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-aged 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 condition 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.
They—and I—don’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 good—a great—appetite. 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 come after they have already suffered. We can’t eliminate 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 up 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 Cricket 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 dose—double what should have euthanized her—it was agony.
On the other hand, I had long known that this was the way she would go out of the world. She was tough—terribly, terribly tough—and 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. 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.
Copyright 2017 Eileen Anderson
393 Comments
hi joe
i lost my old girl last nov,she was born on 10.3.02 around the time of your oscar? I still miss my
old friend ,but i now see how cdd robbed her of everything.She has now got wings,i feel her presence
a lot,there is a quote in the film ‘tuesdays with morrie’ ‘death ends a life not a relationship’
Thank you jef for the reply.Sorry for the loss of your dog.I just can’t seem to get over the loss of oscar.17 years ago we found each other and he was my life.I miss everything about him.I feel empty and cry alot.I know the decision was the right one ccd really took his life over,I look at pictures of him and understand he deffently was not himself but I feel a lot of guilt for having him euthanized he had a hard time standing,eating,drinking water and losing weight how I miss him.
hi joe i have to say that in the 63 years of my life i have been through lots,cruel parents,brother, ex left me etc etc
none hurt so much as losing my jenny, she was total love from the moment i had the gift of her to the day she left her body.
The thing that helped me most was advice off someone with a dog with cdd ‘i would rather suffer for the rest of my days
for my action rather than see my friend suffer more’ remember cdd is real suffering.I hope your grief becomes easier in time
jeff
Jeff,thank you for the kind words,hope your life gets better.My days have not been the same with the loss of Oscar,how I miss him.For the sixteen and a half years we were together we were never apart.I think of him everyday and what we would be doing together,walks to the park,lake or just hanging out together.I miss him.
I am trying to gather courage from all of your stories. My Rowdy just turned 14 in April. His symptoms are a little different. He still eats and drinks, he doesn’t pace, and has not yet started having potty accidents in the house. He does have balance issues, is unable to jump onto furniture anymore, can’t walk up the stairs at all and seems more unsure daily of how to get down safely but he also has arthritis which is likely the cause for that. The issue is that Rowdy barks, two barks, two second silence, two barks. nightly for hours on end, starting around the time the sun goes down. The rest of the day he is usually perfectly fine. While he’s doing it, he stares off into space or just acts confused and agitated. He doesn’t seem to hear us speaking to him even when he is looking right at us. We’ve tried it all. Changing lighting, soft soothing music to no noise whatsoever, toys/treats to keep him busy, sedation, laying on the floor with him, nothing works. I have two other senior dogs who are very bonded with him. They get very distressed when he does this. I have to wonder if it’s fair to them for them to have to deal with it, but they also love him very much. I keep telling myself that it’s too soon, that if I do this now I am basically taking his life because he barks. He’s a dog. Dog bark. Right? I wish I cold be inside of him just for a minute when this happens so i could know what is happening. I don’t want him to suffer but I don’t want to end his life if he isn’t. The vet is no help at all, through no fault of her own though. She doesn’t have a crystal ball either and tells me to follow my heart.
I’m so sorry, Julie. That’s an awfully hard decision. Is there any chance of seeing a vet behaviorist or your vet consulting with one? Dr. Chris Pachel of Portland, OR does phone vet-to-vet consults for a very reasonable fee. He takes the whole history and makes recommendations.Vet behaviorists are the “psychiatrists” of the veterinary world and they can often help with meds for these kinds of situations. Just a thought.
I’m so sorry you are going through this, for yourself, Rowdy, and your other dogs. Hugs.
Eileen
Thank you so much. I was wondering if you have her of Adaptil. I think it’s a pheromone like Feliway for cats.
“heard”, sorry!
I have heard of Adaptil and there’s a little research. But the upshot seems to be that it is only helpful in some very specific circumstances to a small percentage of dogs. In other words, a real long shot, unfortunately.
Still impressed by all you have done and are doing for Rowdy to keep him as comfortable as possible.
Thankyou for this 🙁 I had my little Lucy put down two days ago, she was a little miniature dachshund, 17, and I’ve spent the whole time since crying my eyes out, feeling like maybe I did the wrong thing or did it too early 🙁 She’d had signs of cognitive decline for some time, and I’d been worried for some time about her quality of life because of her anxiety ( lots of panting and pacing of an evening, sometimes for over an hour but sometimes with Valium I could keep it a bit better managed). More recently she’d also stopped enjoying cuddles on the couch (preferring her bed, usually in my bedroom even if I was sitting on the couch in the lounge room). She no longer wanted to go for walks (possibly due to her poor vision), which used to be her favourite thing, or even go for rides in the car which she used to love 🙁 She still recognised me though, and after being sure it was me would show excitement when I got home, but her evening from then on consisted of mostly sleeping, possibly some dinner if she felt like it, and anxiety, to a greater or lesser degree depending on the day 🙁 She would sometimes enjoy pushing around her treat ball for a while, and she’d sometimes beg for scraps in the kitchen. Her nighttime Valium which seemed to help with pain initially seemed to start making her more anxious and confused 🙁 Then almost a week ago she seemed to take a step down, and started walking directly into things like the couch and walls 🙁 I decided that was too far for me, in terms of her quality of life, combined with the fact that I have to be away for 5 nights this weekend and I didn’t want her to have to deal with the anxiety of the kennel, which she used to be ok with, or an unfamiliar house and pet sitter 🙁
Did I do the right thing? I feel tortured worrying I should have tried harder or given her longer 🙁 Perhaps she was still ok enough?? 🙁 🙁 Perhaps I shouldn’t have let my going away influence the timing? 🙁 🙁
Leonie, I think you did the right thing. I know you have been in touch with your vet since you had prescription meds for Lucy. I think you made a very good decision about her quality of life. I think you were generous, because for yourself, certainly, you would have preferred to have her longer.
I see no harm in considering your schedule. Again, what you did was for her benefit.
I know not everyone agrees, but I am more and more of the “better a week too early than a day too late” school. We don’t have to wait until they are completely deteriorated and miserable to let them go. I think you did well by your little Lucy.
Eileen
Thanks so much Eileen, friends are telling me the same thing but I’m so “in my head” at the moment, I go over and over things and worry they’re just trying to make me feel better ☹️ It really helps to read your post and to receive this reassurance from someone “outside” ☹️ For what it’s worth I think you did the best thing for your little fur baby too ☹️ xxx
Thank you, Leonie. It always helps to get support about that.
And yep, I’d been in regular contact with the vets for some time, reviewing how she was and her quality of life ☹️ This was the first time either of her regular, wonderful vets had felt that she was “starting to fade” and that it was either time, or close to time, to let her go 😞 xx
leonie,so sorry to read about lucy.Oscar was also was the same.I felt a lot of guilt for having him euthanized,loss of weight,didnt want to go for walks anymore,he ate and drank water but not much what hurt the most was I don’t think he knew who I was.Oscar was sixteen and a half,i had a wonderful life with him.Iam just able to look at pictures of him and you know it seems to help I now realize how old Oscar had become before my eyes and could not see it.I go for walks to all the places we went and think of him all the time I have dreams at night that he is next to me and iam sure he is I can feel him.Best of wishes to you and never foreget your Lucy.
Thanks Joe ☹️
Love, hugs, sincere condolences Leonie!
I have comfort that my Sophie girl🐶 gone 8 months is in the sky with the diamonds@
But, the teal song from long ago by the BEATLES IS
“LUCY IN THE SKY WITH THE DIAMONDS”!
Thanks so much Roberta 😞 xx
REMEMBER THIS JULIE,
YOU ARE A JEWEL!
“Of all sad words of tongue and pen the saddest of all it might have been…”
I am 76 years old. My Sophie girl’s euthanasia was kind for her and cruel for me. Sophie was my 6th doggie friend to go to heaven, and only doggie with ccd. Her loss was harder on me than all of life’s losses.
Thank you, Roberta! I’m so sorry about your Sophie. This is my first baby with CCD as well.
I think my 13 yo may have this.Acts like he has Sun Downers…sleeps most of day up at night, whining, barking, pacing, drooling and has started scratching on doors like he wants to escape, if I open the door he loses interest and walks away. He has also been climbing behind things, my desk, the tv stand and even tried the washer…all very unusual for him. It first stated with him looking down the hall at night like he thought someone was there…now he kinda of looks all over the room and ceiling like hes seeing things or maybe cant see…he just seems tortured.
I’m so sorry, Pamela. I hope you can get your vet to weigh in on this, if you haven’t already. Take care. Lots of people here understand what you are going through.
Thank you for your thoughtful writing. You are helping me navigate through a very difficult decision. My Roger is much like your dog was. Not in pain, but not sure where he is and walking in circles much of the time. So I guess the time is near. But again, thank you for your kind, helpful words.
Thank you, Clint. Thinking of you during what must be a hard time.
Eileen
hi pamela
sorry your friend has this cdd hopefully your vet may give you something that helps there are also herbal
items that help some ,your word tortured describes this awful condition very well i hope things improve
Thanks Jeff…..I am a hospice nurse and know the dementia signs in humans well….but this is so different yet the same, they are unable to tell you whats wrong but you just know. The vet gave me Acepromazine which actually seems to make him more hyper, will she her on Tues and hopefully get something else….its really wearing me out….don’t know how families deal daily with their Alzheimers pts although some are very calm…..
Hi Pamela,
Since you are a nurse you’ll understand this better than I, but a lot of behavior vets are recommending against Ace these days except in very specific circumstances. Sounds like it’s not working for your guy anyway, but I thought you might want to see this information about it. Disclaimer: I am not a vet, of course, and not making any recommendations. I’m linking to some experts in the field.
https://www.drmartybecker.com/fear-free/2-things-pets-firework-fears/
PS My mom had Alzheimer’s before my dog got dementia, so I have seen it from both sides, too.
Yes I have read about it and really didn’t want to use it but was desperate…was kind of glad it didn’t work as don’t like possible side effects…he really is worse at night…I have been giving small amount of Xanax which is working but not a fan of it either…see Vet this week….these dogs are just like people, what works on one doesn’t work on another
Hello All!
I have been privileged to have had 5 BEST FRIENDS! Now YOU are all my new friends.
Sophie was my only to have had CCD.
Gone but NEVER forgotten 9 months.
Some days are a bit better…perhaps I am lying!!! I too walk her walk, play her Simpn & Garfunkle songs aling the way. Returning home, I lay my cell phone by her ashes for awhile. Out of the blue,sometimes I saddness cry! Only consolation…WE HAD GREAT TIMES TOGETHER. Some say…I rescued Sophie! NOT TRUE, 🐶 RESCUED ME@
BEST TO ALL! ST FRANCIS & ST. ROCH are leading our babies in HEAVEN OVER THE 🌈 BRIDGE!