I put down my best friend in the world, Sully, yesterday after a heartbreaking battle with a terrible disease.
While this is somewhat difficult to write because the emotions are still so raw and swirling, I feel it’s important to get my thoughts and feelings down now, while this is fresh, in the hopes that it will help someone else who is struggling with the devastating decision to let go and allow your pet to be free.
I remember the day I got Sully like it was yesterday, even though it was over 11 years ago now.
My then-girlfriend, Karin, and I were looking for our special dog. One that would bring warmth into our then somewhat sterile home.
She favored getting a chow, while I was set on a dog that was a little bigger than the ones I had growing up (though not much–right around 30 pounds I thought was ideal). And a dog with a great personality who was cuddly.
We must’ve flipped through thousands of pictures on Petfinder. And while there were several chows on there… there was also a really fuzzy-looking dog named “Sulley,” wearing a red-white-and-blue bandana around his neck.
I forget the exact wording of the profile, but I do remember that he was named for the pilot of the “Miracle on the Hudson” controlled U.S Airways crash, Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenburger.
The listing also said he was housebroken, loved kids (not that that was a huge concern back then), and was picked up out by Troy, MO on the side of the road by a dog-catcher.
In fact, at the pound where they kept him, no one claimed him within the 14 days that they gave dogs before they usually put them to sleep. But the dog-catcher thought he was so cute and such a “pet” that he stayed his execution until a no-kill shelter could rescue Sully.
We quickly decided that Sully was the front-runner to become our new dog. We called the shelter, and they said they were coming to the Petco out by my folks’ house in Chesterfield that Saturday (April 4th, 2009), and they’d happily bring “Sulley” for us to check out.
We arrived at the store early, and eagerly awaited the cages being unloaded from the shelter’s truck out front. There were plenty of great, well-mannered dogs getting off the truck… but none looked like the dog we had seen in the picture.
Finally, the very last dog lifted off the truck and brought in was the “Sulley” from the site. And all of the other dogs started barking at him as soon as he was in the area.
I got a kick out of that–what had this guy done to garner such a reputation already with the other puppies there? Though in hindsight it must’ve just been his strong personality, boundless energy, and a little bit of Woody Woodpecker “mischief maker” in him.
They took him out of the cage and let us take him for a walk around the building. He had so much life and verve to him, and from the very start was jumping up and licking our hands and knees.
At some point, he rolled around in the grass, and let us rub his belly for the first time. His smile was so over-broad, I could tell that he was so happy to get that kind of attention and (dare I say already) love from people who were looking to welcome him into their home.
We took him back to the area, and asked about adopting him immediately.
Unfortunately, they said, it wasn’t quite that easy. There was a two-week waiting period for all new dog owners before adopting.
We said okay, and asked to take him around the building one more time. This time, as we got to the far corner of the building, I noticed the older man who worked at the shelter surveying us from a distance. Sully really was putting on a show for the guy, showering us with licks, and smiling broadly and giving us all kinds of love.
When we got back, magically the shelter owner decided to waive the two-week waiting period and as long as I could provide $250 cash on the spot, Sulley would get to come home with us that day.
I happily went to the Commerce Bank ATM nearby, withdrew $260, and gave it all to the shelter, a $10 donation on top of the asking price for Sulley, which was appreciated.
To this day, it was the best $260 I ever spent.
We immediately dropped the “e” from his hame, and proudly took him over to my folks’ house to meet their dog, Jenga, and they admired his energy, personality, and his already-apparent love for all of us. After some initial “getting-to-know you” bumps with Jenga, the two became fast friends, and inseparable when they were together.
Some Early Bumps in the Road…
As I mentioned, Sully had a ton of energy early on–maybe a little too much at first. He would run around, jumping on everything, like a total wild animal, a little bit out of control.
We tried to get his hair cut at PetSmart about a week after getting him. 4 hours after we dropped him off, we got a call from an exasperated groomer who was sick of getting nipped whenever she got near his paws or face.
After he got his first round of shots, he also developed a little bit of a biting problem for a while. He bit me one time near the face even that seemed to me to be out-of-nowhere maybe a month after we got him? But I later learned this was likely his doggy PTSD, and my glasses catching the light at a weird angle that indicated danger to him.
He also had severe separation anxiety–whenever we would leave him home alone, he would bark incessantly. Our downstairs neighbor at the time was a bit of a (for lack of a better word) dick, and always loudly made it known how much Sully was barking while we were away.
Because of all of this, Karin and I had a really serious talk about whether or not we could keep him.
I was persistent that we could, and wanted to take whatever action was necessary to get this hooligan under control.
So we signed him up for two levels of obedience lessons at PetSmart. These helped him a lot–the trainer told us that usually dogs with excess energy like Sully secretly craved structure.
And sure enough, as we worked with him on his sits, lay downs, stays, and “come here”s (special thanks to Karin for that–she worked with him during the day most days while I was at work)… he got a lot better. He’d listen to us, and it really deepened his connection with us.
Not to mention that watching him fly around PetSmart taking corners like he was in the French Connection with a big smile on his face searching for us really warmed my heart, and gave me a soft spot for the guy.
Based on their recommendation, we started walking him longer–usually around 2 miles per day–to burn off energy. While this was tedious at first, given his predisposition to take a leak on every tree, he got better with time, and eventually loved walking 2-4 miles with us at a time.
Karin was able to be home with him most of the time, so we tried to be with him as much as we could to lessen his separation anxiety. Maybe it was the right move, and maybe not–though he did eventually overcome it.
He still had his issues with nipping some people–it took him a while to warm up to many women, including my own Mom, who loved him as much as anyone else.
And when we needed to find a solution, we did it. To solve the groomer problem, we found one at a vet who could give him a very low-dose sedative to groom around his face and paws. Later on, I would “groom” him with a clippers (my “work” was much more third grader with crayons compared to the Michaelangelo-level groomer I discovered later in his life–more on that in a minute…)
But he continued to improve over time. The nipping became less and less frequent. The licks became more and more common. And before we knew it, we were taking him to every outdoor festival, dog-friendly restaurant, and dog park around town.
Every day when I came home from work, he rocketed down the long hallway to greet me, jumping up on my knees and licking my hands. As rough as some of those days were back at the firm, it was always great to come home to his smiling face as the first thing I saw.
He quickly became a member of the family. And whenever I was out of town and Karin couldn’t watch him, he stayed with my folks. They quickly warmed up to the crazy lunatic, and as I mentioned before he became fast friends with their dog, Jenga, too.
Our Hero Helps Me Through a Really Rough Patch
At some point in 2010, Karin broke up with me. And after a brief reconciliation, she left for good.
I was truly heartbroken, even though years later I’d recognize that the relationship was really quite wrong in many respects, and never would’ve worked anyway.
I remember several nights after it happened, I crashed at my folks’ place, in my old room, watching Firefly for the first time, telling Sully how much it hurt, my tears streaming into his fur.
His response? A steady stream of licks, lapping up all of the tears as they fell down my cheeks.
This would become a pattern–not that I’ve experienced a ton of tragedy in my life–I’m far better off in that regard than many folks. But when I did, Sully would always sense my pain, and quickly jump up on the couch to do his best to lick it away.
He would do the same with many people with ailments; my Dad swears that he would have foot or ankle pain, and Sully would come over and fastidiously lick the area, almost like he could sense it. The next day, the pain would magically be gone. For this, we always said that Sully was secretly a “doctor dog”–he really could sense pain and did his best to heal it as best he could.
We also noticed that he had a fascination with all things related to light, whether it was a beam sneaking through the drapes or a window, or the laser pointer I would use on the long hallway at the condo, that he gleefully darted around trying to eat.
Because Karin was gone, there was no one left to stay with him at my place during the day, or even take him out at lunch. So for a while, I effectively moved out to my folks–my dad had recently retired, and could take him out at lunchtime. And he could be with Jenga, which honestly perked her up quite a bit too. No one there cared if he barked his head off (which at their place he rarely did, since he had his buddy Jenga there with him).
After that, I re-assessed a lot of things in my life, and made some sweeping career changes. I won’t go into those details TOO much here–that’s a story for a different time. But each step of the way, even when it seemed tough, when I was doing tons of work for little or no pay, Sully was there with me.
He’d split time between my place and my folks’–even back then I was out of town quite a bit, and I found my folks’ house was a nice, quiet place to get work done during the day.
Regardless, this phase of my life took me through several years, from being a sportswriter, to writing novels, to copywriting, to internet marketing.
Through it all, Sully was a trusty companion, often sitting next to me and licking my feet, or “standing guard” with Jenga when at my parents’ place, looking out the window and barking whenever a bird, squirrel, or truck would ever dare to cross “his property.”
A Big Scare
Around 2015, one night Sully was out at my folks’ place. I was back at my place. I got a call around 3 am from my Mom, in a hushed panic.
“You better come over–Sully’s not breathing so well.”
I rushed out to my folks’, and found Sully with an extremely swollen neck, really struggling to take in air. Each breath a more and more difficult endeavor.
I rushed him out to the emergency animal hospital in Chesterfield Valley. They couldn’t find anything wrong with him, but shot him up with steroids and antibiotics.
Mom and I were wrecks. Sully was only 7 years old at the time (we thought). I distinctly remember my Mom pleading with a higher power, “Don’t take Sully away. He hasn’t had enough time yet. Please don’t take my little buddy away.”
It was a harrowing several hours. They were trying some treatments, getting him IV fluids. Jenga consoled me as I was holed up in my room, barely able to get any work done.
I think they were readying him for exploratory surgery around 1:30 pm, but then suddenly, before he went under the knife, he started breathing normally again.
It was a minor miracle! I was so elated. When he got home I showered him with hugs and pets. He was out of it quite a bit until the drugs wore off, but eventually he was back to his usual self: a mix between smiling and happy, and increasingly a kind of tired curmudgeon.
We later found out that there was a yellowjacket’s nest in my parent’s front yard, and one of them likely stung him.
It was a harrowing several hours to be sure. But I knew I had to be there for him afterward–after all, he had done the same for me in countless times of need in the past.
Sully Loses One of His Best Friends
In late 2014, it was clear that my parents’ dog, Jenga, was going downhill.
Even though Sully was out at their place a lot at that time, her energy was waning, and her usual zest for long walks started to decline as well.
I was housesitting for my folks when they were on a cruise one week in September, and she was starting to decline rapidly. She only wanted to go out in the front yard on walks, and even then not very far.
My parents were very worried–I updated them daily. I think we all sensed the end was near, and they wanted nothing more than to rush back to be with their precious loved one as well.
But Sully was worried too. At night, when he would normally be on one side of the bed, and Jenga on the other, he started snuggling up next to her. His healing and therapeutic instincts kicked in. He clearly knew something was up, and he wanted to help one of his best buddies get through it, as well.
Monday morning, Jenga was getting washed off after being outside, and she let out one final breath, and she passed.
My Dad and I rushed her to the vet, but it was far too late. We had all lost one of our great buddies.
Sully was certainly a bit down when it happened. But like he had before, he helped all of us through this difficult time as well. He jumped up on the couch and gave my Mom and Dad lots of licks and love. Again, he licked away the pain, albeit in a much different way than usual.
Sully Gets a New Little Buddy
A few months after Jenga passed away, my folks got a new puppy and named her Crystal.
In a lot of ways, she reminded me of Sully when I first got him: a bundle of energy jumping all over the place, getting into all kinds of trouble.
As Sully was getting older though, he still loved to play, walk, look out the window, and otherwise had a good amount of energy…
But he definitely enjoyed a good nap by the window as well. And sometimes… well… Crystal would prefer that he play with her.
This would often lead to a curmudgeonly Sully “expressing his displeasure to her”… and going back to his nap.
Soon though, as Jenga had for him, Sully took on the mentor role for Crystal. And crazily enough, as she observed him, she calmed down quite a bit and became a great dog in her own right.
All the way to the end, the two were great buddies. Crystal would often “sound the alarm” when a strange new truck came by (or when the usual mail truck came by), and Sully would diligently go and echo her barks at the window:
Sully and his new little buddy at our place during one of her frequent stays when my folks were out of town.
Sully Gets a New Mom
At the end of 2015, I was going on a lot of first dates, but not getting very far with the ladies.
So I let my sister-in-law, Sarita, pose me for a new profile pic with Sully and a glass of wine.
I thought it kind of made me look like a supervillain… but I dunno, decide for yourself:
Sully helps me get the only lady who’s ever mattered.
That all changed when I received a Bumble message from a very smart, well-spoken, funny, attractive doctor named Kate.
We matched on different dating apps about a year apart. Her first message to me was something like, “I see you write sci-fi. Do you like Ancient Aliens & Star Trek: The Next Generation?
I kinda wanted to propose then-and-there.
The timing wasn’t great for us the first time around, but we reconnected a year later, and Kate has since mentioned that the pic with Sully made quite an impression on her.
So Sully also helped me meet the love of my life, and he’s kinda directly responsible for little Kara’s life too.
I think it took Kate a little while to get used to Sully. With a new mom around, he took back to some of his old behaviors. Kate was firm with him (and very loving too–she just knew he needed more boundaries and structure), and things like sending him to the back room for begging at the dinner table resulted in a wet spot on the carpet back there.
But over time, as Sully did with everyone he met, he endeared himself to his new mom. And Kate loved Sully so much too–she has always been a great mom to him over the last 4+ years.
In fact, she pushed for him to get on better medication for his arthritis, and then kept him in great shape by leading us all on family walks for about a mile and a half each night. She definitely pushed him to be better, and I know he was thankful for it–look at him resting on his mom and protecting her:
Sully protecting his mom one of the many times on the couch.
Sully Gets a Little Sister
March of last year was one of the best, wildest, and most wonderful months of our lives when we welcomed little baby Kara into the fold.
Sully went to stay with my folks for a few weeks while we adjusted as new parents. But eventually he came back and was a fantastic big brother for Kara.
I will admit, at first he was a little apprehensive about having someone new in the home who got more attention than he did. But eventually, his protective and healing instincts kicked in. He guarded Kara’s bassinet and crib frequently, and even tolerated her “learning pets,” which consisted of her grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking.
“Do! Do!” was one of her first attempts at a word–she’d excitedly say it while pointing at Sully, and then random dogs on the street.
To this day, she absolutely loves dogs… and I think we have Sully to thank for that.
The Beginning of the End
In August of 2019, I noticed that Sully was hanging his tail to the side a bit more. And having more trouble with steps.
I took him to the vet several times. The best the vet could figure, he was just dealing with a flare up of his arthritis. So they upped his pain medication and said to stop having him do steps.
We diligently started carrying him up and down the steps to our place… but he kept getting worse. He developed a noticeable limp in one of his back legs, and though Kate is a people doctor and not a dog doc, she said it didn’t really look like “just arthritis” anymore.
But he and I would still go for a half-mile every morning. And we’d go on mile-long “family walks” when the weather was nice.
He was definitely slowing down though, taking his time. Stopping at trees “to sniff” for minutes at a time when he needed to catch his breath–he was very proud throughout his life.
Around Christmas time, he was deteriorating to the point where we decided to take him to a specialist. Kate’s Aunt was a veterinary oncologist at Veterinary Specialty Services here in town, and so I took Sully there for an evaluation.
By this time, he was “drunk walking”–he couldn’t walk in a straight line anymore, and was noticeably struggling when we went outside.
The surgeon there thought it was a pretty clear case of a herniated disc–a pretty routine procedure where they usually just go in and suck out the old disc, and he’d be back to normal in short order.
We were all relieved–I had done some internet digging on potential causes of this, and that was the first time I heard of “Degenerative Myelopathy” as a cause for this type of behavior in dogs.
It sounded like a horrible disease–basically the equivalent of “Doggie ALS” where his spinal cord would degrade over time, until he was totally paralyzed.
But the vets at VSS thought this was very unlikely–especially since he was a mixed breed, and it was a genetic disease where both parents had to be carriers.
I mean, two dogs with the DM gene from different breeds? Apparently it was very unlikely.
They did an MRI before he was scheduled for his back surgery though, and couldn’t find any problems with his back.
This raised an eyebrow. If there wasn’t anything structurally wrong with his spinal cord, that made something like DM way more likely of a diagnosis.
We got another appointment with a neurologist, who would better be able to interpret the MRI. He suggested another MRI, since he also thought something like DM was pretty unlikely given his size and breed history.
DM is such a horrible disease in part because you can only officially diagnose it by examining the spinal cord of a deceased dog in an autopsy. As I mentioned above, it’s a genetic disease, and if you have two copies of the “at risk” gene, you’re considered high risk for it. But it’s largely diagnosed initially by eliminating other causes of symptoms.
Sully got another MRI in a different position, and it confirmed the initial diagnosis: nothing in the spinal column that would impinge on the spinal cord and create the “drunk walk” effect we saw.
There was a small disc problem down by his tail, but that didn’t make sense given the symptoms he was showing.
Nonetheless, the neurologist decided to do the genetic test on Sully for DM, just to rule it out, and then if that came back negative, we’d move on to the other issue down his spine.
They tested him for DM on March 17th. Little did we know that the country was about to go into COVID lockdown.
For the duration of lockdown, Sully stayed with my folks. They had fewer steps, and he could look out his beloved window throughout. Plus they had more carpet than we did and could lay it down over their hardwood floors. And he struggled to walk on hardwood without any rugs for support.
We’d come by every week or so and visit from a distance, but back then the experts were suggesting not mixing with pets “outside of your quarantine circle”… and my Dad was considered high risk, while Kate was literally swabbing folks for COVID back then.
It was a crazy time… but we tried to visit through windows and storm doors as much as possible. He seemed to be in good spirits, barking at us when we came, and otherwise propping himself up on the window.
We wanted nothing more than to reach right through the glass and give him a big hug… but we also didn’t want to get my folks sick. It broke my heart to see Sully losing (a little bit) of mobility each time we came back… but I was heartened by the fact that the neurologist still thought there could be a surgical solution.
We were supposed to get the results within 14 days, but COVID slowed down the lab’s processing of the test. By the time we had gotten the results, 6-7 weeks had passed, and I got a call from the neurologist.
“Unfortunately, Sully is high-risk for Degenerative Myelopathy.”
I was shocked. I knew this disease was bad–most dogs only make it 6-12 months after diagnosis. And Sully had already made it 9 months since the onset of symptoms.
The neurologist suggested one final course of treatment: a dose of oral steroids that should improve Sully’s condition.
We got that prescription around Mother’s Day, and consequently we decided to break quarantine (with masks) with my folks around then too.
Sully’s back legs were definitely worse, but he could still walk with assistance, and he could move around on the carpet pretty well still. It seemed like he was continuing his slow descent… but it was slow.
Then we came back for my birthday on the 23rd. After a week-and-a-half of steroids… he had gotten considerably worse.
He couldn’t move on his own anymore. And he was starting to get incontinent–he went to the bathroom on rugs. So much so that my folks started putting plastic underneath him to prevent him from soiling too many rugs at once.
I called the neurologist, a quiver in my voice. He wasn’t on that day, but I left a message detailing how Sully’s condition was getting worse, and quickly at that.
This past week Wednesday, I set up a follow-up appointment with the neurologist to see if there was anything we could do to treat him–if there was any kind of treatment to either slow down the disease, or some kind of “out there” surgical treatment that might be able to relieve some kind of spinal cord impingement that both MRIs missed.
On Thursday, my mom sent me a truly devastating text:
“Just came home to take Sully out. He isn’t wanting to put weight on his front paws – this is the first time this has happened.”
Not only that, but he wouldn’t wag his tail when he saw my mom–it was the first time that happened too.
I rushed out there to work with him in the afternoon. Sure enough, he was laying on his side, unable to move. He smiled and barked when he saw me, and I thought for a moment that he might lift himself up after all.
But sure enough, when I took him out, he could barely use his front right paw. And his back legs dragged behind him, supported only by the sling we used to keep his haunches upright.
I knew he was deteriorating rapidly. And for the first time, I had to consider that the end for Sully was coming sooner than later.
It was incredibly sad. DM is a horrible disease because, like ALS, the dog’s mind doesn’t go at all while the body wastes away.
That is, until the very end, where the disease attacks the front legs, and then the brain stem, and causes respiratory failure, and a whole lot of suffering.
His front legs starting to go was the “canary in the coal mine” moment.
And not only that, while he would smile for a while when I was around, his mood darkened considerably when he couldn’t get up to “his window” anymore.
He’d have “good moments” followed by bad stretches. And it seemed like Thursday as the day went on, it was just one long “bad stretch.”
I went out to their place to be with him all day Friday as I worked. He smiled a lot, sitting next to me on the bed upstairs, on his plastic sheet underneath a towel. It seemed like he was having “a good day” for a while.
But whenever he peed himself, he would come back in frustrated. I’d give him a bath and clean him up, but he was sullen and embarrassed. Sometimes he even seemed angry and growled.
Was this how he was to spend the rest of his life? Confined to piss pads where he couldn’t even lift himself up, or even re-adjust his body?
All the while, the appointment Saturday loomed like the Sword of Damocles. I knew the neurologist was basically going to say there was nothing he could do… but it quickly went from being to see if there was anything else that we could do to planning for the inevitable.
I brought Sully a cheeseburger from Shake Shack on Friday, and he devoured it. It was the last meal he could have before his appointment on Saturday, since they may have to do surgery, and he’d have to be fasted up for it.
Friday night he was peaceful–he was his normal “snorecat” self, keeping Kate and me up a good part of the night, with different measures of anxiety and anticipation of the day ahead.
The End
At that point, it seemed like the end was coming quickly. So I thought we may have to end things sooner rather than later. I decided that if we would do it, we’d have the appointment with the neurologist on Saturday, then a great day on Sunday for him to “live it up”, and then bring him in on Monday to “do the deed.”
Like Mike Tyson said, “Everyone has a plan until they’re punched in the face,” and the proverbial right cross came Saturday morning.
Sully laid on one of his towels covered in plastic, shivering uncontrollably. To the point where he almost seemed like he was buzzing.
I tried taking him outside to warm him up, I used the hair dryer on him, nothing helped.
Not only that, but he had quite a lot of blood in his stool that morning, which was another bad sign.
When he wasn’t shaking or pooping blood, he kind of laid there, staring off into the distance. Even if not in really bad physical pain yet, it seemed the disease was moving to his brain quickly (as it often does when it hits the front legs), and once it did, he would suffer a lot.
Is this any way to live? I thought.
We had a very tough family discussion about what was the right time to end Sull Bull’s suffering. Could we really subject him to two more mornings like Saturday morning if he was starting to suffer? And what if the disease spread fully to his brain in the next two days? Or week?
It’s a tough thing–deciding when to end a best friend’s life out of mercy. I don’t envy anyone who has to do it–whether it’s a relative or pet or even a close friend.
What part of the decision am I making for HIM? And what part am I making for ME?
That was my biggest worry: that this dog who had been so amazingly loyal to me his whole life… who had 11 great years with me… would be on that table, look into my eyes, and think “He’s betraying me! It was all for nothing!”
I cried more than a few times–I think we all did. But it was ultimately my decision, and I made up my mind that if the neurologist said it was time, we’d end it for him that day, to ease his pain.
My mom drove us all to the appointment. Sure enough, as I held Sully in the car, he looked across out the driver’s side window, and had a big smile on his mouth. He could see out the window again! It was all he wanted to do… and that was pretty much the only way he could manage it anymore.
We got to VSS, and they unfortunately only had “remote” appointments because of COVID. That meant they came and took him in, and then the doctor examined him and called us in the parking lot to discuss.
The neurologist, who was normally very happy and positive, had a grave tone.
I knew at that moment that I was losing my best friend that day.
We went through a couple of “Hail Mary” ideas I had about the diagnosis, but the neurologist said it was almost definitely the DM, and Mom and I cried and hugged several times over the course of the conversation.
Then the conversation turned to when is the best time to end it for Sully.
And the neurologist came back with (in hindsight) one of the smartest questions I had heard:
“Imagine maybe the three things old Sully from a few years back loved to do more than anything else. Then think how many of those he can still do. If it’s less than 2/3, then it’s probably time.”
I instantly thought of going for walks, and looking out the window. And then probably eating was number 3… but playing with Crystal, and playing fetch were a close 4 and 5. And so he could only still do 4 out of his 5 favorites… and that 5th one might go as soon as the disease spread to his brain.
So I told the neurologist that Saturday was the day.
Then he asked if we wanted to do it right then, or bring Sully back later to do it.
My mom and I were speechless. If we took him back, would he enjoy the time with us? Or was it more for us? The neurologist suggested getting him frozen custard or a nice treat.
Ultimately, I called Kate. And she said “Yeah let him have a good last few hours with you guys so you can say goodbye.”
It turned out to be one of the best ideas/decisions ever.
We collected him back, and I told him exactly what was going on.
Now, to preface this, I’ve always had a strong suspicion that Sully understands English entirely. That is to say he can understand every word we say, and even answer yes/no questions with either a lick (“yes”) or no lick (“no”).
I told him what the plan was, and if anything he got a big smile on his face. Almost as if he was relieved for the pain to go away. I asked him if he wanted a good afternoon before he went.
A hearty “yes lick.” I felt a little bit better.
We got him a Culver’s cheeseburger and some custard from there. We brought him to our new house we just got a couple weeks back and he lounged on the deck in the shade of our big Magnolia tree, lapping up water and asking me for ice.
He was back to being happy, normal Sully. The breeze gently flowed through his hair. Kara came out and got a bunch of pets and licks in. He watched cars passing by. He loved it.
Then we went back out to my folks so my Dad could say goodbye. We picked up McDonald’s on the way, and Sully enjoyed another feast.
The crying outbursts became more frequent from Mom, Dad, and Me. We had a crying group hug at some point, and my nieces, Bea and Tilly, and even their dog Lukas and Crystal all joined in.
We kept telling Sully how much we loved him, how much he meant to us. And he licked all of us in the face a bunch.
Finally, it was time. Kate picked us up and drove us to VSS for the end.
VSS was only allowing one person in for euthanasia procedures, so there was no question: it was going to be me.
They brought us inside, everyone so sorry that a once proud life was about to be extinguished.
I brought him in, and they took him away to get a catheter in his arm. Then they brought him back on a mat and set him on the table in the exam room.
What happened next shocked me:
Normally Sull was a typical nervous shaking dog at the vet. He’d often be really scared and cuddle up close to me.
This time, he was happy. Smiling. His eyes were bright and vibrant. I know he knew what was coming–everyone had told him as much.
But it was almost as if he was relieved. He did have arthritis too … and that couldn’t have felt great…
Yet I think it was not being able to see out the window that really got him. And if he couldn’t do that, then what did he have to live for in his mind?
“Would you like a few more minutes with him? Or should I send in the doctor?”
“Maybe five more minutes and send him in?”
Thankfully, they knew “five more minutes” actually meant more like fifteen. I kept telling Sully how much I loved him, how much I missed him. Kate told me to be strong for him, and I kept back the tears.
Yet there Sully was, licking my face anyway.
“Thank you. Thank you so much for being the best buddy ever,” I said at one point.
A flurry of licks for my forehead.
Eventually the doctor came in–it was the neurologist. He asked if Sully had a nice last meal, and I told him he had two of them.
“Well he certainly seems to have liked them!” he pointed at Sully’s smiling face, and I choked out a genuine chuckle behind sobs.
And he explained how this worked for me.
“The first injection is an anesthetic, so it really does kind of put him to sleep. And then the second injection really does kinda stop everything.”
“Ok doctor. Is it okay if I don’t put my mask back on?”
“Of course,” he said.
I looked into Sully’s eyes. He kept smiling, his eyes kind as the first injection went in.
He continued to pant–still seemingly smiling.
“Be strong! It’s okay–be strong!” I implored myself more than him. “I love you buddy. I love you. Thank you. I love you. I’ll see you eventually–hopefully not too soon, you’ll understand. You’ll be able to walk soon. You’ll see Jenga soon.”
My mind is a bit of a blur as to exactly what I said… but that’s pretty close.
Finally, the second injection started to go in. He kept smiling and panting for a while. His eyes still wide and kind.
Then one big sigh…and nothing.
“Is he gone?” I asked.
The neurologist nodded yes as he listened with a stethoscope to make sure there was no heartbeat.
I lost it. “Sully! You’re really gone! I can’t believe it! I love you buddy! Oh Sully! It hurts! I miss you big guy!”
(Again, a bit of a blur, but that’s what I remember.)
The neurologist handed me tissues, and I went on like that for probably ten minutes. Finally, I composed myself, and went out to the parking lot.
Kate was waiting outside the car.
“He’s gone,” I sobbed.
We hugged and kissed for about five minutes. And then finally started driving home.
I talked her through what happened.
“Well, if he was that happy, and he knew what was going on, then you definitely made the right decision. He was ready to go. In fact, if he was that happy all afternoon after you told him what was going on, then he was probably happy to finally be free of his frustration and pain.”
It made a lot of sense to me, and helped me feel a lot better.
I called my folks, and then my brother. We came home and split a bottle of wine, and talked about life, death, and other “heavy” topics.
I took 3 melatonin pills and got about 5 hours of sleep (surprisingly). At some point, I could’ve sworn I heard Sully snoring at the end of the bed, and felt him licking my forehead, just like he did while the injections were going in.
An Uplifting Postscript
I might have more thoughts on this in the coming weeks. But for now, let me end with something kind of uplifting to this otherwise tough tale.
This morning we went to the fountains by the Ritz–one of Sully’s favorite spots.
Kara loved watching the fountains, and at one point I said, “Big Guy, if you’re here, then give us a sign.”
The fountains immediately stopped.
It was the only time it happened in the half hour or so we were there.
Kate and I looked at each other, an equal mix of knowing and dumbstruck.
I gotcha Big Guy. I gotcha…
Beyond…
I truly believe he’s in a better place now.
I am not. I have good stretches followed by bouts of intense sadness.
I know it was the best decision for Sully before he was truly suffering…
But I’m always going to wonder if it was “too early”… or “too late.”
I went through and made an album of all of my Sully pics and videos. And going through that has been very therapeutic.
It helps to remember the good times. As my Dad said, “Think of all the good times you guys had. And then think of the pain of today. It hurts, yes, but compared to the good times, it’s no contest.”
I agree with my Dad for sure: now Sully is free. And hopefully running around, playing with Jenga again.
But I still miss the hell out of him. And I don’t think that’s gonna change for a long time.
