Well, as I have my Grandmother's funeral post sitting in editing in my blog archives... I come to the computer with a new grief story. I wish I was holy enough to be mourning Jesus right now- but frankly I kinda forgot it was holy week.
We have to put our St. Bernard, Bruno, down tomorrow. I say "have to." It makes it easier to say it that way. Actually, it doesn't make it easier- but it does make it sound like it was easier to make the decision. It was ridiculously hard to make the decision. My head and heart were tearing each other apart these last few weeks.
It started over Thanksgiving when we were out of town for about 10 days and came home to a ridiculous dog. Bruno peed in the house, asked to go out at night numerous times and annoyed the hell out of me. We did a urine test to check if he had any infections or whatnot- nothing. We decided it was behavioral and started to do some re-training. He stopped peeing in the house but still asked to go out at night and was obsessive about drinking water. He even slowed that down a bit- but we made all sorts of adjustments. He had been primarily hanging out in the basement because I had enough to handle with an infant and 3 year old upstairs. We decided to give him free reign and he started to relax and seem happier. Instantaneous guilt for me- the one who had sequestered him to the basement for my convenience. I can't say it wasn't the right thing to do- I just feel crappy about him being by himself in the basement. All these adjustments and still he wasn't quite himself.
One of my caveats of having him all over the house with free reign was that I would have his massive hairy self groomed once a month. He has one groomer that was fantastic with him and truly loved him. He started getting a little aggressive with her to the point where she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get him out of the crate to groom him. The last time she tried to groom him (3 weeks ago)- he bit her. Not an attack bite, but he definitely got her finger and it broke the skin. No stitches, so she didn't report him- in fact- she was apologizing to US and felt bad that she couldn't get him groomed. She told us that he seemed like something was not right. We agreed- something was up. I was all sorts of torn up- trying to figure out if it was possible to keep a dog with that large a face around my little kids after he had officially bitten someone- even though I would bet money that he would never bite them. We ran some more blood tests- everything came back normal.
I called the St. Bernard Rescue of Md/DC/NoVa and spoke with a woman who made me feel like I actually had options, as most everyone was telling me I had to euthanize the dog. She recommended a vet that worked closely with the St. Bernard rescue and we immediately made an appointment and hoped for the best.
What we found out was that Bruno's back two knees were completely shot. A shock for us as he never showed any sign of pain- but this is the dog who had his earlobe bit in half as a 2 year old and didn't mention a word until people saw his ear bleeding. Stoic puppy. The options were medication, surgery option 1 or surgery option 2. The medication basically was a poor bandaid for the pain and had no real positive outlook. The first surgery was not very promising for a dog of his size. What was really needed was a full out fix- and the fix was a costly surgery with 6-8 weeks of intense recuperation to include therapy, lifting the (130 lb) dog to go outside and pee multiple times a day, etc. And we would have to do one knee at a time. So, without complications and given a month in between surgeries- Bruno would have been in pain and recuperating for about 5 more months at best. He's almost 6 years old now and the average life span of a saint is 8-10 years.
Jason and I seriously considered the surgery, but the more we thought about it, the less viable it became. We're moving in June, have construction workers in the home as they prepare for the next associate pastor to come into the parsonage, I am home alone with the 2 kids... but surgery here was going to be infinitely easier than the second surgery that would be in a new place, with no church across the street for Jason to hop home from work, no village of people who are familiar with and love Bruno (and loved by Bruno- as he doesn't love everyone). We would have to build a new fence, and somehow find a way for Bruno not to move as the neighbors collective 3 dogs were outside. It began to feel impossible. Not to mention that we could do all this and it still could not be all right.
The fact is that Bruno does not like change. He loves his family. He is happy here. The next 6 months could be hellish for him, and who knows how successful the healing process would be. So- after careful consideration- we are going to feed Bruno a giant steak for breakfast, cry many many tears, and let our friend and vet give Bruno a good ending rather than a tortured one.
Every time I look at that damn dog I cry. I want to just lie beside him and cry - but I don't want to hurt his knees. Graham freaking loves him and lights up every time he sees him. Even Hunter, who has been hesitant about him- has started including him in his imaginative play. Graham's first birthday party theme is puppies and it will kill me to go through with it- but the invitations are already printed.
This is SO HARD. I have been ridiculously angry at this dog. I have thought he was the cutest thing you ever saw. He was our first child- hairy- but the first thing we were responsible for as a married couple. Now we have to put him down because of a series of unfortunate and impossible situations. I will now miss that stupid fuzzy hair being everywhere. The grass will now grow next to the fence, and it will break my heart. Our new home will have never had a Bruno.
So Good Friday. If all dogs do go to heaven, and I'm inclined to think so, then Bruno will be running with the cool people and being a big lazy rug for someone to lie on. Maybe he'll even get to nuzzle with Jesus.
Pray for us as we experience this grief as a family and find the words to explain it to our 3.5 year old.
