Basil

Below is what I wrote during the last weekend of Basil's life. As it happened. For once in my life, I wrote about my emotions. This is an alien concept to me. I did it for therapy. I honestly never thought I would release it in the wild. But here I am, mini polished for spelling mistakes.

Saturday Morning

The heart is impressive, strong enough to sustain life for decades. But fragile enough to crack and crumble during a bereavement.

Yesterday, it was decided that our 15 year old Golden retriever would soon be put to sleep. His kidneys for a while have been working inefficiently. Not processing enough protein. His loss of weight was dramatic. Not loss of fat but muscle. We could keep pumping painkillers into him and let nature take its course. But that doesn't benefit him. It would have only benefited us keeping his cheery face around for longer. And honestly, I have no idea if he needed the painkillers or not. It was just to help him stand on his weakened legs, without feeling too much strain getting up and down.

A few days ago he developed a day of the runs. We probably overdosed him on Xmas turkey and his digestive system fought back and lost. Rightly or wrongly we treated him with anti-diarrhea tablets and after a few hours it eventually it seemed to work. By now a vet appointment had been made.

Little bugger had perked up by them. But the vet laid the cards on the table, it was time to make the tough decision, and it was taken. Child no 2 however needed a final weekend with him, so a steroid injection was given to aid him for a few days. We were warned the injection would give the false impression he would act better and reiterated it was a temporary stop gap. Today starts the final weekend. Today he is going on a riverside adventure. His last with his brother. Our 2 year old rescue Cairn Terrier may not have been with us for a year yet. But he has tapped in knowing something is wrong. He can probably sense, our once powerful hearts are breaking. Monday afternoon will soon be here when we have to say goodbye to our beloved Basil.

Saturday Afternoon

As last days go, you plan the earth but you need to consider the dog. We spent an hour down the river. Old or not he enjoyed it, pulling the lead wanting to go further. I felt like saying sod it, let's walk til he drops. But considering we were off road, any tired dog would need to be carried out, not too troublesome for a Cairn Terrier, but definitely worrisome for a Golden Retriever, even one who lost a lot of weight.

As mentioned by the vet, the steroid injection seems to have perked him up.

Sunday

It's Sunday morning. Reality hit on Friday, tears flowed non stop for a while. A weekend reprieve was nice, time to spoil him, but from the human perspective its torture. Mental torture.

As dogs go, he was rarely ill. Occasional poos and pukes but vet wise nothing. His only expense was a burst blood vessel in his ear which needed minor surgery to drain the liquid from the swelling and repair the leak.

It's not even 7am, and I am low. The rest of the family are too. 15 years is a long time to love someone. Earlier this year we also had to say goodbye to Tiger our cat, he irritated me on purpose for 18 years, but I still miss him. Two oldies in the same year seem extra ruthless on the soul.

Brian may have picked up on him and us. I haven't seen him playing with Basil in the last week. Normally he likes to wind him up at least daily.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. He came to us at the age 18 months after his previous family had to emigrate. I’m wondering if we are giving out familiar vibes they did days before they said goodbye to him.

Or maybe I’m overthinking the entire thing and its purely coincidental.

Grief doesn’t start when someone/something dies. It happens well before that. Illness and knowledge of being put to sleep activate it.

Sunday Night

Sunday came and went, we got up early. Couldn’t sleep I suppose. Soon as he stirred we got up. Last full day together, we sat observing him. He didn't do anything different to normal but we stared and watched him, mostly sleeping until he wanted something.

My brain shut down around 1pm and I fell asleep in the chair. That usually only happens during the day if I’m ill. But I suspect my brain went into shut down mode to protect itself. Purely guesswork, I’m not a neurologist.

Monday (New Years Eve)

Last day has arrived. Up early again. I’m strangely calm. I know it won't last, but for now, I’m watching him again having a post-breakfast scratch on the rug.

A few selfies with us and his smiling face. On the outside, he really seems healthy. But if it wasn’t for his dramatic weight loss and staggering walking we would be none the wiser. I keep thinking at least we had 15 happy years with him. Some pet owners are not that lucky. Then my head says, why couldn’t it be 16 years, not 15.

He's not even gone yet, and we already contacted the local pet crematorium, for what happens next. Time is ticking and we both feel like we are at loose ends. Again, not sure this was the best way to do it. But it's the path we are on, no turning back now.

Getting a flashback, over the years we have had cats, rabbits, a tortoise, a hamster, and sugar gliders. All would happily play with him. The tortoise wanted to hump him and if Basil got up and walked away, he just chases and bites his tail. The hamster in his ball would run into him. The rabbits and sugar gliders would climb all over him. 

Basil didn’t care, he would lie there and be happily used as a trampoline for the rabbits to springboard off/on him to get on the settee.

The cat, well, he would just pick on him.

The chickens couldn't have cared less. One, Ruby, would try and pull a meaty bone from out of his mouth while he was eating. And still, he didn't care too much to get nasty with her. I was more worried about him getting his eyes pecked out in her greedy mood.

Trying to keep busy when you know what's coming is nigh on impossible. Few fleeting moments here and there of calmness. Expecting this to not be really happening. Wakes up. Silly daydream.

I feel angry. Some minor part feels angry towards him for getting old and ill. I know its not his fault at all. But when I realise he is leaving us. My sadness turns into blame. Trying to give blame where none is due.

I don’t know whether this is that all 4 kids have left home in one form or another, and the pets have become an ever source of dependence for myself and my wife.

Brian, aka #Brianthegit came along less than a year ago. He definitely knows something is wrong in the house. For the last few days, he hasn’t been his demanding playful self.

How do you cope with a grieving dog on top of a grieving family?

I am in no rush to get him a replacement brother (stupid phrase) to fill the void. At this present moment. I never want a new pet ever again.

Furry, scales or feathers, the little sods worm their way into your love and affections.

Monday afternoon (New Year's Eve)

Deed is done. My last words were, “See you soon fella,” then walked off bubbling. For that moment this atheist believed in the afterlife. Never did when my dad died, but did just then.

My wife and 2 of our kids had it worst. I can't do dead pets at all. So being there for the being put to sleep part was impossible. I’m a coward. I don’t have it in me. I sat in the same room as my dad just after he passed at home. Didn't look at him but I was there calmly. Pets, no, different ball game. I ended up taking Brian out for a very long walk. The walk was calming, the worst part was the return home. No one here. They were still at the vet's.

They came home empty-handed. Up till then, I hoped everyone was pulling a very cruel trick on me.

Tuesday (New Years Day)

The morning after is the cruelest of all. No Basil waking me up at the usual 6am wee call. But I was awake anyway. A self-inflicted drugged night stopped me reaching for the bottle. I suspect I’d have made a tit of myself if I restarted drinking after years of being sober.

Chemicals and stress knocked me out most of the night. I was sent to bed at half 11 by my wife. I vaguely remember firework explosions outside my window but not enough to tap me awake.

I feel so guilty. We gave up on him, we didn’t fight to keep him alive. There's a horrible line between compassion and cruelty. He looked happy but we know his internal organs were failing him. Weight loss. Accidental pooing as he lay down. 5 minutes of wandering around the yard before he could wee.

I’m sat here at the dining room table wishing to feel his cold wet nose nudging at my elbow demanding a stroke. Its not even 24hrs and I’m already forgetting how he feels to touch.

I don’t know if writing this down has helped me or not, I thought it could be therapeutic as I do bottle my feelings up.

Who knows. It's going to be a real rocky road ahead for me. I work with dogs, losing customers dogs was problematic enough to get through a working day soon after but tomorrow I have to put my feelings at the back of my head while I walk happy smiling dogs.

Tuesday 28th January 

It's coming up the end of the first month without him. Some days have been easy, and some have been very difficult. Yesterday, while driving up a country lane, I spotted a family of seven out walking, and they had a Golden retriever with them. It was filthy, guessing it just found a muddy puddle and lay in it. The old man was struggling holding him/her, he/she was in a playful mode and full of life. Basil even towards the end, mustered a lot of energy for his walks. Happy, smiling, sniffing and pulling on the lead in excitement. And that's how it should be.