A generation of dogs passes…

I’m mourning the death of an old dog down who passed away recently. He and my dear Winston were the same age, and when they were young, they loved to race around the park together at top speed. Now, 12 years later, there is only one dog left in the neighborhood from those days -- and he is so old that he can barely walk.

There are many new dogs in the neighborhood, including my own new dog and the wild young dogs who run with him. But I take this moment to remember the beloved dogs who have gone before.

Forgiving myself... I took on his pain

Here's Winston a few months before the end...
the kitty in the background is still with us

It’s been a year and a half since my dog Winston died, and I’m almost ready to forgive myself for deciding to euthanize him. He was ready to go and met the objective criteria for euthanasia (couldn’t walk, incontinent, in pain, elderly, no hope of recovery, etc). But in retrospect it felt like I let him go too soon -- especially when I started going to “pet loss support” groups and chat rooms after his death, and discovered that they also provide emotional support for people who are nursing pets whose health is failing. With their support, I could have had more time with Winston!

It’s often said that when you forgive someone, you do it for your own benefit, not for the person being forgiven. But what about forgiving yourself? I can’t forgive myself for my own sake. I still feel like punishing myself for the worst decision of my entire life, the euthanasia decision.

However, I can begin to imagine forgiving my past self for the sake of those who depend on me now, including my new dog. We got him about a year ago. I can’t bond fully with my new dog while I am still stuck on Winston. It’s not fair to the new dog when I keep comparing him to Winston, forcing him to do the things Winston enjoyed, and generally feeling like I don’t deserve a dog anymore.

As much as I loved Winston, I didn’t fully appreciate him until after he died. I thought that all dogs were similar. But now I know that each one is absolutely unique. There will never be another dog like Winston. I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I want to appreciate my new dog now, while he is alive and with me. And so I will try to forgive myself.

After writing the above, I took my grief to the chat room at PetLoss.com, and received these comforting words of wisdom from BooBoosMommy: “You did what was best for him, you took his pain away and took it on yourself.”

Winston can’t be far away

Me and Winston... nothing can separate us

I am comforted by the thought that Winston’s spirit must be nearby. In life he used to follow me from room to room, never leaving me alone. Even when he couldn’t walk, he would drag himself around to follow me. Why would he be any different after death? That was part of the very essence of who he was.

My new dog is so independent that I sometimes feel rejected. It makes me appreciate Winston’s desire to be near me. Nothing, not even death, can keep Winston away. His spirit is still with me. Forever.

Winston wants me to go on

Winston kissing me... one of our last photos together

One idea has helped me move on now that my dog Winston is gone. It’s this: He would want me to keep going.

Winston would want me to keep walking on the park trails that we loved to walk together -- and even explore new trails with our new dog. He would want me to keep enjoying the scents of fresh grass and mustard flowers, the warm sunshine, the crunch of the earth beneath my feet, the songs of birds and crickets.

Winston never missed an opportunity to go for a walk. As long as he had breath, he enjoyed life. Nothing stopped him from living his life to the full, and he would not approve if I let my love for him stop me from living my life fully.

So I go on. It’s what Winston would want.

Moving on...?

I was waiting until I "got over" my dog Winston's death before I did some stuff... then this week I realized that I will NEVER get over it. So I might as well live my life as best I can without Winston by my side.

It's been close to 10 months since he "moved on."

Grief hits 8 months after dog died

Winston at his prime in 1999, when he was 3 years old

I had a meltdown last week, crying uncontrollably because I missed my dog Winston so much, about 8 months after he died.

The crisis was triggered by my new puppy’s misbehavior on a walk. We were walking past the house where one of his favorite dog-friend’s lives. At least, I was walking past. The pup stopped and refused to keep going. He’s a Great Dane puppy and at five months old he’s already too big for me to force him against his will if he gets really stubborn. I tried every recommended training technique, but in the end I’m sorry to report that I lost my temper and yelled at him. Naturally it didn’t do any good, just scared him. Somehow I managed to pull hard enough to get him moving again.

When we got home I started crying: “I’ll never have a friend like Winston to walk with me!” I couldn’t help thinking of how much better Winston acted on walks. Winston never refused to keep walking, and always had a grateful, upbeat attitude. I had been trying not to compare my new dog to Winston, but a flood of emotions overwhelmed me. I had to admit to myself that I have not gotten over the grief of Winston’s death. I even considered returning the new pup to his breeder because I couldn’t handle him.

That night I ended up going to the online chat group at PetLoss.com. The people there are lifesavers! I get especially great support from the “wolves” there -- regular participants with “wolf” in their nicknames. They come to help others while they themselves are still hurting from the loss of a beloved animal.

I went online to the pet loss chat group without resting as I should. And I stayed online for much longer than my body could handle. I ended up getting sick with tonsillitis. But I needed a place to process the grief, and they saved me from dangerously intense grief.

Some especially useful ideas from that night:

• ABSOLUTELY MOST USEFUL IDEA: When Princeton acts up, think about how I would have handled it if Winston did the same thing.

• After they die, our old dog sends us the new dog that they know will need us or will help us smile or that will comfort us. (So Winston picked out the wild new pup for me!)

• I’m not dishonoring Winston by loving the new pup. The old dog may even choose a new pup who is extremely different just so we won’t feel guilty for loving the new one in the same way.

• Sometimes we just have to blow off steam when the new dogs drive us nuts and then go back fresh the next day.

• “Those tears you still find glistening in your eyes for Winston are but a reflection of the love you share with him. The love for this new boy will shine in your eyes one day, but it will never replace that love for Winston.”

• “Amazing thing about a heart is that it will expand to capture all the love it can. You can love your lost baby to bits and yet also love a new baby that needs you.”

It’s been hard for me to see that the new pup needs me. He’s much more self-sufficient and independent than Winston. In addition, his breeder has a lifetime guarantee that if we ever can’t take care of him, we must return him to the breeder and she will make sure that he has a good home for the rest of his life. This is certainly a great lifetime protection for the pup, but it kind of has the reverse effect on me, making me question myself and wonder whether the pup would be better off with somebody else.

When the new pup acts up, it really helps to think, “What if Winston did this?” For example, when I was leash-training Winston, I used a long (25-foot) leash at first. With the new pup, I had always used the 6-foot leash. Now I use the long leash sometimes with the new pup, and he’s much happier on our walks.

The grief didn’t end there. I’m writing a series of posts about other steps I took to handle my grief explosion.

Flowers for Winston

I got a lovely surprise today when I looked outside at the spot in our lawn where Winston used to lay down and rest before he died. Three flowers are blooming there!

After he died last month that special patch of grass turned brown from constant drip of his urinary incontinence.

Now the grass is green again, and it’s the one place where flowers are blooming. Three golden dandelions stand out again the lawn. I see it as a tribute to Winston.

I’ve written stories about Winston’s adventures ever since we first adopted him. I thought that “The Story of Winston” would end when he died. But I find that it goes on.

Visiting the Pet Loss Support Group

Dillon and I went to a Pet Loss Support Group recently at our local humane society. We showed a calendar that I made with photos of Winston. The photos inspired the therapist leading the group to exclaim, “He’s your child!” I was surprised, but then again the photos did show all the love that we lavished on Winston, including taking him to see Santa Claus one Christmas. It hurt to think of my deceased dog as my child, but it did express the intensity of the loss.

Ten people were at the support group, all grieving their dead dogs and cats. Hearing their stories helped me and Dillon feel that we are not so alone, that others have experienced such loss. We all sat in a circle. Both Dillon and I sensed (or imagined) that each pet was sitting behind its owner in a larger outer circle.

For me it was especially useful to hear the other side of various issues. For example, some people kept torturing themselves by wondering they had resorted to euthanasia too soon, while others felt anguish because they had waited “too long” for euthanasia, making their pets suffer just because the owner wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It’s a no-win situation.

I also kept thinking that we could have eased our grief if we had adopted a second dog a few years ago. Then at least we would not be completely dog-less now, left alone without any canine companionship or protection. However, people with multiple dogs were still in tears, missing their particular dogs.

Some people pointed out that Dillon and I are lucky to have each other as we grieve. Most of those present were single or splitting up. It felt good to count my blessings, which are many. As they pointed out, we also still have our cat. Sapphire seems to be missing Winston, too.

Everyone had a different story as they told the circumstances of their pet’s death. It put an end to my thoughts that getting a dog without hip dysplasia might make the end easier. No matter what the cause of death, the dying process was hard. I actually found myself feeling fortunate over Winston’s relatively peaceful passing. One couple described how their dog was fatally injured in a gruesome dog mauling attack.

Toward the end, the therapist brought up getting another dog. Nobody was ready yet, and we heard stories about the difficulty bonding with a dog adopted too soon after a beloved dog died. However, Dillon and I do want to adopt another dog someday, and we were perhaps more ready than some.

The therapist concluded by reminding us that, no matter what, when all was said and done, we all loved our pets. It was the right thing to say.

Afterward many of us strolled through the kennels where dogs were available for adoption. Among them was Super Pup, the Beagle puppy that I had thought I wanted to adopt. I had gone crazy with desire for that pup a few days earlier when I found her on the Internet, but all it took was one glance to see that she was not the right dog for us.

“She’s so SMALL,” Dillon exclaimed in horror, as if smallness was a terrible deformity.

Yes, we do like big boys. We’re trying to keep open minds and open hearts about what kind of dog to adopt next. When we are ready, I trust that the right one will join our pack.

Dog Heaven

Dillon and I picked up Winston’s ashes last week. It was a sad occasion, but not without its bright spots.

A dog was in the vet's waiting room at the desk where we got the ashes: a Dalmatian puppy, a spotted dog like Winston.

One of the receptionists handed me the box of ashes. It looked an awful lot like a plain ordinary cardboard box. It just didn’t seem like my Winston at all. “Are you sure it’s him?” I asked.

She assured me that it was and pointed out a small label with his name -- and mine.

When we got home, Dillon carried the box in the door. “Winston’s back home,” she announced with a touch of happiness.

Surprisingly, it DID feel a bit like Winston was back. We opened the box and were amazed to find a beautiful brown suede box, wonderfully loved to the touch. The material looked and felt just like my late father’s favorite brown suede jacket. Inside the suede box was a canister with a label: “In loving memory: Winston.”

The box of ashes was 6 or 7 inches square and heavy, weighing four to five pounds. After we admired the box and reminisced for a while, Dillon got ready to leave. As she was going out the door, I noticed a box that arrived that day from Amazon. I thought it contained a laundry bag that I ordered, so I asked Dillon to open it before she left.

To our complete amazement, it was a book called Dog Heaven! This unexpected gift was sent by our vet, Dr. Beasley. Her note said, “In memory of Winston, a great dog whose life was filled with love.” The timing so perfect it could not have been humanly planned.

Dillon and I sat down immediately and read the book. It’s a children’s book with colorful illustrations for preschoolers, but it’s suitable for adults coping with the loss of a dog, too. We easily read it in one sitting. The text and illustrations by Cynthia Rylant describe how dogs in heaven enjoy running free, eating endless dog biscuits, sleeping on clouds and occasional return visits with angels. Sometimes we had to stop to weep.

I've been reading the book to myself at bedtime, when I tend to miss Winston a lot. It helps me fall asleep with sweet thoughts of my Winston in Dog Heaven.

Meeting my dog on the Rainbow Bridge

A beautiful website that is helping me handle the grief of Winston’s death is PetLoss.com. They have an unbelievably great description of what happens to pets after death. The Rainbow Bridge Story tells how we will meet our pets again at the "Rainbow Bridge" on the way to heaven.

There’s also a great video of the "Rainbow Bridge.”

The authorship of the Rainbow Bridge is unknown. Apparently three different authors perceived and wrote the same story.

Now he can touch the stars

A catalog arrived recently with dog memorial products. I didn’t even order it.

My favorite item is a silver-dipped memorial coin with this message:

“I will always live within your heart
And now I can touch the stars and moon.
Celebrate my life with yours.”

It really touched me because at the end Winston was dragging his butt so much, and he seemed so depressed at not being able to run and “go-go-go” like he used to do. It helps to think that he’s now able to go farther than he ever could even as a puppy. Now he can touch the stars.

On the other side is a picture of a bone with a heart and a star.

The catalog is called “In the Company of Dogs.” I did some online research and found out that the quote is attributed to Sara Bethell.

In Loving Memory

Winston

July 4, 1996 - Feb. 15, 2008