mohitrucking
New member
I needed somewhere to put my feelings so I apologize in advance for the length of this. Feel free to drop to the 
to skip context.
Yesterday, I had to put my dog down. He was the sweetest boy with so much energy. So much that I felt out of my depth at times like maybe I wasn't the right person to care for him.
After years of being on the road, I decided that it was time to get a dog last year. I didn't have a house or yard but my apartment complex had a big dog park. I began responding to listings online, all of them fell through. But in March, I found this one guy who looked silly and happy in his photo that I had to meet him. The shelter connected me with his foster and we began arranging a meet-up. But they ghosted. After a few days I connected with the shelter and said "hey it didn't work out. I guess I'll keep an eye out for another dog." They responded with, "he's here with us! Would you like to foster-to-adopt?" I picked him up within 24 hours.
That was 9 months ago. I can describe these nine months as... a rollercoaster of sillyness, frustration, so many visits to the vet, gaslighting at the vet, sleepless nights, anxiety, so much diarrhea. In one word: a nightmare. He had so many health problems and behavioral issues, it just took so much of my resources that I often found myself completely depleted with no help in sight. He had a fungal infection, which meant that he couldn't come into contact with anyone and everything had to be cleaned and washed regularly so that it wouldn't spread. He had a yeast infection in his ears. He was underweight and was picky. All the medication (20+ prescriptions) made him have diarrhea, pee, and vomit.
With all that I experienced, my friends with dogs said I should've given him back to the shelter. I wasn't aware how bad his condition was and honestly I should've had an experienced friend assess him before adopting him. But my heart was sold. I was told his fungal infection recovery could be up to 3 weeks. The recovery routine was brutal and ended up being 7 months long.
Because he was quarantined for his infections, I was also quarantined for seven months. I was a single, 30-something, a high-ranking contributor at my company (high enough to make big decisions, low enough to still do the back-breaking work). It was a very stressful time. I ended up getting laid off over the summer and frantically job hunting and interviewing while caring for my dog and his illnesses. Eventually I found a job but they pretty much required me to be in-person at some events out of state.
Because of his condition, no daycare, boarding, Rover person would take him in. A lot of them wanted to help but it was too risky for the other animals they care for. I consulted with his vet and they suggested I take him with me on the trip despite the risk of spreading his infection. My parents were microbiologists and I knew that was a bad idea. But eventually I took a "f*ck it" approach and we went on a cross country road trip hopping rentals and hotels. It was also my birthday trip. He hated being out of his comfort zone but he loved all the smells and being with me. On the way back home, my car broke down and left us stranded in a small town on a Sunday, which meant everything was closed, even rental car facilities. Everything was closed but U-Haul. I had a nightmare situation of towing my car with a giant U-Haul cargo truck in the rain, which took 14 hours non-stop. We both hated it.
A friend saw me struggling to manage caring for my dog and maintaining my day-to-day personal and professional lives. He did some deep digging and found an animal clinic outside of the city that would do isolated boarding, so my dog wouldn't spread to other dogs and I could catch up on taking care of myself. They required leptospirosis and flu vaccines in order to do so. By that point, I'd been wary of pumping more chemicals into him than needed.
Coincidentally, the day I put him in boarding, I got the great news that he was definitively cured of the fungal infection. So I mentioned to the boarders he didn't need isolation but regular boarding was fine.
A week later when I picked him up, I noticed he was walking strange and limping in the back. I thought a bigger dog was too rough while playing. I called the clinic and they mentioned nothing happened. Odd. So I stretched his legs a bit and after a while they seemed ok enough for him to walk around.
The next couple of months in fast forward: a worsening condition, several “good standing” exams by several vets, a couple of x-rays revealing nothing, chiropractor visits, a few guess prescriptions led to an expensive MRI initially revealing nothing conclusive but ultimately leading vets to diagnose my dog with an unknown non-surgical, autoimmune disease. Meanwhile, the steroids that were helping to reduce his inflammation so he could walk were no longer working. He couldn't walk or stand. He was also becoming incontinent. His daycare (hospice care at this point) were finding it hard to keep him clean. Because of all the moisture, his skin started to easily tear. He'd also lost muscle in his hindquarters. His eyes started to move a lot while he ate also. He was deteriorating quickly.
I did consider and very much came close to re-homing him several times over these nine months. I filled out the shelter return form also and was ready to throw in the towel and let someone more experienced care for him. But every time and even in that instance, he needed me and something in me just wouldn't let go.
On Friday, I was given the option to give him meds to keep his pain down or make the decision to end his suffering. The vet was frank with me and said the best thing I could do is to let him go peacefully. That night was his last night alive and he spent it with his dog and human friends. He ate steak and so many treats. He sat outside a great while. He was happy.
He was my first dog. As we were putting him to sleep, the vet said it's not supposed to be like this and hoped I'd try again with another dog.
Today is Sunday. The day after, and my biggest regret is leaving him behind after his euthanization. It's irrational. He was gone. I left his favorite toy between his paws and covered him with his favorite blanket. I still feel like I could've done more, but I know I did more than enough. Needless to say I'm heartbroken. I've cried a lot in life but this cry feels and sounds different. I feel that I've lost a child. It hurts and I double over.
Feelings are hard to express or communicate for me. I tend to process my feelings through music. A song that's closest to how I feel right now is Adele's “My Little Love.”
Nine intense months of giving and caring held gently in my arms and was gone in seconds. There was so much energy, too much at times, and now there is none. I feel lost and the deepest pain. How long will I feel this way....
to skip context.Yesterday, I had to put my dog down. He was the sweetest boy with so much energy. So much that I felt out of my depth at times like maybe I wasn't the right person to care for him.
After years of being on the road, I decided that it was time to get a dog last year. I didn't have a house or yard but my apartment complex had a big dog park. I began responding to listings online, all of them fell through. But in March, I found this one guy who looked silly and happy in his photo that I had to meet him. The shelter connected me with his foster and we began arranging a meet-up. But they ghosted. After a few days I connected with the shelter and said "hey it didn't work out. I guess I'll keep an eye out for another dog." They responded with, "he's here with us! Would you like to foster-to-adopt?" I picked him up within 24 hours.
That was 9 months ago. I can describe these nine months as... a rollercoaster of sillyness, frustration, so many visits to the vet, gaslighting at the vet, sleepless nights, anxiety, so much diarrhea. In one word: a nightmare. He had so many health problems and behavioral issues, it just took so much of my resources that I often found myself completely depleted with no help in sight. He had a fungal infection, which meant that he couldn't come into contact with anyone and everything had to be cleaned and washed regularly so that it wouldn't spread. He had a yeast infection in his ears. He was underweight and was picky. All the medication (20+ prescriptions) made him have diarrhea, pee, and vomit.
With all that I experienced, my friends with dogs said I should've given him back to the shelter. I wasn't aware how bad his condition was and honestly I should've had an experienced friend assess him before adopting him. But my heart was sold. I was told his fungal infection recovery could be up to 3 weeks. The recovery routine was brutal and ended up being 7 months long.
Because he was quarantined for his infections, I was also quarantined for seven months. I was a single, 30-something, a high-ranking contributor at my company (high enough to make big decisions, low enough to still do the back-breaking work). It was a very stressful time. I ended up getting laid off over the summer and frantically job hunting and interviewing while caring for my dog and his illnesses. Eventually I found a job but they pretty much required me to be in-person at some events out of state.
Because of his condition, no daycare, boarding, Rover person would take him in. A lot of them wanted to help but it was too risky for the other animals they care for. I consulted with his vet and they suggested I take him with me on the trip despite the risk of spreading his infection. My parents were microbiologists and I knew that was a bad idea. But eventually I took a "f*ck it" approach and we went on a cross country road trip hopping rentals and hotels. It was also my birthday trip. He hated being out of his comfort zone but he loved all the smells and being with me. On the way back home, my car broke down and left us stranded in a small town on a Sunday, which meant everything was closed, even rental car facilities. Everything was closed but U-Haul. I had a nightmare situation of towing my car with a giant U-Haul cargo truck in the rain, which took 14 hours non-stop. We both hated it.
A friend saw me struggling to manage caring for my dog and maintaining my day-to-day personal and professional lives. He did some deep digging and found an animal clinic outside of the city that would do isolated boarding, so my dog wouldn't spread to other dogs and I could catch up on taking care of myself. They required leptospirosis and flu vaccines in order to do so. By that point, I'd been wary of pumping more chemicals into him than needed.
Coincidentally, the day I put him in boarding, I got the great news that he was definitively cured of the fungal infection. So I mentioned to the boarders he didn't need isolation but regular boarding was fine.
A week later when I picked him up, I noticed he was walking strange and limping in the back. I thought a bigger dog was too rough while playing. I called the clinic and they mentioned nothing happened. Odd. So I stretched his legs a bit and after a while they seemed ok enough for him to walk around.
The next couple of months in fast forward: a worsening condition, several “good standing” exams by several vets, a couple of x-rays revealing nothing, chiropractor visits, a few guess prescriptions led to an expensive MRI initially revealing nothing conclusive but ultimately leading vets to diagnose my dog with an unknown non-surgical, autoimmune disease. Meanwhile, the steroids that were helping to reduce his inflammation so he could walk were no longer working. He couldn't walk or stand. He was also becoming incontinent. His daycare (hospice care at this point) were finding it hard to keep him clean. Because of all the moisture, his skin started to easily tear. He'd also lost muscle in his hindquarters. His eyes started to move a lot while he ate also. He was deteriorating quickly.
I did consider and very much came close to re-homing him several times over these nine months. I filled out the shelter return form also and was ready to throw in the towel and let someone more experienced care for him. But every time and even in that instance, he needed me and something in me just wouldn't let go.
On Friday, I was given the option to give him meds to keep his pain down or make the decision to end his suffering. The vet was frank with me and said the best thing I could do is to let him go peacefully. That night was his last night alive and he spent it with his dog and human friends. He ate steak and so many treats. He sat outside a great while. He was happy.
He was my first dog. As we were putting him to sleep, the vet said it's not supposed to be like this and hoped I'd try again with another dog.
Today is Sunday. The day after, and my biggest regret is leaving him behind after his euthanization. It's irrational. He was gone. I left his favorite toy between his paws and covered him with his favorite blanket. I still feel like I could've done more, but I know I did more than enough. Needless to say I'm heartbroken. I've cried a lot in life but this cry feels and sounds different. I feel that I've lost a child. It hurts and I double over.
Feelings are hard to express or communicate for me. I tend to process my feelings through music. A song that's closest to how I feel right now is Adele's “My Little Love.”
Nine intense months of giving and caring held gently in my arms and was gone in seconds. There was so much energy, too much at times, and now there is none. I feel lost and the deepest pain. How long will I feel this way....
