blogONEToday is Friday, which is the day we took our Sheltie, Gogo, to the vet one last time.
Gogo was born in 1994, which makes him turning 14 this year (~98 human years, following the standard 7-year conversion). In the beginning of his life with his first owners, he had been pampered and treated like royalty, with authority and utmost attention. However, when his first family had their first child, he had began to live in the basement and barely saw them anymore.
Around August of ’98, when he was 4, our friend told us about his adoption and we went to screen him. There must have been something about us that made him naturally come to us, since his first owner told us that he would never pay attention to other people, let alone be comfortable and do tricks for them. Perhaps this was fate.
As Gogo aged, he began to have a lump of fat grow in the left side of his chest — there eventually grew another on his right. Because he hadn’t been eating in the past few weeks, we now notice that he had another lump near the rear of his body. For the past few months, his mobility had been greatly decreased, as both his hind legs had arthritis — he could no longer climb up the stairs. In recent weeks, he couldn’t even change from prone to standing, or climb down 2 steps to get to the backyard. He’d often slip, trip and fall sometimes, while standing or walking.
His vision had also been failing — he had a cataract in his left eye, and another began growing in his right eye these past few weeks. His jaw must have been inflamed, as he couldn’t open his jaw and refused dental treatment. Because his jaw may have been inflamed, he could not eat, and recently stopped to drink as well. He was weak…so very weak.
It breaks our entire family’s heart to have him euthanised, but we also know that nobody wanted him to suffer any longer. While the doctor was preparing Gogo and the IV needle, he looked at us with the calmest look, and while the fluid flowed into his vein, he remained to look peaceful — he did not struggle at all. Peace entered the room, and remained there, even during our period of loss.
And yet this feeling of sadness, this feeling of loss, should not live with us forever. Instead, we must remember our memories with him — our happy moment, our clean-up moments, our frustrating moments, our biting moments, our disciplining moments, our lazy-afternoon-napping-together-on-the-couch moments. The moment in August of ’98 when we first saw him and had our hearts captured by him, and the final moment in March of ’08, watching his peaceful departure from the world and the heartbreak.
Memories, the few things that can bring joy into our lives, as well as torment it. These memories I will share with the world soon.
