Cricket was my familiar, my baby, my little soulmate. We chose each other and stuck together like glue.
When I got Cricket from rat terrier rescue, she was already about six to eight years old. I thought I was in for heartbreak by adopting a middle-agedĀ dog. Well, I was, but not because we got only a couple of years. We got ten years, and I’m so grateful for that. But I was still in for heartbreak because of how much we loved each other and because ten years, or twenty, or thirty would never have been enough.
Cricket as I remember her best: confident and direct. The other dogs disliked her direct gaze.
Cricket was a robust little thing. Only 12 pounds, but sturdy, intense, brave, and frankly, bitchy to other dogs. Even with limited interactions between the two of them, Cricket managed to intimidate my very pushy puppy Clara, who quickly grew to be more than three times Cricket’s size but never even thought of messing with her.
Cricket never had many health problems. The worst thing that happened was that she would repeatedly scratch her cornea when rolling in the grass and had to wear a cone on her head for long periods during the summer. And as she aged, she developed neurological weakness in her hind legs. But that was it, man. Otherwise, she was healthy as a tiny, sturdy horse.
So as bad luck would have it, this strong little dog who was aging so well and was so physically strong started to lose her mind instead.
I had some experience with dementia since my mother had Alzheimer’s, but I had no idea dogs could get it until then. I tell the story of Cricket’s diagnosis and how I learned about dementia in my book. But that’s not my focus today. Most of the people who come to this website are already struggling with the thought of euthanizing their dogs. So I am going to skip ahead, over our wonderful years together, and go to the end.
There’s that look again
I have to be honest. I could talk about the tragedy of canine cognitive dysfunction and the pathos of watching a dog’s mind deteriorate. Those things are real and commonly experienced by owners. But in my case, once I learned what was going on, I rolled with it. Goofy and mixed up, she was still my little Cricket. She was still essentially herself. I do realize now that, while I had to deal with some pretty difficult symptoms (like her pooping on the rug and walking around in it almost every day), we had it easier than a lot of others. She actually slept at night. She got quieter instead of barkier, to the great relief of my other dogs.
But this is the hardest thing to explain: I wasn’t really that sad about her dementia. Of course, I wished she had all her marbles. She had been such a sharp little dog. But I could and did accommodate her decline. She lived for two years after her diagnosis. I couldn’t be sad all the time. I loved her fiercely. She was still 100% my little girl.
I started agonizing over the decision of when/whether to euthanize her pretty early in the game. She scratched her cornea again when she was 15 or 16, and since by then she couldn’t cope with the plastic cone, I thought I was going to lose her. Over a scratch in her eye! But I found another kind of device she could wear that prevented her from bothering her eye, and she healed up and was fine. Whew. Thank goodness for the inflatable doughnut.
But from then on, I was always assessing. Was she happy? Were her days mostly positive? Was I being selfish by keeping her with me? Was she miserable because of her declining mental capacities? I checked with trusted friends regularly to make sure I wasn’t unduly biased.
Through observation, I determined that she wasn’t bothered by her decline. She didn’t know about it. This is true of many humans with Alzheimer’s as well. Not all, but many. There is even a name for the syndrome of not knowing you have something wrong with you: anosognosia. It is actually a typical symptom of dementia. And to all appearances, Cricket had the doggie equivalent of that.
I feel confident in reporting about typical attitudes in the U.S., and these may be prevalent in most other English speaking countries as well. People who can afford to give their pets good medical care usually decide to euthanize their pets when they won’t eat and start to waste away. If we feel like we can control the pain of whatever conditionĀ they might have, we take “not eating” or sometimes “unable to walk” as the main turning point. But I have come to observe that many pets are already living with pain and a poor quality of life before they refuse food or become too weak to walk.
I started listening to wise people like Blanche Axton and Sue Matthews, who both wrote beautiful pieces about their attitudes towards euthanasia and were kind enough to let me reprint them in my book, Remember Me. I think the chapter where the three of us tell our stories gives more comfort to people than any other.
Theyāand Iādon’t want to squeeze out every last day our pets can handle. We want to help them leave this life before the final decline. The saying, “Better a week too early than a day too late” has become my mantra. I imagine this is shocking to some people. We all need to make our own decisions about this. But I bet also that to some people who are struggling with guilt over a dog with dementia it can be a great comfort.
In 2013, Cricket could no longer go on a real walk (she circled instead). She got trapped behind stuff and paced or circled much of the day. But she still went to work with me most days. She had a goodāa greatāappetite. And she still knew me. This was pivotal for me, and I don’t think I was being self-centered. She had gone through periods of anxiety early in the onset of dementia but seemed to have passed through them. The medication she was on, selegiline, probably helped. But I feared the day she would forget me. Maybe the anosognosia would help there, too. Maybe she could keep sailing through life just fine without me. But I didn’t want to risk it. So that was one benchmark I was conscious of. I wanted to let her pass out of this world before she forgot me, lest she would become anxious again.
A friend remarked how she always stayed close to me. When I was present, she would toddle up (remember the rear end weakness) until she could sniff my leg to make sure it was me. Then she would stick around with me. She would stay with her head right next to my leg, her nose often touching. This was such a comfort to both of us. And a signal to me of what was important to her.
In the spring of 2013, I observed that she enjoyed our time together outside less. She had lost most intention. She still peed when I took her out, bless her heart. But after that, she would simply walk downhill, wherever that took her. She had little volition. And she was less interested in smells. In late March she forgot how to drink water. She still had an appetite and ate healthily, but she had forgotten how to drink water. I made all of her meals into soup with milk or unsalted broth, or just water in a pinch. She continued to eat with gusto and I kept her hydrated that way. But I knew her quality of life was teetering.
She grew frailer. She had no metabolic or internal problems that I knew of, but her rear end weakness was making it harder to walk. Her balance was poor and when she did walk she had no idea where she was going. I knew the time was coming, and I obsessed about when. I was proud that she was still at her lifetime normal weight of 12 pounds. She was still eating great. When might that change? What else might change before that?
People often say that the dog will “tell you when it’s time to go.” My opinion may not be a popular one, but I believe that when we wait for dogs to tell us, we have often waited too long. So many dogs are stoic. The day they lose one more pound and look more emaciated, can’t get up to stand, or look at us pleadingly may well comeĀ after they have already suffered. We can’t eliminateĀ all suffering, but we don’t have to force them to go down this road, either because we want their companionship or we feel guilty taking our beloved dog’s life.
So I didn’t wait for a signal from Cricket. She was cognitively impaired, after all. I can be sentimental and romantic, but I won’t do it at my dog’s expense. It’s a romantic thought that the dog will know when it’s time to go and somehow convey that to you. I decided not to count on that.
The day Cricket had a major seizure, I decided to euthanize her. That, to me, was the turning point that indicated we were looking at a downhill slope in her quality of life.
It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I decided to euthanize her immediately. I didn’t try for a sweet last day or night. The weekend was coming upĀ and I didn’t want her to have more seizures. And I had already been trying to make all of her days sweet.
These are some of the hardest words I’ll ever write, but CricketĀ didn’t go easily. The vet had to use six times the normal dose of the drugs to euthanize her. There was a point during the process where, if I could have, I might have changed my mind. But I was afraid she would be left with permanent damage if I tried to reverse the process. In the end, I still think my decision was the right one. But when she sat in my lap, alertly looking around, after the first doseādouble what should have euthanized herāit was agony.
On the other hand, I had long known that this was the way she would go out of the world. She was toughāterribly, terribly toughāand full of life. She wasn’t going to make it easy for me. That’s who she was.
It is very, very hard to euthanize a dog who can still walk, will still eat, and has it in her to growl at the vet. I can’t count how many times people have come to this site with a dog who is in very late stage dementia but the person is convinced that they are being selfish for considering euthanasia. These people don’t strike me as selfish. Not at all. I think in some cases, euthanasia is the most unselfish things we can do for our dogs.
Dogs with metastatic cancer or end-stage kidney disease are obviously ill. We can see their suffering. But sometimes, when dogs with advanced dementia still have fairly healthy bodies, we can’t see it. But canine cognitive dysfunction is a progressive, debilitating illness, as serious and impairing as many others.
You folks who come to this website are almost all suffering. You don’t usually get a lot of praise or affirmation from the world for all you are doing.Ā But you are heroes to me because of the amount of thoughtful, endless care you provide for your sweet, ancient, confused dogs. I wish for peace and comfort for all of you and for your dogs.
Cricket in her prime
See more resources regarding euthanasia here.Ā
Copyright 2017 Eileen Anderson
521 Comments
I believe if our babies at least have one family member of the pack with them when they go it is a comfort for them not alone. My heart goes out to all of you as my little girl goes over the rainbow to meet and tell all of our babies their stories of their human parents.
Thank you so much for this website and particularly this article. Our rescue dog, a chihuahua mix, is about 10 years old and I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to euthanize. He cries most of the day and gets “lost” in the kitchen. He seems anxious and frightened no matter what we do, and has lost any potty training skills he had. He doesn’t come to his name. Thank you for this supportive article – Cricket was lucky to have you on her side!
Just as your little guy is lucky to have you. I’m sorry you are having to face this hard time with your little one. But yes, he’s lucky to be so loved.
To all my “didows & didowers” .
my thoughts & best wishes reach out to YOU!
Circa 14 months ago, Sophieš¶Girl went over the šBridge. I never know whenst I will revisit my saddness, grief & regret. Maybe I couldv’e continued the suffering of CCD???
Today I am crying much!
Please look on the internet for …Dog images in the clouds. That helps me a lot.
I walk her walk daily, play her songs on my phone, doggie sit my grand dogs and …whew!
Roy Orbisson’s song…”Crying Over You” fits.”
…I was allright for awhile, I could smile for awhile, then…”
I pray to St. Roch…& St Francis a lot.
I doggie sit my 2 grand dogs too!
Bless You All
Roberta
My little fella has Dementia, deafness, going blind, liver problems, and Osteo arthritis, he has been devoted to me for 15 yrs, he still likes a short walk and eats and drinks all day if he could, but my wife thinks its time for him to go, and she is probably right, but I think rightly or wrongly all the excuses not to, betraying him is the worst with guilt, but I really don’t want him to suffer, so I have to let him go, if I can do it.
I have been reading all of the comments,I also lost my buddy oscar to ccd.I had a great 16 years with him.Hugs out to all of you it’s the hardest decision I had ever had to make something I think I will never get over.I miss him so much.12/8/18 miss you little buddy.Think of you all the time.
Thank you for this site and article, Eileen. Our precious “Pick the Pug” was diagnosed with renal failure 18 mo. ago. She stabilized with diet. A few months ago she began directing a keening-like cry at dusk at my husband. Totally out of character. The vet gave her Trazadone for anxiety. She had bronchitis so took a dive in Sept. The vet found her trachea collapsed. She was on bronchial dilator, prednisone, hydrocodone, antibiotics and hand fed rotisserie chicken. We almost euthanized her , then she sprang back. The vet with us decided to stop her diet and let her eat our French bulldog Benny’s food . We quit all meds but Prednisone to focus on her quality of life. CCD Symptoms appeared during this time that I attributed to her little kidney’s inability to process the meds. Obsessive attachment, she’d wake from a deep sleep if my smell left the room. She forgets what she’s doing, stares off in corners, disoriented, incontinent and got stuck behind furniture. We don’t mind cleaning up cause we love her. As with your Cricket, she is my soul mate. She is also too loyal to die. Pick turned 15 Oct. 15th. I’m so grateful I found your site, Here it is Christmas, I’m gifting her with release tomorrow. Your article enlightened and helped immensely . We’ll take Benny with, for those who have other dogs, it’s important they be present. Dogs emit pheromones when they pass. Dogs know immediately and get closure. My broken heart goes out to anyone who ever loved a dog and had to do this as a final act of care.
Cyd
Dear Cyd,
I’m so sorry. I hate that you are having to make this choice, but it sounds like a good one. It is a very generous thing to do when we want them to stay so badly.
I’ll be thinking of you and little Pick tomorrow.
Eileen
Dear Friends,
SOPHIE’S privileged BEST FRIEND for many years. My thoughts & prayers with YOU ALL!
Our babies are romping in
DOGGIE HEAVEN š playing and hapoy once again.
Roberta
PS my nickname is….
POOCHIE..
Really!
We put our boy down Saturday. He was almost 12. A rott/Shep mix that was still strong and healthy looking.
The last few months he wouldn’t stop barking and I mean upset barking ALL Day! He would pace around, couldn’t calm down to take a nap. I blamed it on our other dog and made all kinds of excuses why he was just annoyed. But he was frustrating us and I was getting angry with him. ( Now I have such guilt over being angry).
A couple weeks ago he wouldn’t go in his dog house to sleep and stayed out in the mud and rain instead. We took him in and dried him off. He just seemed tired.
To let him rest, I separated him and our other dog. It didn’t help. So, the last 2 weeks I kept him inside, but he mostly slept. He had some good days, but he mostly wanted to eat and sleep.
He was always stubborn, but would obey my husband even if it was a struggle. The day before we put him down I let him outside because it was a nice day and I wanted him to get sunshine. He again barked all day, even dropping his bones to bark. He never dropped bones!
I didn’t let him inside that night because I wanted him to sleep in his dog house that he use to love. My husband couldn’t sleep bc of his barking, so he went outside to put him in his dog house.
Our boy acted wild, ran through his fence and into our house. My husband tried to get him and our hot bit and drew blood. He always respected my husband.
At that moment I knew we had to put him down. I didn’t want to give up on him, but he want going to get any better. My husband tried to get a leash on him and he tried to bite again. He loved his leash!
So I’m torn up with guilt not letting him sleep inside that night. But, it may have happened anyway. He was suffering while looking healthy and acting relatively normal.
We’d been thinking about how much longer he was going to live and I think I glazed over all the signs thinking that since he looked good and was still eating and drinking he was ok. But he didn’t want massages anymore. He didn’t want to lay on my lap anymore. He just barked and ate really fast.
Reading this article helped. But the guilt is still there no matter how many times people tell me not to feel guilty.
I’m so sorry for your loss. That was traumatic, along with the tragedy of having to lose your sweet boy. My heart goes out to you. I do support your decision. I know it’s hard, though.
Eileen
Cricket sounds like she was a wonderful dog. You did the right thing from what it sounds like and that cannot have been an easy decision. I think youāre right in saying our pets wonāt always let us know when theyāre ready; itās a rare blessing. I canāt imagine theyād ever want to leave us anymore than we want them to go.
Thank you for your kind words.
Eileen
Thank you for this website. It has helped my wife and I understand this terrible condition over the last two years. “Bacon”, our 12yr old Newfie/Shepard mix went off to the rainbow bridge yesterday. He battled increasing dementia over the last two years and it has broken my heart that he is no longer with my family. He had a stroke of some sort 3 days ago and we knew it was time. I am struggling with massive guilt on the decision to send him on his way but he was no longer eating and wouldn’t try to walk. Though he got plenty of exercise (hiking, dog parks and good walks every day!) I am struggling with second-guessing if I could have stimulated him more mentally, could I have prevented this evil condition and given him a longer life? We saw the anxiety and fear take over the last two years to the point where his behavior was no longer recognizable. I pray other pet owners never face the slow mental decline of your furry friend because it is truly one of the hardest things we’ve endured. “Bacon” was my best buddy and I will miss him terribly. See you one day down the road Bacon.
My fox terrier is 18. She lost her vision and hearing and has been wandering around lost for several months s she has a hard time in the evenings and has begun to spin around in tight circles for hours,l in the last few weeks, often to exhaustion. My husband thinks I should put her down but Iām out of town with a new Grandbaby and I wonāt return for another 8 days. I have cameras in my home and anguish over her behavior. My husband has returned home but wonāt deal with her at night. Iām very distressed. She looks for me but canāt find me since Iāve been gone. Sheās been a great companion for 18 years and I feel wevowe her more. I donāt know what to do for her and Iām angry with my husband for not making more of an effort with her. I lost my 15 year old greyhound last year. This is all too hard to take. š
Thank you for post. My Golden boy, Hunter, is 11.5. I adopted him after he was āreleasedā to rescue from a puppy mill at 9. Heās had almost 2 amazing happy years with us, seemed to be aging in reverse! Until recently. Iāve dealt with CCD before, our previous dog also had other obvious physical ailments. Hunter does not, itās just his mind thatās failing him. His symptoms are not so severe yet, we have tried meds that have not helped. He pants and paces, barks inconsolably at me and my other dogs, potted plants, a spot on the floor, air, anything, at all hours. He has accidents in the house daily. Heās on medication for Esophagitis, itās helping him eat and keep it down. I waited too long with Duncan, it will always haunt me. I wonāt let Hunter decline to that point, but he is declining. The problem is objectively assessing where we are on the time line. I feel guilty for considering how stressful it is on me and the household overall, I feel like everything is on hold while I watch him decline to the point I can justify saying itās enough. I love him so much, and Iām also exhausted and letting everything else pile up around us. I would tell a friend itās better a week too early than a day too late, but I canāt seem to hear that myself.
The appointment was made to put my boy Shorty down at peace and until i read this article on the morning of, i just couldn’t seem to cope with it. Thank you for this! Shorty has been dealing with his illness of Cognitive Dysfunction for about 1.5 years and over these last 2 weeks he has really reached his lowest point. His ability to eat has had a severe decline even when trying to feed him out of the palm of my hand. His balance has started to really fail him and its more difficult than ever to watch him live this way. Any way i think of it it feels like both keeping him alive and putting him down is a selfish decision but I’ve come to terms that this is no way for the best of dogs to live. My prayers are with you and all your puppies
Thank you for writing this article. We are experiencing this right now with our 16 y/o shi-tzu and it is refreshing to see this perspective. We are torn with “is she suffering” vs “are we being selfish”. Much appreciation for helping us with this tough decision.