As a time-travel thriller writer, I’m accustomed to navigating the twists and turns of fictional worlds, but the reality of losing my beloved Havanese dog, Tetley, has proved to be more challenging than any plot twist I’ve ever dreamed up.
As such, today’s post is a departure from my usual writerly content as I use this space to work through my loss. Thank you for indulging me.
We were fortunate to have Tetley with us for sixteen wonderful years.
He was quite the character in our family. While his brother Chai loved all kinds of toys and playing fetch, Tetley only had eyes for his ratty old rabbit and carried it around for years. He wanted nothing to do with silly fetch games, regarding Chai with disdain for playing such lowly sports. That said, he loved playing chase with my husband, especially splashing through puddles on rainy days.
Tetley was also quite the drama king. If a pine needle got stuck to his paw on a walk, he would refuse to budge until we removed it. Yet oddly, we gave him the nickname “Pig Pen” because he often returned from walks covered in sticks, leaves, mud and who knows what else. He left nose goo on the windows that I still haven’t had the heart to wash away.
No hugging allowed!
When it came to displays of affection, Tetley was selective about what he deemed acceptable. If he caught someone simply hugging, he’d erupt in a fit of furious barking, as if to say “No PDAs allowed in this household!” Yet somehow he remained blissfully undisturbed while snoring away at the foot of our bed, oblivious to any activity his humans might be engaging in under the covers. For that I will be eternally grateful to him!
While his brother Chai liked to keep a distance, Tetley was happiest being near people, often crawling into bed with overnight guests to make them feel welcome.
But recently, our dear old dog seemed to lose his zest for life. We blamed this on his failiing mobility, his deafness, and his increasing cognitive challenges (more on that below). Understanding the time was coming to say goodbye, my husband and I took him to the vet for a quality-of-life evaluation and for some guidance on how best to approach the inevitable farewell.
Leading up to the appointment, we’d talked about putting Tetley to rest in the fall. This would give us time to prepare ourselves emotionally and would spare our pup the discomfort of another miserable Canadian winter. It seemed like the most compassionate thing to do, as heartbreaking as it was.
However, on the morning of our appointment, something unexpected happened that threw our plan off course.
He didn’t eat his breakfast for the first time in sixteen years. His once sturdy legs, which had carried him on countless adventures with us, were extra wobbly beneath him. He willingly curled into my husband’s arms and seemed intent on staying there forever.
It was as if Tetley knew peace was within reach. He was giving us permission to let go.
So, with heavy hearts, we made the choice to bid farewell to our faithful companion.
Our decision may have seemed impulsive to some, but it had been brewing for a while.
Last year, Tetley had been diagnosed with canine cognitive dysfunction, sometimes referred to as Sundowners Syndrome. Dogs with this condition suffer from symptoms of confusion, aimless pacing, staring spells, increased barking, and a loss of interest in the things they once enjoyed.
“Sundowning” refers to the tendency of the symptoms to occur in the evening hours, a phenomenon I can personally attest to. Almost every night between five and eight o’clock, Tetley would bark and whine incessantly, though it sounded more like crying to me. He was on anti-anxiety medication to help with this, but it had stopped working in the last few months. That’s when we decided to meet with our vet.
We were fortunate we got to say goodbye to our sweet pup while he still knew us.
Even better was that he was in familiar surroundings and we were able to comfort him as he slipped away from this world. We weren’t as lucky with Tetley’s brother, Chai, whose sudden passing two years ago was marked by a frenzied and emotional late-night visit to an emergency vet, a traumatizing experience we did not wish to repeat. If you can handle another sad story, I wrote about that, too.
At this point, some of you might be saying “For goodness’ sake. It was just a dog.”
But this was my first dog. I got him after years of painstaking research about the best breed for our family–allergies being a major consideration–and when I saw his photo on the breeder’s website, I knew that dog would be a part of our family.
For me, all of this has reinforced the important role that pets play in our lives as more than just animals. They’re family members who bring joy and love into our lives and ask for nothing more in return than to be loved and taken care of. And eventually, to be let go.
Serendipitously, my friend Ginny in New York is part of the family that owns Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, the oldest pet burial ground in the United States.
Recently, Ginny sent me a link to a podcast called “This is Love.” In this episode, host Phoebe Judge delves into the cemetery’s fascinating history through touching interviews with various pet owners who have found solace there. Ginny’s son Edward, vice-president of Hartsdale, shares a heartfelt personal account, weaving the family’s 49-year connection with the cemetery into the narrative.
The podcast is just over 30 minutes long with a transcript available through the same link if you’d rather read the story than listen. Either way, be sure to keep the tissues handy.
Have you ever experienced the loss of a cherished pet? If you’re comfortable, please feel free to share your story in the comments.
