Colby was part of our family for 12 years.

As a footnote on a blog I wrote a month ago about the decision of whether to euthanize the family pet, our 12-year-old black and silver miniature schnauzer, the dreaded day finally arrived yesterday.

After long lunch meeting with a publisher and potential author, I settled into my office and figured I’d deal with Colby another day. Wishful thinking. I finally had to man up when I looked at him on the back porch and saw how incredibly awful he felt. I had to force myself to face the fact that an occasional good day didn’t mean he wasn’t miserable almost every day.

Colby did have one great day the past week. Zach and I took him to the park on Saturday. Zach and two of his friends and I were passing the football. Colby trotted after the boys a little – though no mad dashes like the old days when he thought he was a defensive back. He then found some shade and watched the boys run routes with his trademark little smile. He kept his head up the whole time, scanning left and right. I think he wanted to jump in the game one more time.

Just like the old Colby. But the old Colby was gone. Four years of diabetes shots, numerous visits to the vet … it was time. I’m so glad he had that one last good Saturday. Might not have mattered much to him but it was good for Zach and me.

He never ate again after Saturday morning. He hardly moved the last two days. Despite numerous efforts to get him moving and clean him up, he was lying in urine most of the time. So Monday afternoon it was time to end the work day early and take care of a different kind of business.

I had to carry him to the car, which in a sad way made the task at hand easier. On the drive over I talked to him about old times. Colby, remember when … He’d flick his eyebrows up when he heard his name, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. When we got to the Williamson County Animal Control Center, I decided to stay inside with him for his last shot. I held him. He never flinched when the needle went in. He really was already gone.

It doesn’t rise to the level of so many human tragedies in the world, but losing a family pet is still incredibly difficult and sad.

Thanks for the memories Colby. You were a true friend.

Tim McGraw had a big hit with the lyrics, “I don’t know why they say grown men don’t cry.”

But they do. I know first hand. That’s what happens when you lose a pet who has been part of the family for 12 years.

To his dog, every man is King;
hence the constant popularity of dogs.
Aldous Huxley

When is it time to say goodbye – or more accurately, euthanize a beloved family pet? Just asking that question makes me feel … squeamish, uncomfortable, disloyal, and more than a little guilty.

I’ve been surfing the net to find perspectives and advice on knowing the right moment. This is probably my roundabout way of starting to get comfortable with something that needs to happen in the not so distant future, even if it’s not this week or month or calendar year.

One of my problems is that about the time it seems very obvious that my 12-year-old miniature schnauzer, Colby, has no ‘quality of life’ and is so miserable that putting him down is simple kindness, he perks up and shows a flash of his youthful vigor. Even if just for a day or two.

I’m sure that some of the guilt I feel comes from the way we anthropomorphize our pets. I know in my mind he’s not really a human, but he’s been part of the family so long – and paws down, he listens to me more than anyone else in the house – that it feels like I’m contemplating the life and death of a person.

Another stream of guilt feelings for me probably has to do with the realization that I’m not just looking at his quality of life but my own. The extra care and expense of an older pet, one who gets a couple shots a day and needs to be looked after and helped in other ways is probably one thing I simply don’t want on top of the responsibilities of family life. Doing something that is in Colby’s best interest that just happens to be in my best interest is not necessarily a matter of rationalization and those two dynamics are not mutually exclusive – but you try telling yourself that when your internal dialog includes phrases like ‘lethal injection’.

The most common advice I’ve bumped into on the net – from the ‘ask the vet’ to the ‘my pet tribute’ sites, and on over to Old Yeller movie forums – has to do with the matter of pain. I know Colby is at minimum very uncomfortable. But how much pain is he in? He definitely favors one hip and he struggles to breathe sometimes. He’s very lethargic – but so are a lot of other dogs and even a few humans I know; doesn’t mean we put them down for wanting to lay around. Then other times he seems to really enjoy his walk and looks content to just be here.

Should I just call the vet and ask him or her what to do? The non ‘ask the vet’ sites warn you that many vets will just listen for a little while and then tell you what they think you want to hear. I’ve had worse conversations than that!

One bit of counsel that showed up numerous times is to not fall in the trap of ‘waiting for God to decide the time’ – that as a pet owner you have the responsibility to make a hard decision if the pet is miserable. This is just another variation of not letting Colby wallow helplessly in pain, and as I’ve noted previously, I’m no expert on observing what is ‘too much pain’ and ‘miserable’. I did have a friend on Facebook this morning tell me that dogs hide pain because they are people pleasers. I don’t doubt that but I’m still not convinced anyone can really ‘know’ that. And she got that from her vet who might be a bit of a people pleaser himself.

Well. I filled his bowl with food. I gave Colby his morning shot. Still not sure what I’m going to do. But at least now I know it isn’t today.