I was recently struck by a profound event in my life.  Not only did it touch me, but also my daughter and wife.  For those of you who have had a dog and experienced it’s making transition you will know what I mean.

About 8 years ago we got an American Eskimo dog.  As we drove back from the kennel I remember sitting with a little white, fluffy ball in my lap and thinking how fluffy she looked.  I also remembered a certain three-headed dog called fluffy in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.  For a reason that I will never be able to rationally explain I turned to my wife and said, “Why don’t we call her Fluffy.”

And so with Fluffy in tow we became dog owners.  I had never owned a dog before, and Fluffy was my first experience at getting to know a canine.  I had no idea how they can make their way deep within your soul and heart.  I also had no idea at what was to come.

At first all was well.  Fluffy was a boystrous puppy, with lots of energy, love and attentiveness.  She was very clever, and had begun to master some wonderful tricks.  Our favourite was pointing our finger, saying “BANG” and watching her roll over to play dead.

However, just before she reached the age of two she started exhibiting some strange symptoms.  At first, we found that everytime we took her for a run at the dog park she would invariably tear a claw off.  This made little sense.  My wife, being an experienced dog-owner couldn’t understand it.  A few trips to the vet later we realized that we would have to be very careful about how we exercised her.

However, not long after the losing the third claw on a fateful Saturday morning I walked in on my dog suffering greatly.  I will never forget her trembling on the ground, shaking violently, unable to drink or eat.  I thought she was dying.

After a phone call with my wife I took her to the emergency vet and we began a series of visits that, after 3 months, would ultimately result in a diagnosis of Addison’s Disease.  It turns out that both dogs and humans can suffer from this disease.  Here is the definition for Addison’s Disease at Wikipedia:

“Addison’s disease (also chronic adrenal insufficiency, hypocortisolism, and hypoadrenalism) is a rare, chronic endocrine disorder in which the adrenal glands do not produce sufficient steroid hormones (glucocorticoids and often mineralocorticoids). It is characterised by a number of relatively nonspecific symptoms, such as abdominal pain and weakness, but under certain circumstances these may progress to Addisonian crisis, a severe illness in which there may be very low blood pressure and coma.”

In short, Fluffy would require monthly injections to provide her with the adrenaline she needed to survive, and a daily pill to balance and complete the treatment.  We had saved her life but had begun what would become a 6 year journey of having borrowed time with her.  We also discovered that dogs with Addison’s Disease would generally be expected to live to about 8 years old.   The strain on the organs of artificial adrenaline being introduced eventually leads to organs wearing out and the body shutting down.

And so 6 years later it turned out that Fluffy proved the science to be correct.  Over the past few months her health had been slowly getting worse.  Her appetite had declined.  On some days she did not climb the stairs to join us.  But last Friday her condition took a turn for the worse.

After getting my daughter ready for school I realized that I needed to give Fluffy her pill.  However, I also realized she was not downstairs.  After finding her upstairs I carried her down with me.  She refused her pill (which we placed into her favourite food, cheese).  She would not eat and lost control of her bodily function by her water bowl.

Having to take my daughter to school I then promptly returned instead of going to my clients’ office.  Fluffy had managed to make it downstairs to the backdoor.  I spent the next 30 minutes sitting with her and texting my wife (who was away).

It was around the point that Fluffy, who had been getting lots of loving attention from me, decided that she would rather slink off to be in a cupboard with the cat litter than be with me.  At this point both my wife and I suspected the worst.

After a tear-filled trip to the vet I remembered that we had always agreed that should Fluffy, who had had so many years of borrowed time, come to be seriously ill again we would put her down.  And here I was comforting a dog who was suffering greatly.  By the time we got to the vet her body was making strange squeaking noises and she had started to tremble.  After a heartwrenching conversation with the vet we agreed to put her down.

I cannot recall being so sad and yet so convinced that with this choice I could ensure that her last thoughts in this lifetime would be happy ones, with her owner lovingly staring into her eyes.  Out of a sense of love and compassion I spent the next 20 minutes staring into her eyes, stroking her, and thanking her for having been such a wonderful dog.

For you see, not only had she taught my daughter the lesson of gentleness and love, but she had also helped me to remember a daily childhood experience where I would be terrorized by a neighbours’ terrier surprising me with vicious barking.

I am not able to tell you whether this was the right decision according to science.  But I will say that my heart moved me to compassion.  As a human being with a dog in my care, I made the decision to ensure her last thoughts would be happy ones, surrounded by love, and that the last moments of her experience would be pain-free.

And yet I will never forget that as I sat there consoling her, it was all she could do to feebly try and lick the tears streaming down my face.  Even in the midst of her suffering it was all she could do to console one of her loved ones.

I leave you with the last picture of Fluffy.  She was a happy dog inspite of the chronic disease she spent her lifetime with.