What The Loss Of My Dog Taught Me About Truly Living

 “He likely won’t make it to the end of the year,” said the veterinarian about my then 15 month old puppy. It was right before Thanksgiving, and I was trying to understand why my dog still wasn’t adjusting to housebreaking and had repeated urinary tract infections.

He was underweight and seemed to never like his food. I immediately burst into tears, and not one person in the room even offered me a tissue. It was just me and my dog, as it had been for months. Despite being a little thin, he didn’t SEEM sick. I just couldn’t believe what they were telling me.

I set about getting a second opinion and found a wonderful veterinarian who helped me find the cause of his issues. My little mini schnauzer had bilateral renal dysplasia. He had evidently been born with the disease, and it should have been caught by the breeder and/or the veterinarian much earlier.

I was then introduced to the dizzying myriad of veterinary specialists; urologists, radiologist, cardiac specialists, and CVS pet prescriptions. I set timers for his eventual daily five pills. He took two in the morning and three in the evening. I learned to wrap them in his prescription food, set timers to never miss a dose, and left a laundry list of instructions with any possible boarder. Despite the increased responsibility, my puppy began to THRIVE. He finally exhibited the zoomies I had heard so much about.

Every evening after our nighttime stroll, he would nearly burst with energy. We threw his ball to and from the room for quite some time and he was never tired. Any sign of a knock, footstep, or God forbid someone come within an inch of my person, he was on alert and yapping at maximum volume. He became a defender of my friends and family. He maintained an aversion to small boys with nips on ankles and alerted me to any ill-suited romantic partner with undeniable snarls and leg grabs. For a 14-pound dog, he had tons of energy, sass, spunk, and loyalty. 

We persisted on our journey for the next 30 months. We had very few setbacks and only one emergency visit. I never gave much thought to how short our time would be.

He rapidly declined over a two-week period earlier this month. My little guy passed largely as he lived—on his own terms. He was comfortable on his blanket and left in his sleep.

He brought a blazing brightness to my life. His subsequent death has left that space so shadowy and dark. My little best friend was gone. Coming home will never be the same, I won’t hear the little cackle of his too long nails against the wood paneling. He will never paw just a tad too painfully at my calves again.

As I journey through my genuine grief, I try to find beauty in the little things. I chose not to research the prognosis of his condition for fear I would become hyper-focused and anxious. I learned that the average lifespan for a dog where both kidneys are impacted is three to six months.

I was forced to slow down with him. I left my job one month after his diagnosis, and the pandemic and subsequent quarantine began about three months after that decision. In those months where it was just he and I, I didn’t worry about the time he had left. I was just so grateful to have my dog. I had a reason to get out of the house and get fresh air. I had a reason to get dressed, a reason to even wake up!

I learned resiliency. When I struggled at my next job, Drogon never judged me. He greeted me with a wagging tail each and every day. I always had something to look forward to at the end of the day. He joined me on my meditative walks and often played at the edge of many yoga mat sessions.

I learned what my own love and dedication looks like. Every subsequent vet credits me with his care, and I appreciate that. However, it really was a joint effort. The doctors were incomparable (some), Drogee was incredible, and I simply did my best. It doesn’t feel like enough right now, but I know for him it was more than enough. He loved his life. Every morning, he leapt from the bed ready to carpe that diem.  

For now, it’s just me in the aftermath, and I’m grateful to myself. I’m grateful I didn’t give up after the first prediction. I’m grateful my type A organization came in handy with his daily pill regiment. Most of all, I’m grateful to love and have been loved by the fiercest little schnauzer the world may ever know. I’m a better person for having cared for him. The story of my life is that much richer with our chapter together. . Our time was short but oh-so very lovely.