# When it's that time.



## Kipsley (2 d ago)

My second shepherd was Kaiser, a rescue dog. He was pretty healthy but had juvenile arthritis his whole life.
At around 9 years old his walking was quite bad and painful for him. 

I remember one day putting on his harness and helping him into the back seat of the car so as to drive him to the park. I thought I was doing the right thing, but when we got there and I opened the door for him, he was shaking so bad with just the thought of trying to jump down to the ground.

I helped him out very carefully, but that image of that big rough-tough german shepherd trembling in my back seat will stay with me forever.

Eventually he could not even walk up the ramp to the vets, so our vet began making house calls. He'd come around monthly and perform what we called a "quality of life" check up. As an old boy he was happy to just chill by the front door and watch the world go by.

It was at this time that I made arrangements for when he would soon pass away. I remember hanging up the phone having just pre-paid for his cremation. I looked at him then at my parents and said "I've just paid for his funeral". I then ran to my room crying.

When he was 10 and just short of his 11th birthday, Kaiser had a stroke while I was bathing him outside. I carried this big wet brute of a dog inside and managed to get him on to his bed, then I frantically called his vet.

Paul came out after his shift had finished and we all went very quiet as he took the stethoscope from his ears, looked at me, and shook his head.

It was time to go.

Kaiser seems well enough but he could no longer swallow. I tried to hand feed him even, but the food just fell out of his mouth as he tried to chew.

Paul sent him to sleep that day and I helped lift him into the back of Paul's ute. I said goodbye, watched him drive away, then went back inside and cried, and cried, and cried.

About a week later there was a knock on my door. "Kaiser is home" a well dressed man said with a smile as he handed me a bag with a simple cardboard tube of ashes inside.

We buried him in what is now known as the shepherd's garden out back. He's always with us in his forever home now.

I'm crying even now just writing this but I so miss him!

But... I also feel like I betrayed him in some way, as when Paul gave him that first needle in the back of the neck, the one that would have him sleeping, Kaiser looked at me with a complete look of surprise on his face as if he was saying "You're helping him?"

I'm sorry, Kaiser.


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## tim_s_adams (Aug 9, 2017)

So sorry for your loss! 

In a way, whatever time you choose to relieve your companion's pain will always be wrong in retrospect. That's when the "but what if" questions come. You loved him and wanted to ease his suffering, so trust your decision...hard as that can be. All the best, heal well!


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## Kipsley (2 d ago)

You are quite right. I wasn't ready to let him go. Two years on and it's still hard to talk about him.
And yes. All those "If only I had done...." moments.

As a friend once said to me:

"They eat all your food. They crap all over your garden. Then they break your heart".

So true.


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## WNGD (Jan 15, 2005)

Based on everything that you wrote, you made the right decision and certainly not too soon. The look was thank you for being compassionate.


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## Honey Maid (Dec 25, 2020)

Dang, should never have read your post, something has gotten into both my eyes, having a bad day here anyway, and shouldn't be here in the first place. Nothing personal, just solar power problems, but at my age it's very stressful.


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## Dunkirk (May 7, 2015)

Rudyard Kipling 'nailed it' with his poem, The Power of the Dog.

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
_Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear._

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
_Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear._

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
_Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear._

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
_You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear._

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
_So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?_


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