I’m coming to understand that giving unwanted advice is an addiction, like drug use, it isn’t malicious or consciously intrusive, some people can’t help it, and I am learning to be more tolerant. Nothing brings this out more than a sick dog, and that ought not surprise me, of all people.
I marvel at all of the messages of advice which begin, “I know you hate advice, but…,” here is some. Rational people who listen would not give me advice if they knew I hated it, addicted people can’t help it, it is good to see that. I can live with it. It is something some people just need to do.
Have I tried a feeding tube? Might it be pancreatitis, could it be thyroids? Have we tried antibiotics? Did I realize I could get a second opinion on Gus’s condition? Have I tried this drug, or that?
When I put up a photo of the flossing string I pulled out of Gus’s butt (he was raiding the trash basket in the bathroom daily) at least a half-dozen people e-mailed me to say it was obvious this was a tapeworm, not a flossing string, and that was the problem.
I guess it’s an ego thing, part of the problem is that people must think me, the author of a dozen books on dogs, incredibly stupid not to know the difference between a tape worm and a flossing string, or that I can get second opinions if I want them (I have more than one, plus the 1,000 amateurs online).
Maybe its ego. I was often called stupid in my younger life, I tend to be sensitive to it.
The real story is the American idea that any problem is soluble with enough money or science – we are often promised that by the makers and sellers of miracles, it is in our DNA, all the way back to the Rainmaker. Drink my potion, it will rain.
We believe we can cheat nature and disease and death by simply denying it or find that miracle medicine, or amazing doctor or shaman, or solution, if only we keep at it. We believe it shows great character to never quit.
Hospice work is a great teacher, of course, as is the Mansion work. There are very few miracles out there, and acceptance is a precious spiritual gift, it would make me even crazier than I am to turn the flossing string into a tapeworm, or search for the one specialist who has that five thousand dollar consultation and remedy that sometimes works.
Megaesophagus is also a great teacher of acceptance. Nobody beats it.
In this world, there are absolutely no limits to the things it might really be or the things we might try.
People want to believe in miracles that change the reality of life and make us feel more in control.
And thanks to social media, there is no shortage of people whose mission is to give advance, and to think they can save me or him. We saved Spot by giving him Ginger tea, their Uncle Harry’s dog found a miracle cure in Chinese herbs, would find a place where people sell potions and dog gruel, my sister Anne lost five or six dogs, she would be happy to speak with you.
On this, and for the sake of my dogs, I march to my own drum.
When I have a sick dog, I remind myself again and again that this is not about me, or what I would wish. It’s certainly not about you and your dog, or what you read on a mailing list, or what your Uncle Harry did. I don’t care to be rescued.
It’s about the dog and what he needs. And about figuring out what it is that I want for him, and holding my ground.
At such times, I believe, I find my center and my truth, and I embrace it.
What do I want for Gus?
I do not want him living with a feeding tube in his stomach several times a day for the rest of his life. To me that is just another kind of abuse, the kind of abuse that emerges – like no-kill shelters – when we stop thinking about what is best for the dog, and focus instead on what is best for us, and what makes us look good.
But no dog of mine will ever live in a crate for years so people can feel warm and sticky.
I don’t look good or feel good with Gus. I could not save him, and he is suffering. Perhaps my own hubris got in the way, I thought I might figure it out. There are no winners here.
And no dog of mine will live in suffering, gagging and vomiting much of his food, struggling with malnutrition and the intestinal disorder that comes from the disease and his inability to absorb food, and always being ravenous, even seconds after he has eaten a can of dog food.
I do not sleep well knowing that Gus is hungry every minute of his life, even as he eats enough food for a pony. That is not my idea of love or being humane.
Most dogs are stoic, they can confuse and mislead us, right up to death.
Rose, my wonderful border collie, was eager to chase her sheep even as cancer ravaged her brain, and hours before she died. I do not buy the fantasy that dogs can tell us when it’s time to go, they are not conscious of their options, they have no idea what death is.
That’s my job. My responsibility is to treat Gus to the extent I am able and can afford to, to do the best I can for as long as I can, and then do whatever is necessary to minimize his suffering and retain his quality of life. Every day I see the consequences of sick and older people kept alive beyond all empathy, compassion or reason while the outside world gives them nothing but pills and procedures.
I am so grateful I can spare my dogs that fate.
There could be a million things wrong with Gus. There could be a million possible cure and remedies. There are millions of people without much training who have all of the answers, and think that I have none.
I love Gus very much, and so does Maria, and nothing would make us happier than to keep him alive for years. It is so unnatural for a puppy to die before its time, that is a new kind of pain for me, and for Maria.
That is what I am focused on, that is my mission. Next to that concern is the one for Maria and for me. We must always protect our lives, our life together, our farm and animals, our creativity, our own emotional stability and our resources, they may have to last a long time.
And no one else can do this for us, or should. This is our trouble, and we don’t give our troubles away.
The world does not function waiting to earn what I want. It has its own story to tell.
Nothing will distract me from thinking about what I want for Gus, and what is good for him, and it is very simple. I do not want him to suffer or lose his life and great spirit as a playful, affectionate and much-loved dog. I call him the Little King, he is a major presence here.
When I can’t do those things, it is my responsibility to help him leave the world with dignity and comfort. I think that is what being centered means – I try to remember what is important.
What do I wish for him? Not me.
I agree. It is yours and Maria’s decision only. And you are right, how much more difficult the decision over a puppy, rather than a geriatric dog, a darling charismatic puppy that has stolen your hearts. I know you will make the decision that is right for Gus whenever it is time to make a decision. I guess you are making a decision every day and one day the decision may be a different one. Your love for Gus is obvious. I feel for you all. The little guy has stolen all of our hearts. Of course I send you my continued best wishes. You and Maria have done and continue to do an awesome job with the little guy!
PS—I too am grateful that I have the ability to end my animals’ suffering when it seems to have crossed a line…this Post was important and so well expressed.
Well said, Jon.
Yet another great piece. I wish you peace Jon…
“The real story is the American idea that any problem is soluble with enough money or science” – This is so true, especially with anything related to our physical frailty. It is a dark side to American optimism and tenacity.
Oh Jon (and Maria)…I’m a vet tech and am so grateful for your courage to post this (as I was with your previous coverage on what you went through with Orson and the inevitable controversy you endured as a result) — you are lucky to have the relationship and trust you do with your vet AND that you and Maria make decisions together. Too many times I’ve seen people, most of the time with the absolute best of intentions, waiting too long to make the painful, but correct, decision…I regret that I’ve done it myself before so can’t cast too many stones.
I’m so very, very sorry that Gus doesn’t seem to be absorbing his food (I was hoping that your “mad scientist” ways with his diet would work and you would have more time with him because he sounds like a great little guy and credit to his breed); and I wish people would spend more time giving thought to how it would be to basically starve, or rather, watch him starve, regardless of how much food he’s offered and not criticize and second-guess your decisions. YOU see him day to day and can gauge his ups and downs (and their frequency), and it’s obvious that you have HIS best interests in the forefront of all your decisions with him.
In my opinion, megaesophagus is kind of like cancer in that you can throw a lot of money (and time) at it, and see specialist after specialist, and even though there are protocols to follow they may not work the same for each patient and certainly won’t work 100% of the time…I guess in that respect megaesophagus is probably worse because most of the time you won’t find a cure at all and are just “buying time”.
I may not know you (although I’ve been reading your blog for years) but I respect both you and Maria for your compassion and obvious love for all your animals, and, as I said before, for your courage and honesty in posting the bad with all the good. All my best to you both as you continue to try to figure this all out!
Jenn, thanks for that very special message, it meant a lot to me and I will show it to Maria also. You captured the drama of megaesophagus very beautifully – it is very much like terminal cancer, only it can be stalled and massaged and manipulated a bit. You are perceptive, watching Gus, I saw a dog uncomfortable much of the time, starving slowly, struggling with gagging and choking and vomiting. I do not wish for him to spend his time on the earth in that way, and to be frank, a long ordeal like this would threaten our way of life, which is precarious. Both of us have to earn money to pay our bills and keep the farm, we have only so much space, and energy to give away. So we’ll be talking with our vet and one another over the few days. I appreciated your message, it has so much truth and compassion in it. We have to work to focus on what is good for Gus. I saw early on that the phrase that kept coming up on the megaesophagus sites was “we gave him a couple of good years.” I think that statement is much more revealing than it seems. Life with dogs is wonderful, but also full of risk and loss. I accept them both. You sound like a wonderful vet tech, much like Cassadra and Nicole..I did fall for hubris, for awhile I thought I might have figured it out. I’m glad I tried.
Jon,
You and Maria will do the right thing for Gus, whatever your decision is!!!!
Beautifully written from your heart, Jon, with much love. I know you and Maria will always keep Gus’s wellbeing foremost, as it should be. Sending you strength and love
Susan M
your right when you said it’s quality of life.
what is life without joy. when there is only suffering. whether its a loved one or a beloved pet one’s heart aches for them.
you and maria will know when the time is right. the decision is yours alone but you are not going thru this alone. your community friends and bog readers are with you.
so many written memories and photos of gus in the pages of your bog and marias.
it was a blessing and great joy to know him.
lily our dog was quite close to our cat faith. when faith passed away here at home, as i held faith we let lily smell her. for us personally it was our way of trying to help lily. some will say we were projecting our feelings onto lily but we believe differently. we didn’t want lily to wonder why faith just disappeared. lily had just lost her close buddy.
remember..your decision, you life but your not going thru this rough, heart breaking time alone. grief shared with those who care becomes a lighter burden to carry. many hugs.
I think people just want to help. Sometimes just expressing sympathy does not seem to be enough. We all feel so sorry for little Gus. I, for one, am a very proactive person when it comes to the health of my animals. I will exhaust every reasonable avenue to keep my pet feeling good. I do, however, know when it is time to “let go.” Though I would be open to other people’s suggestions, if I were in your situation, I see that you are not, so I will respect that. When you share so much, it is hard not to share back. I wish you all the best with your beloved Gus.
Janice, thanks. I do believe they want to help, and I appreciate it. We all must follow our own instincts. My idea of helping is to honor people’s wishes..when someone is dying people often say “no gifts or flowers,” and I respect their wishes, I don’t send flowers with a note saying I know you hate flowers but I’m sending them anyway because it feels good to me. Much of this advice is bad, some is dangerous, all of it distracting. I don’t need 500 alternative ideas when I am trying to make a difficult and painful decision, I just need good wishes, which I get a lot of and appreciate. If I took much of this advice, Gus would be dead, and how am I supposed to know what to listen to, especially when I have highly regarded and trained vets that I know on the case. When people disregard the feelings of other people, they are doing it for themselves,not the other person, otherwise why not listen? I understand people are well meaning, but sharing a life is not giving it away. People who care about me accept my wishes and wish me good luck. That is what a sincere friend does, whether you share your life or not.
Jon,
I want to let you know that your books/blog have informed me as to how to handle these end of life situations for my dogs and I so appreciate it. I have has a couple of dogs in the past who were kept alive too long and looking back now I realize it was for us and not in their best interest. The last two that had to be euthanized were after I became aware of your work and I realized as you said that I had to be their advocate and made the proper decision for their “quality of life”. For that I thank you. I also made sure I was there and that I was the last thing they saw before moving on. Again for that info I thank you. It was not easy on me but it was so important that they heard my voice as they passed. I wish you and Maria (and Gus) the best in this difficult time.