Alas poor Oberon...

I took Obie for his final vet appointment last Friday. His life was no longer fun in any way for him. He had stopped eating, refused to take his pills and was having great difficulty getting up and down the stairs to go outside. His hair was coming out in huge chunks from all the stress and pain of shrunken muscles and arthritis in the hips. I couldn't bear watching him waste away.

When I got to the vet's I found I had to wait in line for my pet to be euthanized. A woman ahead of me began sobbing inconsolably as her cat was put down. Fortunately, I had left Obie in the truck while I went in to handle the paperwork and payments. To sit there and wait with him while that was going on would have been too much to take. So I sat alone in the lobby and silently dabbed at my own tears while the woman mourned her cat. Once she left, I went out for Obie. Carried him in and held him in my arms. He buried his head in my chest as the shot brought him down.

I felt for the vet and her staff. Euthanasia's are scheduled at the end of the day. The final final appointments. Hell of a way to end your day and to have them stacked up in a row. Life sucks when it has to end, that's for sure.

Oberon was a big dog with a Husky's coat and eyes, and a retriever's joy in fetching objects. He lived a good 15 years. The past couple of weeks brought about a rapid decline. He wasn't going to get better and the pain was only going to get worse. It's a very hard thing to go through, but I only hope that should I face that kind of death, I'll find the help I need to go beyond the pain.

I got back in my truck and headed home to pack for Cincinnati for a weekend of professional development. I left the cat in the care of the pet sitter. Got on 71 and headed all the way down past Columbus through Queen City and on into Kentucky to a hotel at the airport. A four and half hour drive. For company, I had the new Kinks box set, Picture Book. I sang along through the six CDs all the way there. I sang away the ache in my heart for Obie for most of the way. But certain songs brought tears to my eyes. Misfits, for example: "Because it's true what they say, every dog has his day."

When I found Obie 15 years ago, he was a lost puppy in the middle of traffic in East Ave. I was a first year drama teacher, too poor to buy a car, walking home from school. I spotted this scrawny dirty puppy and called him out of harm's way. He attached himself immediately to me, imprinting like a newly hatched gosling, and he has been a one woman dog for the past 15 years. Totally loyal. I am missing my shadow tonight. He's not under the computer table. He's not giving me the bizarro eye stare indicating it is time to go outside.

Obie had one white eye and one brown eye. His eyes had been deteriorating of late. Sometimes I'd find him standing vacantly staring at nothing, looking lost and bewildered. Doggie dementia, perhaps.

Above is the last portrait of Oberon with favorite squeaky toy. We had a good time together over winter break. He loved to catch and fetch his toys. We had a good long run together.
Alas poor Oberon, I knew him well...a canine of infinite joy in squeaky toys.

Canine Quality of Life Issues

Life here on the Village Green has been hectic in these post-election days. The fall play, the common cold, the demands of the every day work schedule -- all have left me devoid of words and energy for blogging.

Worst of all, my faithful pal Oberon the Huskador Retriever, is in his final days. We just got back from the vet. Obie's arthritis is compounded by extreme loss of muscle mass. Thursday night, I returned home after the show opened, to find him unable to walk on his hind legs. They simply splayed out in opposite directions. He's been on one drug for pain, but it obviously was losing its power to keep him going.

Oberon was a foundling, a stray scrawny puppy with no collar and ribs showing, that I spotted wandering around in the middle of East Ave as I walked home from school fifteen years ago. Those were the early days of my teaching career, when I had yet to purchase a vehicle. I used to walk to and from my job every day. It was a healthy and green thing to do, but at that time it was done out of financial necessity.

At any rate, I saw the puppy and I called frantically to get him out of the way of several oncoming vehicles. Once he came to me on the sidewalk, he had nowhere to go except follow my heels as I trudged home. I already had a dog, but Obie insisted that I take him in. He's been with me for 15 years and now I'm trying to negotiate a few more relatively pain-free weeks for him as we prepare to say goodbye.

The vet gave him an additional prescription for pain. I've moved down to the sofabed on the main floor, because he will attempt to struggle up the stairs if I sleep in my bedroom. The fall play will be over tonight, and I'll have a few weeks of arriving home at reasonable hours before rehearsals begin for the spring musical. Time to hang with him, brush out his amazingly thick coat, and tell him how much his presence has been appreciated over the years.

It is difficult to know when to let go. Humans often have the option of speaking up and telling their families and medical doctors when to stop treatments. With animals, it is up to us to figure out when to say goodbye. Obie is eating well, is in control of his bladder and bowel movements and still insists on being at my side whenever I am home. He sleeps a lot and as long as we can manage the pain, I'd like him to stick around a little bit longer.

Here's a picture of him in happier times, demanding that I stop taking pictures and play catch with him instead: