Struggling Through Loss of a Dog

Friday night, as I put Olivia to bed on the dog bed we keep in the bedroom instead of her spot between our pillows, I knew that it was probably going to be the last time. I was pretty sure that she would not survive the night.

We rescued Olivia right off the street exactly 10 years ago this month. She was alone, in a cow pasture, abandoned apparently. By a twist of fate, Alan and I rode our bikes on a different route than usual and Alan saw her on the side of the road. 

She was our first little dog and really changed our opinion about small dogs. Since then, most of our dogs are small, and we’ve come to love their energy and loyalty (and ignore their barky nature).

Little dogs still make great running partners.

About a year ago, Olivia started to show signs of glaucoma. The vet gave us medication, but in spite of that, she lost her sight. We’ve had blind dogs before and they generally get along very well. Olivia was different, possibly because she was older. She was scared and lost. Because of that, I have spent the last year catering to her needs.

Yes, she slept on our bed, between our pillows. She slept well, fortunately, waking up around 4:00 and needing to go outside. That’s my usual wakeup time, so she was like my little alarm clock. I’d take her out to do her business. After a couple of months, she learned how to make her way to the doggy door to get back in. Sometimes she’d find the water on her own, if not I brought her there so she could drink. 

After breakfast, we’d all go for a walk. She was scared at first, but she trusted me and eventually learned to walk along with the others. I did have to pay attention so that she didn’t bump into a tire or random trashcan. 

Then she’d settle in on my chair for the day. When she had to go out, she’d get a little restless or bark. She rarely had an accident and when she did it was my fault for waiting too long. At the end of the day, I’d take her out one more time then we’d head to bed, Olivia in her spot between our pillows.

Every day. For a year. If I wasn’t there, Alan would take care of her. If we both were gone we are fortunate to have an awesome dog sitter.

It wasn’t a hassle. It was part of my routine. It’s just what you do when you have someone who needs you.

About a week ago, our routine was interrupted. Olivia seemed a little off. She didn’t eat, seemed a bit lethargic. This had happened before so I didn’t worry (too much) for the first couple of days. Then she became congested, had a runny nose and seemed to have difficulty breathing. We made an appointment with the vet but had to wait until the next day. I did what I could to get her to eat, keep her nose clean, and help her breathe better.

The vet wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong. She gave us a list of tests she could run. Now, I’ve been through this before. I’ve paid thousands of dollars on “tests,” then said goodbye to my dog. Olivia was around 13 years old, not super old for a small dog, but definitely older. In the end, we chose to put her on antibiotics and we did a sugar test since diabetes could be causing some of her symptoms. Her sugar was fine.

Up until the vet visit, while Olivia had not eaten (except what I could slip down her throat), she had continued to drink and urinate. Afterward, she stopped peeing (though she would still drink). In my own mind, I was afraid that meant that her kidneys were beginning to shut down. She was weaker.

She made it through that first night, though she continued to get weaker. We were able to give her two daily doses of the medication, but that didn’t seem to help. That final night, as I lay her down on the dog bed, I was pretty sure we were reaching the end. I slept very light, waking a couple of times to see she’d moved off the bed, then worked herself right next to my bed.

Right before 3:00 am, Olivia made a few gasping sounds. Alan and I both got out of bed and held her. It was a few more minutes, then she took her final breath.

It has been really hard. My routine is broken. My heart feels broken. My sweet black dog is no longer sleeping right next to my head. My chair is empty, though I still find myself sitting right on the front edge to leave her room. Going to bed feels different. Waking up feels different. Each of these moments leaves me feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach. 

I’m sure this is partly because we’ve lost three dogs in the last two months. Five in the last year. They were all difficult. Taking in older dogs is challenging because you don’t get as much time. But we had both Olivia and Lily for 10 years. And now both are gone. And I ache.

I’m sorry to lay this on you. It’s just that I’m having a hard time coping. I haven’t felt like doing much of anything. Well, except dig through old files for photos. In the hopes that writing would help, I started this post on Saturday. It’s even been hard to keep up any writing momentum. If I haven’t returned a comment or responded to an email in the last week, I apologize. It will get better. I will get better. It just takes time.