They tore my heart out of its place the day I said the final goodbye. And the wound has never truly healed.
The first time I saw her, she was a half-pound white puffball. This tiny menace, shorter than a blade of grass, was busy trying to shove a porch swing out of her way because it dared to block her path. I remember thinking that if this much courage and adventure could fit in something so small, she was going to grow into a fierce little dog.
She never got bigger than five and a half pounds, a pocket-sized miracle who, within days, had decided she would sleep in the bed with us. The barricade we built out of shoeboxes? Conquered. The garden furniture? Also conquered. She schemed and climbed until one day there she was, standing on her hind legs at the nightstand, plotting to claim the whole bedroom for herself. Yes, we were hopeless, inconsistent owners. To this day I can't say no to a pair of eyes like that.
From Chanel to Monkey
I couldn't find the right name for our new arrival. Then, while talking it over with our Italian relatives, Pietro said he didn't even understand my dilemma. Where he's from, he insisted, every puppy is a Dior, a Gucci, or a Chanel. I laughed at first. But I'd already noticed how this little plush toy adored licking the scented water off my legs when I climbed out of the bath, and how she would only eat her food from a teaspoon. There was no doubt about it: we were going to call her Chanel.
My dad, of course, couldn't grasp why a simple Buttons, Patch, or Dumpling wouldn't do. And naturally, the elegant name quickly morphed into Sanci, and then into Monkey. For a while we even called her Sir Edmund Hillary, because she balanced like a master on the very top edge of the sofa back, where she loved to curl up in a tight little spiral.
Whatever she wanted, she got
She was often sick, yet she carried this astonishing will to live. One recurring problem was that she would sputter up water and vomit, and back then the vets never quite figured out why. Either way, we took her in for IV treatment at the animal clinic more than once.
The strength that came pouring out of that tiny body in those moments left the professionals blinking in disbelief. No, you could not shut her in a cage while the medicine dripped. She would throw a fit at the nurses until she got exactly what she wanted: to stay out where the action was, among people. So they had to rearrange the exam room a little to meet the Little Miss's standards. It wasn't the needle or the tube she cared about, it was staying at the center of everything. Connection was her whole world.
Curling up with her human
She was terrified of storms, fireworks, and the bang of firecrackers, and sedatives simply had no effect on her. On one night when the sky seemed to be splitting open, I honestly thought she would shatter into pieces, she was trembling so violently.
It broke my heart that I was helpless, that there was nothing I could do, even though I plugged her little ears hoping she'd feel the noise less. I pulled her as close to me as I possibly could. I wished I could turn myself into a shield that no outside sound could reach behind. I was practically lying right on top of her, afraid I might crush her. She shivered herself to sleep. In the morning I woke in a panic, certain she was gone. She was sleeping peacefully beneath me.
She wasn't herself anymore
Then one day I noticed something strange. It was as if she couldn't hear well. I caught it when we came home once and she didn't come running to greet us, didn't even get up, just kept sleeping in her bed. My first thought was the worst, but I could see her chest rising steadily. I called her name, and there was nothing. Not even to clapping.
She wasn't young anymore, so we knew the signs would come, slowly at first, the signs that quietly announce she had become an old dog. Next came the fading eyesight, then total blindness, and the increasingly worrying problems.
She spun in aimless circles, over and over, constantly walking into the radiator and hitting her head. She perceived everything as an attack, growling and snapping. Despite all our efforts, we couldn't find a single medication that improved things even a little. The vets said she had developed dementia.
On top of it all, she developed a uterine infection. Sadly, we had never had her spayed. I didn't want to put her through surgery, but my partner insisted. And our little Monkey's enormous strength showed itself once again: she handled the operation remarkably well, recovered at lightning speed, and even put on a little weight.
Au revoir
But the neurological problems only grew more severe. I had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life. Seeing her in that state was unbearable.
My partner tried everything to convince me not to have her put to sleep, but my soul couldn't carry the weight of watching her suffer.
I set the appointment with the vet, and from that moment on I felt utterly destroyed. She cried out the entire way to the clinic. I wouldn't wish those heart-wrenching minutes on anyone. I walked through the clinic door with a weight like a ton pressing on my chest.
They sedated her first, and that was where I said goodbye to her. I couldn't stay any longer. After that, all I saw was her little body wrapped in a sheet. We buried her in the garden.
Frequently asked questions
How do you know when it's time to say goodbye to an old dog?
In this story, the signs came gradually: hearing loss, fading eyesight, blindness, and eventually dementia. When suffering became constant and no treatment helped, the owner faced the painful choice of ending that suffering.
Why do some dogs fear storms and fireworks so much?
The article describes a dog terrified of storms, fireworks, and firecrackers, trembling so hard she seemed she might fall apart. For her, sedatives had no effect, and the only comfort was being held close by her owner.
Can dogs develop dementia?
Yes. In this account, the vets diagnosed the dog with dementia in old age. She would circle aimlessly, walk into objects, and react to everything as if it were a threat, and no medication helped.
How do you cope with the grief of losing a pet?
The author describes the loss as a wound that never fully healed. There's no easy answer here, only the honest reminder that when a dog is truly family, the pain of losing them is real and profound.
