In April of 1992, my Cocker Spaniel, Mocha, gave birth to a litter of puppies. There were 3 girls and 2 boys. Four of them were black and one buff colored just like their Dad. One the little black girls had special markings which made her unique from her brothers and sisters. She had tan paws (like socks), a tan butt, and brown eyebrows. I immediately knew which one I wanted to keep. When I had good people that would give the puppies good homes come over to adopt them, I decided that I would let them choose whichever one they wanted and not influence them in any way. Well, as fate would have it, Misty, was the one left over for me. I knew then that we were destined to be together. I used to have her Mother, her Father, and a brother from Mocha's first litter. She is the lone survivor of that family . This week that will no longer be the case. Those of you who know me, know that this issue has been troubling me for some time. Watching your dog, your pet , your depedable friend detiorate before your eyes is a painful experience. She has been blind and deaf for several years now, yet still amazingly enough, found her way around the house and was able to live a happy existence even with her disabilities. I believe I have learned a lot from watching her be able to overcome her handicaps and hopefully still find happiness. Lately she has become very disoriented and has been struggling to get around. It has become more and more painful to watch her losing her faculties and the toughest thing I will ever have to do has become clear to me. It is time to make that hard decision to allow my best friend to end her apparent suffering. However, the sadness I am feeling now is far outweighed by the many years of happiness my family of dogs has brought me. You haven't lived until you shared your bed with 4 Cocker Spaniels. Even after her other family members had passed on, Misty would still jump up on the bed and sleep at my feet. Sometimes I would wake up to find that she had relocated to share my pillow. A couple of years ago she became too feeble to be able to jump up on my bed, but she still would jump on the couch and lay next to me. Lately, she has not even been able to make it up on the couch by herself anymore.
Finding the courage to "do the right thing" has been very hard. Only in the last couple of days have I come to realize that this is the right thing to do and by allowing her to peacefully end her suffering is the greatest gift that I can give to her now.
Thank you for letting me share my feelings with you. Writing this, as difficult as it was to write, has helped solidify some fond memories of my sweet Misty who will soon be just that. ...a fond memory.