My friend, Jaxon

Two weeks ago, my 12+ year-old mini Schnauzer, Jaxon, was diagnosed with an osteosarcoma in his left, back leg. In the previous couple of weeks, I’d noticed whenever he stood up after a nap that he kept weight off that leg. He’d hobble around on three legs for a few minutes before eventually walking (mostly) normally. When he began to refuse to use his dog door to go in and outside or walk up the stairs, I knew something definitely wasn’t right. The leg had become swollen and I suspected Arthritis. We went to visit our vet, with the hope he would prescribe an anti-inflammatory. I never expected to hear the word cancer.

My sweet black dog is now on Hospice care. Although he still hobbles some of the time, the pain medication appears to be helping, at least for now. I hope it will keep him comfortable as we journey forth. Our long goodbye has begun. From what I’ve read, he probably has around two to three months (or maybe more?). Since we don’t really know, we’re doing our best to enjoy every day he has by giving him unexpected doggie treats and plenty of attention, showing him how much he is loved. Ah, this is not an easy road. It takes little for tears to wet my cheeks.

For brief periods, I can forget what the future holds. When he acts like himself on walks, prancing down the sidewalk like he owns it, offering a bark of “hello” to a few lucky people we meet along the way, I can forget. His appetite is good and there is no lack of pawing at my pant leg, asking me to play “chase” (involving me chasing him around the dining room table—sometimes on three legs—with a squeaky toy in his mouth). At these times, I wonder if maybe the vet made a mistake, but realize that is magical thinking. I have only to look at the x-ray to see the obvious pockets of formerly white bone that are now grey, indicating the thinning.

While I’ve long recognized a dog’s lifespan is much shorter than a human lifespan and that one day I’d lose him, it always felt way out there in some future place. Now it’s finite, he’s been assigned his place in the line. It’s knowing, but not knowing . . . knowing it will happen in the near future, but not knowing when—a form of limbo. The best part of this is that he’s blissfully unaware.

I choose to believe the years of companionship and unconditional love will soften the pain of letting go. Of course, as I write this, unstoppable tears are once again spilling over my cheeks. We’ve just returned from a long walk and my BEST dog ever is snuggled happily in his bed beside me, snoring (not so softly) and probably dreaming of barking at squirrels, one of his favorite winter past times.

I’d love to hear your story of saying goodbye to a beloved pet.

2/17/22