“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” – James Baldwin.

Scott Carrino’s loving puppy dog Louie continued to decline sharply last night, and Scott and Lisa decided to euthanize him shortly before midnight.

I’ve been around many dog deaths, but this was an especially heartbreaking one, these two sweet souls were a perfect match,  Scott loved him dearly.

It is hard to lose any pet, but losing a puppy is a special kind of pain, as Maria and I learned when Gus died. It seems the most unnatural thing.

Death is part of life, and Scott and I will not soon forget this experience of renewing our friendship and connection in the deepest kind of way. Pain does connect us to all of the people who are alive.

I hope I was able to help him get through this.

Scott called me last night – we’ve been talking several times a day – and told me Louie’s white blood count was dropping rapidly, he couldn’t keep any kind of food or liquid down, was dehydrating, and suffering some kidney failure. He was declining.

There was no good news to hang onto. It was time to end his suffering.

There were lots of tears all around. It is a good thing when men let themselves cry.

All puppies are cute, but Louie was especially sweet and endearing.

When I saw him for the last time on Saturday, he came over to me wagging his tail, the first time he had done that in days and the last time he would ever do it.

I was helping Scott train him, and Louie was a cheerful, bright, and accommodating student. He was the kind of dog who could crawl into your heart.

Scott and I were good friends; then we drifted apart; I hadn’t seen him or talked to him much lately, in the way of men, who put almost everything in their lives above friendship.

But this experience reminded both of us that we care about one another. No one can go through this alone.

Louie had a feeding tube in his nose, and the vets were suggesting blood transfusions today.

Money was not a factor in Scott’s decision, but I told him I thought it should be; the bill was rising into the stratosphere. If the treatment had gone on much longer, it would have reached $10,000 easily.

Sometimes mercy means letting go, not hanging on.

Scott did everything possible to help this dog and save him, and then some. I urged him to be on guard against guilt.

Scott was in agony. He asked me what I thought.  I said it was his decision, and I would respect whatever he decided and support it in any way I could.

I saw he needed and wanted some guidance and reassurance. I think he knew what he wanted to do. If it were me, I said, I would stop. I would euthanize the dog, to end his suffering and also mine.

I said we are advocates for these animals, they can’t speak for themselves, and part of our role as stewards was to prevent suffering.

I said I wouldn’t want this prolonged, painful, and unnatural treatment for me, or Maria, or for him, and I can’t justify spending that kind of money on a sick dog when so many children in America don’t even have health care.

I often think of the refugee families, so poor they can’t eat three meals a day or heat their apartments in the winter.

I told Scott I understand the pain he was in – he loved that dog “terribly,” as he put it, he delighted in having him around – but I promised him in time he would have another dog again if that is what he wished.

The lesson here, I said, is that he really loves and needs having a dog, not that he doesn’t or shouldn’t because this turned out so badly.

Scott has been through enough; he and Lisa lost their beloved cafe when the pandemic struck, and they are working day and night to build a wholesale food business.

They work hard, and Louis was a cherished bright spot and comfort for them.

When I get out of the hospital, I suggested that I come to Scott and Lisa’s farm, and we have a quiet memorial service and remembrance for Louis. Some closure, perhaps.

Scott is not seeking financial help, but I’d love to help him get another dog when some time passes. People who love dogs that much should have dogs.

This was a rough experience, but Scott learned a lot above love and compassion, and so did I, and our friendship was renewed.

I was so grateful to be in a position to help Scott navigate this nightmare. Light follows dark; everything is a lesson.

I am grateful to be a human being and experience the crisis, mystery, and richness of life. I told Scott there was no point in trying to make sense of this, a loving dog is a precious gift, but like everything good in life, there is no sense trying to understand the suffering and death of an angelic puppy.

One has to accept it and move forward. Dog love and pet love is intense. In its own way, it asks a lot of us, it it calls for courage and perspective. Death is the toll we pay for it.

We can’t make these awful decisions for the people we love; we can look for our animals.

Scott asked me if I would text him when my surgery is over. I will.