Invariably she says Yes, and Expects a Biscuit (Pet Bereavement)

Member Name: Aspen

Product:	Pet Bereavement
Date:	14/12/01 (95 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Is it not about time that some independent thought was given

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<**Updated Christmas Day, for one minor grammatical correction, and quite cynically, 'cos it's the best I've done this month, and it means a lot to me, so I want it at the top of the heap.**>


When I hear another Homo sapiens say “But it’s only an animal”, I want to kill.

Yet in some strange way, I understand their point of view. We adopt animals, treat them as part of the family, regard them in some (many) ways as human, and often grieve their passing at least as much as we do our relatives. But they are only animals.

Yes, I understand their point of view. Because we are all different.


But personally, I have grieved a damn site more for lost pets than I ever have for certain of my relatives. You can choose your pets . . . .


Many years ago, our six-year-old Golden Lab (yes, only six), had gone through her third major operation to remove malignant tumours. The vet told us straight. This was only a prolonging exercise.

His advice was to get a puppy. Now. While the “old” dog was still well enough to train the young one, and at the same time, ease, for us, her inevitable passing.

We took that advice. We bought a ten week old black labrador crossed with a small percentage of tractor.

The next couple of months were an incredible experience.

Old Lab dragged herself out for a pee – only three legs functioned, the other trailed. But she would make several attempts, trailing that leg, until Young Lab followed her. Then when both were out together, Old Lab having done her thing, she would stand at the door, barring the way of Young Lab for as long as it took until Young Lab performed. Then they would come in together.

The kids were infants at the time, crawling. We were a bit concerned with a boisterous puppy about the place.

We need not have worried. Wherever they crawled, Old Lab crawled with them, and put her ai
ling body between the bairns and the over-exuberant pup. Put a big Golden paw on a small black neck if fun and frolic threatened to get out of control.

It was both a joy and a sadness to behold.


When the time came, I could not bring her home. And I know many of you will castigate me for this, but I wanted to remember a lively, loving Old Lab. I did not want my last memory to be a limp bundle. We said goodbye to the family, I took her to the vet, and came home alone.

Not directly.

I shed tears for a long time in a lay-by.

After all, she was only six.


Young Lab lasted twice as long. Perhaps it was the element of tractor (or collie).

And thanks to the wonderful non-human training she received, she was so good with the kids she could have baby-sat. No formal training whatsoever, yet she was perfectly house-trained, totally obedient, everything you could ever want in a dog.

That vet was so right.

No human being can train a dog like another dog can.


Of course, there are exceptions. Into Young Lab’s life came the (now) geriatric Jack Russell. Found a-wandering and unclaimed, and of indeterminate age. Incontinent and untameable.

And the only person/animal/creature ever to push Young Lab over the precipice of canine restraint. But although she bit the geriatric JR’s arse a few times, it was only after intense provocation, and I have every sympathy. I have been tempted myself occasionally, but have been deterred only by the knowledge of where her arse has been.

Young Lab went the way of Old Lab the Christmas before last. Christmas Eve, in fact. She, too, had endured three operations, for the same problem which seems to so afflict Labs.

I had resolved (yes, I. By now wife and kids had grown up and fled the nest.) not to put her through another ordeal. Time comes when you have to ask yourself the question – Am I doing this for th
e dog or for me?

But I could not undertake a repeat journey. This time (to hell with the cost) I asked the vet to come to me. But I also asked the vet to take her away.

Once again, I wanted the mental images, and the photographs, of a lively dog in her prime.

Though I was present at her lethal injection, that was not the memory I wanted.


As it happens, had I opted to take both dogs home, and buried them in the garden – as so many people do – they would now be in the garden of someone else. We do not know what is around the next corner.


Pets – whether dogs or any other animal – become part of the family, and unless you are a pet lover, you will find that difficult to understand.

Pet bereavement is every bit as traumatic as human bereavement. More so in many cases, because no-one bothers to pretend to mourn a pet. Relatives you haven’t seen since the year dot don’t turn up when your dog dies and express their condolences. But we all turn up to plant Great Uncle Bert, though few of us have exchanged two words with him since nineteen oat-cake, and many of us have never even seen him.

When you lose a friend from the animal kingdom, at least the few who mourn his/her passing are genuine.


I don’t know if this helps anyone who has suffered pet bereavement. But I hope that the sharing of experiences will bring some benefit.



{Old Lab was called Truffle. Young Lab was called Do’nut. Geriatric Jack Russell was, and still is, called Bisto. She is now stiff, partly deaf, definitely arthritic, but – touch wood – has not yet developed any of the problems of her Lab predecessors. I take her in the car to a country park, leave her in the car in the car park, go for a walk, come back, take her home, carry her into the house, and ask her if she enjoyed her walk.

Invariably she says yes, and expects a biscuit.)
>



© Mike Clark 2001



(Please ignore the mandatory "Recommend to a friend", which has no N/A field, but damned well should have)

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