Once our daughter, Ella went off to college, every time we saw her, she would implore our old dog, Bug, to please live long enough for her to see him again.  “Just live another four months, Buggy, so we can see each other again”, were her words to him as we said goodbye.  Her sad farewell was during a brief visit we made in the Gainesville, Florida, Walmart parking lot where we saw her on a work break as we were passing through the area in January (since becoming empty nesters, we have been traveling full-time RVers).  For several years, it was clear that Bug was showing his age and slowing down, so this visit, like the last several, ended with tears in Ella’s eyes and a crack in her voice as she nuzzled his face before returning to work.

Now it was suddenly four months later, and Ella had to accelerate her travel plans by a day just to increase the likelihood that she and Bug could keep their promise to see each other for a final visit.  He had just turned 13 years old two days earlier, and just days before that, had taken a turn for the worse.  It was clear now that he had lost his pure and innocent joy in living and that it was now our duty as his family, to relieve him of his earthly pains and send him on to “greener pastures”.

Fortunately, we were already camping in Pennsylvania, in a region near all our family members (except for Ella).  With kids, siblings and parents living in Pottsville, Felton and Hanover, Pennsylvania and Parkton, Jarrettsville, Towson and Baltimore, Maryland, so everyone had the opportunity to visit with Bug (and us) in the weeks leading up to his last days.

But it was Ella that had always expressed strong feelings about being with Bug at the end of his journey.  Unfortunately, she managed to sleep through her alarm and miss her early morning flight!  She spent the next 18 hours in airports – booking, canceling and waiting on standby for a number of flights, finally arriving, with the help of her brother, Lorne, just before midnight on the evening before Peaceful Paws Passage was to arrive to help us send Bug over the Rainbow Bridge.

Lorne and Ella slept overnight in our fifth wheel trailer where we live full-time as RVer travelers.  They were both exhausted from a long week of worry and sad news, each on one of our two guest beds in our home-on-wheels, and each with a dog (Calvin and Bug) beside them to quite happily keep them company.

Morning arrived too soon and it was a pleasing, sunny day at Gettysburg Farm Campground (full of earthly “greener pastures” we knew Bug to love).  Ella and Lorne took Bug and Calvin for a final walk around the working-farm-turned-campground while their sister, Adalie, drove down to meet us all for Bug’s looming appointment (Lorne and Adalie had already visited Bug for the afternoon two days earlier and they were able to take the doggos on a nice walk through all the sights and smells as well).

Bug was always a dog that was led by his nose, and in his final weeks of life, taking a walk was just about the last remaining happy part of his day.  Now that he was older and slower, he would lead us out to the farm fields that surrounded the outer edge of the campground and we would let him off leash, allowing him to fully follow his nose and natural inclination to sniff his way along the path.  Because he was slower, he finally listened to us well; a little verbal cue from me was all that was needed to slow him down until we could catch up to him. With his head covered in as much grey fur as black and white, and now hanging low and slightly to the right from his disabilities of age, he journeyed joyfully through the fallow fields.

When Bug was younger, he was more likely to “turn off” his ears once his nose took over, so his off-leash time was strictly limited (outside of our fenced back yard at the time) to days at our weekend cottage, and even then, he couldn’t be completely free to roam.  Instead, our country-bumpkin solution was to attach a lead to him on one end, and a bucket or large piece of pvc pipe to the other.  It was just enough drag and resistance to cause Bug to not wander too far too fast while we enjoyed the rural acreage of our cottage property. It was ridiculous, but highly effective in giving him both freedom and protection.

All three of my kids gathered together, along with me and my husband, Andrew, for the first time since Thanksgiving.  Now that we all lived in separate states, such get-togethers were extra special, but today, while special, was not going to be easy.  We laid out a blanket in the lush green grass, offered Bug some of his favorite treats, and encouraged him to lay down and relax on the ground.  Relaxing had become difficult for him in recent weeks and he often looked disoriented and unsure of how to settle down, rotating in circles a number of times, or trying to dig a little hole in the dirt before finding his place.

The kind and gentle veterinarian waited for our signal, and after about ten minutes of the five of us crying and giving Bug encouraging words in an effort to not cause him concern, the vet gave him a sedative that would render him unconscious over a 10-15 minute period.  It was in those minutes that I could see the pain and worry slowly melt away from his body.  Bit by bit, he got lower to the ground; first his tail, then his chin, and slowly his body settled softly and peacefully into the blanket on the grass in the breezy sunshine, with Ella lying beside him, Lorne sitting next to him, and Adalie standing, and then sitting nearby, all three kids petting and touching him.  

It was at this moment that I realized just how tense Bug had been these last weeks.  Even while sleeping, he was always unsettled, and seemed slightly distressed.  A dog seems to know, often better than his humans, when his time and purpose on earth is ending, and his sleeping moments in recent days, weeks and months now contrasted greatly with how relaxed and calm he was with a little help from the sedative.  His body was finally, truly resting, and he breathed quiet breaths in absolute serenity.

The vet waited patiently again, and having already explained clearly how the process of pet euthanasia worked, we knew that the next injection would be unfelt and would result in a quiet cessation of Bug’s breathing.  Each of us took a moment to speak to Bug as the sedative quietly helped him fall asleep.  Adalie told him what a good dog he had been for our family.  Ella reminded him that he could soon see our old dog, Jake, who had passed several years earlier.  Lorne sat next to Bug on the blanket and quietly petted his soft, gray ear.  Andrew stood nearby with our ten year old dog, Calvin, who soon would be a “single dog” for the first time in his life.  I stood beside my loved ones and tried to absorb this “life moment” that somehow represented something much more than the loss of a loved family pet.

By the time Bug came into our family as a puppy, it had been 18 years since I had a puppy.  I had not forgotten about the work and commitment it takes to raise a puppy, but for my husband at the time, Dave, having “one last puppy” was a dream fulfilled.  He reminded me what a treat it would be for our three young children to have the “puppy experience” now that they were old enough to understand the responsibility of having a family dog.  So Dave insisted, I relented, and Bug became a part of our family as a puppy in the fall of 2009.

His mom was a Beagle mix, rescued by a non-profit organization made up of foster families for dogs saved from high-kill shelters, and Bug was a part of her litter.  He had his mother’s Beagle bay, and certainly the strong “nose” of a Beagle, but he was black and white, perhaps the colorings of his unknown father.  He joined our family at the perfect time, when life was a full and busy family of three children, ages 7, 10 and 13.  It was the best of times for our family, and my husband finally had his puppy companion to ride in the truck with him and be his most loyal friend.

Bug took up his role quickly, as he was clearly a “man’s dog”.  He was not needy or outwardly adoring of his humans, and showed little overt interest in other dogs, other than to give them a quick sniff, but he was rather a relaxed and friendly buddy to his favorite man.  Always interested in his next meal or playing with his dog toy (usually a squeaky plush toy whose insides could be disemboweled in a matter of minutes), he was neither high strung or overly affectionate.  He played his love a little cool, and as such, Bug fit in well with our family.  My husband finally got to have “his puppy” for what he promised would be our “one last time”.

A year and a half later, the promise of “one last time” took on a new meaning as tragedy struck our family and my husband of 18 years died suddenly.  Bug was with him that day, and it was Bug’s panicked barking that alerted a neighbor nearby to the accident that had taken Dave’s life on a small acreage of wooded land we had purchased only months earlier.  “Dave’s puppy” was brought home to us that day as we suddenly tried to figure out how to now be a very different family than any of us planned for or wanted.

Bug was with us through those terribly difficult years and the innocent and pure love of that dog helped to normalize our life that felt anything but normal.  He would cuddle with Ella as she no doubt cried herself to sleep, missing her dad as only a nine year old little girl could.  He ran around the yard chasing bunnies as Lorne tried to find his place as the “man of the house” at age 11.  Having just turned 15, Adalie worked her way through high school without her dad to help guide her, as Bug’s care gave us a simple unified purpose.  Bug remained the ever-present family member with a playful and contented demeanor in our home, modeling a pleasure in life as only dogs do, and giving us hope that we each might someday find the same for ourselves.

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My father (the kid’s “Morfar”, Swedish for mother’s father), quickly became Bug’s natural next favorite man.  Morfar was a great source of excess treats and “people food” that Bug probably shouldn’t have been eating, and in those years, my parents and siblings did their best to be more present in our lives, even though we lived hours apart.  My dad picked up where Dave had left off, and they had a special bond that benefited my dad as much as Bug.  Each visit began with Bug wiggling with excitement as he realized that Morfar was nearby.  Even after my father’s death two years before Bug passed, Bug would show great excitement each time we visited my childhood home, no doubt because Bug expected Morfar to be there to greet him.

Eventually, although not easily or elegantly, we made it through our most difficult years, with Bug by our sides for each challenging step we took.  The children grew older, we moved from our home in Pennsylvania to my home state of Maryland, and I remarried.  The children grew into young adults, leaving home one-by-one to pursue their adulthood dreams and to build their independent lives.  

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My new husband, Andrew, quickly became Bug’s new favorite man, and as we joined our families together, Andrew’s two dogs, Jake (Golden Retriever mix) and Calvin (Bassett-Plott Hound mix), became Bug’s “dog pack”.  As had happened each time our family changed, Bug picked a man to which his loyalties and love were placed.  Andrew was that “best man” for Bug for the remaining eight years of Bug’s life and they were great companions, with Andrew always ready to show love and affection to our furry family members and Bug ready to go absolutely anywhere with Andrew.

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Bug continued to be the steadfast yet lovingly standoff-ish part of our ever-evolving “family life” with a wagging tail and a happy nuzzle to come home to; he was our only constant in the 13 years we loved him.  His life corresponded to the best of our lives, the worst of our lives, and a return once more to goodness and pleasure in life as Andrew and I, newly empty nesters, took our family pets (Bug, Calvin and cat, Stencil) on the road to see the country from our cozy home base fifth wheel RV.  He had been through it all with us – riding the wild adventures of life at its worst and best.  For nearly two years, Bug saw many states in the United States with us, always thrilled to ride in the truck anywhere our travels took us.

When the time seemed right, I gave the vet the go-ahead to send Bug on his way, and as we all felt the pain of loss, we knew that Bug was in good hands for his entire journey.  “Tell Dad and Morfar we said ‘hello’”, I said as I smiled through my tears and imagined Bug crossing over a beautiful, colorful archway to the heavens.  The five of us wept openly, and despite feeling a sense of loss, we knew this was the ideal way to say goodbye to our beloved family member.  In a matter of minutes, we watched Bug leave our lives, and move on to a perfect eternity to be reunited with others whom he had loved.

Pet euthanasia is a gift we give to our pets – a thank you for their unconditional love and devotion to us.  It was an honor to help Bug cross over that Rainbow Bridge, feeling peace and love as he trusted us to care for him his entire life.  We are grateful to have had this little, sometimes ornery puppy to walk through the highs and lows of our family life for thirteen years.  He was a gift of unconditional love that we will always treasure.

Safe travels, to Bug and all our furry loved ones – from here to eternity – until we play again.

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Outtakes

In all the years that Bug eagerly chased bunnies and squirrels, there was only once (well, sort of twice) that he struck it rich. As Bug came into the house in fall 2011, it was clear he was hiding something from us in his mouth. I grabbed the camera while Adalie (the brave one), donned gloves and pried his prize from his mouth in the kitchen. Minutes later, out fell an ENTIRE RABBIT HEAD! Through screams of disgust, we saw that Bug had found what must have been a very slow bunny (or perhaps an already dead bunny) in our back yard. After the head, he spat up a little bunny kidney, some more fur, and for the next 10 ours, managed to throw up MANY times – both inside and outside the house.

His second infamous bunny incident was hardly “catching” a bunny, but it did nearly cause Lorne to excommunicate Bug from the family. Lorne came into the house upset because he believed that Bug had found a mouse nest and was upset to see him tossing the poor little things all around the yard like play-things. Upon investigation, and to his increased horror, what Bug had actually found was a nest of day-old baby bunnies. He had decimated the entire nest within minutes, and from that day forward, the rabbits in our back yard got smarter, placing all their nests safely under the children’s playhouse – out of Bug’s reach yet close enough to give him hours of fun sniffy and chasing.