[Dailydrool] When to say "when"

[erusselburg2 at aol.com]

 I haven't posted in a  very long time, but I do want to chime in on this subject.  I lost my very first basset Rosie (Rosebud, my GABR foster-failure) at the end of the summer last year.

Rosie was ancient when I fostered her. She settled in so well at our house that, with her advanced years, I couldn't bear to see her uprooted again, so we kept her.  I knew then that if we had a year with her, we'd be blessed.  She was extremely arthritic, and although she appeared to want to go with us on our walks, could only make it to the end of our property line before becoming short of breath.  It got to where I would "walk" her out to the end of the front yard (we live on a small farm) and back again; she thought this was her "walk," and seemed satisfied.  

The few times she seemed willing & able to come all the way on our walk (with three or four young, energetic beagles in tow), we'd get to our end point only to turn around and discover that Rosie could barely make it back.  The return trip was often a comedy sketch with me coaxing, cajoling, pushing, nudging and pulling, then half-carrying a 60+ lb houndette back to our farm.  

A year before I lost Rosie, I had a beautiful male German shepherd who was only 8 yrs old.  His body started to fall apart very rapidly, and in fact it happened so fast that the end was upon me before I was ready.  Instead of taking his cue, and helping him cross the Bridge, I (and my vet) put him on every conceivable anti-inflammatory and mega-doses of painkillers.  This I did because I wasn't ready.  It bought me two weeks and did nothing for my beloved friend. In the end, Hanz didn't even know where he was.

I promised Rosie I wouldn't do that - that when it was time, I wouldn't hesitate, but would do the right thing for her.  And one day, she told me it was time.  I immediately called my vet and brought her in. In reality, it was easier this way for both me & I'm sure for her as well.  

Rosebud was the most beautiful of many beautiful hounds who have owned me.  At least 12 yrs old (estimated), she had been dumped on a highway in Illinois, and she always seemed to be waiting, watching for her owners to come back.  Every night, I stroked her velvety ears and told her how much I loved her.
I have no regrets and feel blessed to have known Rosebud.

Thank you for indulging me this story, and bless you as you struggle to know when the time is "right."

Edy 
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