As I mentioned yesterday, everything isn't going my way lately.
There are some good things happening, and some bad.
Here is the "ultimate" bad.
My family's dog, Max, a part of our family for 14 1/2 years, is not doing too well right now.
The last time we took him to the vet, this mutt--a mixed breed terrier and pit bull--had a bad left hind leg that he couldn't walk on. We were told that he had cancer in that area, and chances are that it would affect his bowel movement, since the use of his hind legs to squat is essential. Also, the cancer probably would spread.
I look at this dog--not the dog in the photo but he kind of looks like Max--and remember when he was a puppy and then an older dog. He was a house dog, but he had all the pep of a puppy up until about two or three months ago.
One day, after I took him out to do his thing, he almost fell down the stairs. He hurt his left hind leg, and was limping pretty badly.
We took him to the vet, and they did a couple of things to him, and he appeared to be fine.
But then, a few weeks after that, he almost fell down the stairs again, and yes, the left hind leg was bad all over again.
That is when we took him to the vet and was given the word that Max has cancer.
Max is a good, loyal dog. I swear he understands every word I say to him.
And yes, I think he understands that his days are numbered.
I look into his face now, and I see a hollow face, not the one that I remember.
He almost looks like he is asking us to put him down.
And yes, he is losing control of himself ... all over the house.
I have broached the subject of putting him down with my wife. My wife kind of agreed, but now she is backing off.
She just doesn't have the heart to do it.
And honestly, neither do I, although I am realistic, and I know that it is probably the best thing for him.
We were originally going to do this during the weekend on Saturday, but now my wife has said that she simply can't do it.
Max is eating well, and he still barks a lot when he wants food or water or a treat.
But he is a shell of his former self.
We simply don't know what to do with him.
Prior to Max, we had another terrier/pit bull mutt. His name was Mikey.
He had an awful disposition. He was nasty, and very vindictive.
He got old. He had tumors all over his body, and cowered under our bed. He couldn't hear or see very well.
It was a no brainer, and we had to put him down.
That day was a horrible one. My wife was working, but myself, my father, and my son, who was a baby at the time, took him to the pound.
Mikey knew where he was going, and put up a fight, but in the end, it was for the better of all of us, including him.
To see him suffer was probably almost as horrible as his own suffering.
I had nightmares about that dog for six months after we did this. I really did.
I don't like to play God, but I think Max's time may have come.
And like Mikey, I think he knows it.
People claim that animals do not have souls. I don't know about fish, gerbils, hamsters, cats or ferrets, but dogs do have souls.
They know when they have done wrong, and they know when they have done something right.
And I do believe they know when the end is near.
And Max knows exactly what is going on. I am convinced of it.
What to do? I simply don't know.
Do we let him literally shrivel up to nothing, losing himself in every portion of our house?
Or do we put him out of his obvious misery?
Like I said, I just don't know.
Any thoughts on this matter would be appreciated.
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