative that would have been smeared on her gums, as sometimes that made breathing even more difficult and in turn may have heightened her anxiety and stress.
Instead, I asked my dad to bring out the rotisserie chicken we had bought for her, and as i held the entire container for her to lick all its gelatinous fats and juices, with remnants of peanut butter still all over my hands, the vet gave her the stronger sedative via needle.
Jaeda didn’t even flinch, so occupied by the chicken and peanut butter bliss she was being fed. I continued to feed her tiny pieces of chicken and allowing her to lick juices and peanut butter off my hands until she began to sway.
“You can put this under her.” The vet offered, passing us the thin fleece bed near by.
We gently guided Jaeda down onto the bed as the sedative took effect, as she settled into a deep sleep with her head rested between her font paws, and her tongue rolled out of her teeth by half an inch, as if she looking for that last little bit of peanut butter.
A walk during Jaeda’s last week <3
We love you so much Jaeda.
Youre the best dog Jaeda.
The best dog ever.
Say hi to Saddle but don’t chase him, okay.
Don’t bite Jesus please. Don’t ruin getting into heaven for the rest of us.
Say hi to Nana for us Jaeda.
You’re okay, Jaeda. You’ll be running and playing fetch with all the tennis balls you can dream of soon. You’re free now Jaeda.
We love you. We love you so much.
So so much, angel girl.
Our last walk as a family to the park.
Very grateful we thought to make a moment of it.
“Just let me know when you’re ready.” The vet had shaved away some fur already on Jaeda’s hind leg, the final injection ready to go.
Does anyone want one last nose kiss?
Some shuffling of bodies. Giggles and sniffles and tears.
We arere ready. Goodbye sweet girl. We love you.
I buried my face in her fur, feeling its surprising warmth and coarseness. I love yous echoing through tears all sound me.
The vet held her stethoscope to Jaeda’s ribs. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”
I noticed some beautiful pink geraniums in a planter just beside us, and picked one and then another and lay them beside our beautiful girl who was no longer.
The spot it happened, and the pink geraniums.
And in our spot of shade from the mid morning sun, Jaeda peacefully resting on her white bed, surrounded by pink lowers and a candle that continued to burn unwavering, even then we could all appreciate the beauty of that moment.
There was a permeable sense of peace, that was not there as she was breathing even moments earlier. Jaeda was finally at ease, and free, more so than she had been for the past year as her body continued to fail her more and more rapidly.
I had began grieving Jaeda the day I watched her limping after our long walk, grieving her more and more every time her back legs gave out and she ended up belly on the ground when she was attempting to run and play as she used to.
One of our last forest adventures sometime last spring
Jaeda’s death was freeing, not only for her but for all of us. Finally, we were free to remember Jaeda as the vibrant, energetic, playful dog she was, who loved nothing more than to chase balls, and tear across fields and bound through forest trails.
We are now free to celebrate Jaeda’s life, and her beautiful spirit that would soon be reborn again, and not there to hold vigil for the aging, sick body that she had been bound to in this earthly realm.
I miss Jaeda with every fiber of my being. But I am so relieved that she is no longer suffering, and that I can now remember her as she was in her prime, the way she would want us too.
Jaeda was my soul dog.
The dog who taught me so much about living in the moment, about meeting others, and ourselves, where we are at, and how taking a chance on something a little flawed and broken can payoff in a lifetime of joy you may not have otherwise known.
Jaeda’s 13th Birthday
As we stood as a family, all of us brought home together on this friday morning giving our final goodbye pets and kisses to the dog who enriched all of our lives these past 11 years, it was evident we all felt the same feeling of peace.
Jaeda as a much more mobile senior pup
Jaeda was more at ease than she had been in awhile, on that stretcher underneath the coziest of blankets, her head peeking out along with the pink flowers, loaded in the back of the vet’s car.
This is the last we would see of her earthly body.
But this body was no longer our Jaeda.
She was now the gust of wind against my face as I ran through the fields we once raced through together.
She is the rainbow after a summer storm.
She is in the night sky, chasing the stars like tennis balls of endless array.
Whether she is in a dog heaven of where she is in want of nothing, or her spirit is born into another dog to grace the lives of another family unbeknownst of how lucky they are to have their lives touched by her, I know that a spirit as beautiful and pure as Jaeda’s could never cease to exist.
Forever in our hearts, because even another 20 years with our Jaeda girl would not have been enough.
See you in the stars, Jaeda baby.
-Jae
xoxo