Took my dogs to the beach today–the old lady Sarah and the young upstart Emmy.
Sarah, a lab mix, used to live to go places but is now mostly confined to the yard – she was very excited.
Nevertheless, I had to lift all 95 lbs. of her
into the back of my Prius.
Emmy, a sharp and alert 68 lb. Sheppard,
practically jumped over us to fit in as well.
They smelled the beach miles before we arrived–
the car fogged up with dog breath.
Out like we came in, old lady Sarah, huffing and puffing
before we got 10 feet from the car; Emmy already annoyed at the slow pace.
30 yards from where we started, Sarah lays down near the lapping shore of the sea. Her eyes and her memories were much bigger than her arthritic body could manage. No frolicking in the surf, no chasing of balls, sticks, birds or sea foam.
This was it.
She could go no further. She lay panting in the sand, staring out to sea.
Emmy, the young upstart whined and pulled on the leash saying without any words – “Come on; let’s go”!
I wonder what she sees, my old friend, in the rhythmic pounding of the surf, the eternal grinding down of things.
Does she know?
Perhaps. I do, and our ancestors knew and we know
that all that lives must die,
that all things flow back to the sea from which they came,
that the best we can do is remember the good things
and not to be afraid.
(For God will not leave us comfortless.)
Dear Rabbi George,
Your message (I was glad to hear it in person) really touched me. We , too, have an aging dog/friend: Sasha is our 18 year old, very spoiled miniature poodle. She is mostly blind, deaf, arthritic, sometimes senile, and has “potty retention issues.” This little girl has been our constant and faithful companion through all of our life’s journeys over the last 18 years: happy and sad times, professional journeys, family illnesses and passings, our kids growing up, leaviing for college, and then for good as they start their own homes, and now our retirement years (well, for me, almost!). She has often had to wait long hours for all of us to get home, has eaten all we have offered her (and more) without a fuss, and has gracefully waltzed through all of our family’s events wtihout a complaint or whine. She has faithuflly lain by our collective sides during illnesses or after surgeries, somehow knowing that her mere presence was one of the greatest healing factors of all.
Now as Sasha has entered her “platinum” years, she is still teaching us life lessons about grace, faithfulness, and joy. We have to remind her to go outside for frequent potty breaks, and we have had to alter her food and drinking schdules, but she still is happy to be with us and know where we are. This precious little girl has brought us so much joy, and yet now, we are faced with a grueling evaluative position concerning her “quality of life.” Life is precious, we know, but who is to say when it is time to be “over?” We grapple now with either letting her live life on her own terms until her natural end (which will involve our sacrifice of getting up several times a night to take her out), or somehow gauging when her life is too difficult to have what we humans call “quality,” and ending it for her. How can we take a life?
How very special. Thank you so much.
Shari and I loved your dogs at the beach commentary last Friday night, so much like our own trips to Dillon Beach with aging Mookie, who needs to be lifted into the Subaru, and hyper-energetic Claudia, who dashes into the surf and laps up so much salt water she usually vomits on the sand. I need to send you from home a copy of a recent comic panel depicting a god-like figure on a cloud, gazing toward Earth and remarking, “Truth be told, if it wasn’t for dogs I’d have blow it up long ago.”
Guy, I would love to see that comic.
Even when our dog Maggie Pumpkin was age 2 or 3, I sometimes thought about how painful it would be for us to lose her someday. But those thoughts were fleeting. Now, she joins Robyn and me in middle age. We all love staying active as possible, being in the garden, enjoying long walks and enjoying family time. Rabbi George, thanks for writing about your dogs and letting your experience with them reveal the larger questions and thoughts.
….loss looms large at 80…. Our family–friends–animals are so precious—seeing them aging and feeling oneself–with all the signs of it—a tough place to go. This has touched my heart, thanks. — I just lost my cat Meigh–have had lots of cats–but he was a truly special soul–he is so missed. Thanks for your reflection.
Thank you for sharing, you brought tears to my eyes.
I have a cat, Tooter, who is 19yr 6 mos, deaf and with stage 3 kidney disease.
Everyday is a joy with him, he is my friend, I talk to him often. It is a big deal when I clean his litter box to make sure that he is using it and I find results, I guess kidney disease slows things way down. We cuddle and he still bats his toy mice about but not like he used to. Seeing him struggle some mornings to walk until he gets all the kinks out saddens me too. He does not complain much.
The Vet reminds me that he is an old man and doing well for his age. I sure hope I do as well in my old age and don’t complain much.
I was touched by your comments about your dog Sarah. I remember seeing you with your dog, Sarah, at Santa Rosa Vet Hospital some years back when I had not yet had my children Elijah and Justin; and did not belong to any Jewish organization. I had Leroy, a lab mix whom I adopted from the shelter on Highway 12, when he was just eight weeks — a foster dog. He is now almost fifteen and has cushings disease. It is a daily struggle adjusting his medications and paying for his treatment. We were blessed to find a very caring veterinarian. Leroy has been like a father to these children, along with Isis our female dog. From the moment they both came home from the hospital, there was constant concern and participation in the daily goings on of my children. Leroy has been a constant presence in our home — and so patient for his turn at getting attention. He will be greatly missed when he passes, and forever in our hearts. Thank you for your thoughtful reflection of your experience with your own dogs, especially Sarah.
Your comments about Sarah made me cry today. It’s hard to say good bye to pets. And people. And it’s hard to give up bits and pieces of your own life as you age. The blessing is that there is lots of love in Sarah’s life and perhaps still a little gleam in her eye when she gets a bone or is brushed. I’m sure she knows she is loved and cared for. And if and when the decision is made to end it, I’m sure it will be loving and peaceful. And if dogs feel gratitude, I’m sure she – being a smart dog – will appreciate the gift you give. Suffering is never beautiful. And I don’t believe anyone is elevated by perpetuating suffering. But, still, taking a life is no easy decision and when has no easy timeline.