If you’ve ever loved a pet more than a member of your extended family or grieved deeper and longer at a pet’s passing than the loss of a close family member, or perhaps even parent, you’re not alone. With total honesty, I can say that’s exactly how I’ve felt and it’s the very place that I find myself at today.
Let me bare my soul deep, honest truth- I grieved harder for the loss of my pets than I did for my mother or father’s passing. I’m very close to my sister, Cheryl; She’s 82-years-old and in the twilight of life, but I feel more foreboding about the loss of my 10-year-old heart dog, QT Pi, than I do of losing my sibling.
I’m both a people and pet lover and most people would describe me as having the friendliness and love of a Labrador Retriever. I love my beloved wife, Teresa (she hates it when I say it…but even more than God), adult children, Mikkel and Lex, and grandkids so much that my heart can’t contain the affection.
So why the dichotomy? When I look back at my relationship with my parents, I see:
- Duplicity
- Hidden agendas
- Posturing for personal gain
- Performances
- Anger
When I look back at the 16-dogs who have shared my heart, I see:
- Unconditional love
- Limitless affection
- To-die for loyalty
- Slavish devotion
- Joy
While your family might be different and you have grieved harder for every family member than for pets, for me the ledger makes the choice easy and it’s affirmed every day by our current four-legged-family members.
After practicing for almost five decades as a veterinarian, I’ve examined tens of thousands of dogs and have witnessed thousands draw their last breath, including 16 of my own.
It’s an almost “sick sense” that veteran veterinarians develop to know when death is imminent. As veterinary medical doctors, with our education, training and experience, and knowing a pet’s age and projected lifespan (longer for small dogs, shorter for giant breeds), that gives us a general timeline. But we rely on comprehensive exams and diagnostic tests to determine a pet’s current health status and give an accurate prognosis.
While laboratory tests for a pet are the equivalent of dashboard warning lights, for experienced veterinarians, most often it’s the pet’s eyes that tell you it’s time to let go and give them the final grace. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve either euthanized a pet or been there when they pass and looked into their beautiful, liquid filled eyes; the body almost as lifeless as a fly casing, but glimpses of a wonderful life speaking at light speed.
There are moments at the end of life that can change everything. The simple statement that you were the world’s best dog. Prolonged eye-to-eye connection. A favorite activity, final meal, or a body-to-body embrace goodbye.
When life comes down to its final breaths for humans, titles, achievements, what we have or don’t have, none of that matters anymore. With final chapter time for pets, they don’t have to wrestle with guilt, infidelity, past performances, a love that waned over time. You gave them the time you could spare and the love you could share, and they gave you their absolute all.
Our kitchen counter now features a cluster of prescription vials for my beloved canine cocktail, QT Pi. I’ve deeply loved all of my past pets, but none as much as him. It’s cliché to say, but he truly is my “heart dog” and there will never be another like him.
As I’m preparing his thrice daily meds, out of the corner of my eye on a photo frame I catch an image of him as a 3-lb puppy, sick with often fatal Distemper, playing tug-of-war with his much bigger canine brother, Quixote. The pup’s nose is jet black, his patches of brown are bright and well-defined, eyes are clear, and his tail is wagging so hard it’s lifting alternate back feet off of the ground. 
QT is sick of taking a handful of meds, and just like people, older pets find meds can be difficult to swallow. And because pets don’t take pills with a few gulps of water, I give him some water in the corner of his mouth with a syringe to wash his am dose of six pills and one capsule down. With his eyesight and sense of smell being diminished, I have resorted to giving his meds split into bite sized portions with a mixture of about 2/3 Kraft Easy Cheese Cheddar & Bacon and 1/3 pills/capsules to “put the treat into treatment.”
I call QT Pi my canine cocktail. Rescued from the streets of LA and flown with his mother and littermates to Northern Idaho by Wings of Rescue, my AARP (American Association of Retired Pups) is a 22-lb, neutered Chihuahua, Dachshund, Jack Russell mix. QT is nearing his 11th birthday. Using the same dog age calculator I refer clients to (small dogs age slower than medium sized dogs who in turn age slower than large breed canines), QT is 65-years old and on Medicare if he was human. Which he is; I call him my son.
QT Pi was very active and seemed to be keeping Father Time chased off of our Almost Heaven Ranch, until he wasn’t. As a veterinarian with 45-years of experience, I noticed that his breathing was becoming slightly more labored and when he was sitting in my lap, I could feel that his heartbeat was different on my leg. He moved more tentatively, and his skin would jump when you touched certain parts of his lower back and behind his ribs.
In a perverse way, I wanted to just ignore the troubling symptoms, hoping I was worrying too much or that he’d get his second wind and bounce back.
He didn’t.
I have never liked working on my own pets. My wife Teresa’s and my first dog was a miniature Schnauzer, Bode. I had to do abdominal surgery on Bode and didn’t like seeing his intestines laid out on surgical drapes, or handling his kidneys and liver in a canine version of a childhood game, Operation. Once I’d closed the abdominal incision…I made a vow. Never again will I treat my own pets unless it’s an emergency.
I took QT Pi to VCA North Idaho Animal Hospital (NIAH), in Sandpoint, Idaho. This is where I practiced until COVID hit and where Fear Free got it’s start. The facility has an amazing group of veterinarians, vet techs, and staff, along with the manager, Michelle Hauck. Michelle has been part of Fear Free from the first sparks and ensures that both pet’s physical and emotional wellbeing are prioritized. BTW – She’s the single most amazing veterinary technician I’ve ever worked with in my 45-years of practice.
There are seven veterinarians at NIAH, and all are top shelf. QT was seen by an amazing veterinarian, Dr. Jeffrey Poulsen. He was assisted by an amazing certified veterinary technician, Autumn Potts, who we also trust to babysit QT Pi and his sister, a three-year-old Pomeranian, Quin’B.
QT Pi had a Grade II heart murmur (Grades at I-VI) which means when a valve closes, there’s a whoosh sound of blood escaping. He was also really tender along the middle of his back (right where the ribs end and the abdomen begins). QT had digital dental radiographs and his teeth cleaned three months before, so we could be fairly certain he didn’t suddenly have a deep dental infection that can cause severe pain.
The heart murmur wouldn’t explain the difficult breathing so we decided to chase diagnostics as far as we needed to get an accurate diagnosis and hopefully an effective treatment plan. Whole body radiographs didn’t show anything alarming (tumors, kidney stones, collapsed intervertebral disc spaces, foreign bodies, compaction, enlarged organs or grossly excessive fluid in the chest or abdomen). Besides some slightly diminished kidney and liver function, all blood work was normal.
As veterinarians, we know that a) we should celebrate normal results, and b) we need to keep looking for what’s causing the problems. Even though the heart wasn’t grossly enlarged, nor was there excessive fluid in the chest Dr. Poulsen correctly diagnosed the start of congestive heart failure and prescribed meds to make the heart pump more efficiently and a drug to help remove any excess fluid. He also recommended an abdominal ultrasound to look for abnormalities not visible on normal radiographs, and of course we agreed.
Following Fear Free protocols, QT was sedated to make him more comfortable during his ultrasound procedure. Everything was going along normally with no abnormalities noted until the probe hit the area of the gallbladder, which is tucked into the liver on the right side of the abdomen behind the rib cage. Like a dentist hitting a nerve on a tooth, QT Pi, even though sedated, almost went into orbit.
Bingo. That was it, an inflamed gall bladder filled with sludge, the cause of his discomfort, inactivity, and primary contributor to his labored breathing.
But let’s be clear. We won the battle, but not the war. In a cold calculation, QT Pi probably has one quarter to one fifth of his life left. In a recheck, his heart murmur is now Grade IV. Just like geriatric people, his cheeks are getting hollowed out, hair graying, steps slowing and stamina waning.
We’ve done all we can medically. Now we’re focusing on what we can to make his remaining time at our Almost Heaven Ranch THE best possible life. I sleep with QT Pi, baby talk him and lavish him with love loving touch. Teresa, who is a licensed pet massage therapist, gives him a really long massage nightly. Daughter Mikkel, a highly respected trainer, no longer makes him stop barking, but rather lets his barking exclamation for every heightened emotion he experiences ensue with abandoned glee. Rather than ‘hunting’ for scattered food in the yard with the other dogs she now lets QT Pi sit on her lap as she feeds him each morsel by hand until he’s had his fill, letting him give her face kisses in between each bite.
Every time we go to town, we stop and get him ice cream at Sonic. He gets the pick of seating on the pontoon boat. We take him on frequent road trips in our Chevy pickup, his very favorite activity on earth. And we all tell him multiple times everyday, “We love you QT. You’re the world’s best dog.”
We don’t tell him that there’s only one greatest dog in the world. And all of you that are reading this, also have that dog.
One last thing. Don’t tell my sister Cheryl in Texas that I’m dreading QT’s passing more than hers. Let’s let her think otherwise so that she’ll still love her baby brother.
