03.04.2023 – The Best Worst Day Ever

Hot take on my experience with pet euthanasia: surprisingly peaceful.

As I embark on my new normal, I am obviously incredibly sad and heartbroken. There’s a Cooper-sized hole in my heart that will take many moons to heal – and for anyone who knows him, that’s a big ol’ hole. He filled a room with his personality, his love, and his playful energy. He was the best hugger, gave the best (& the most) kisses, and I like to think most who met him fell in love with him – of course, I’m biased but I’m still going to think this way.

He was my best friend and soulmate, after all.

I think part of what made his euthanasia experience so great is it was the perfect time for him. There is no good time and there’s never a perfect time as the person who is experiencing the grief, but for him… it was time. He was having trouble breathing so we took him to the vet and he had a bloody pleural effusion (fluid around his lungs) that was likely from his tumor hemorrhaging all over the place. They pulled of 1200mL of fluid (40oz y’all…) and he was breathing much better and I was happy to have my happy boy back and move forward. Unfortunately, I had to be at work over night and a few hours later when Aaron returned home, he was back to breathing hard again. By the time I got back in the morning, I knew it was time.

Watching someone you love struggle to breathe is something I don’t wish on anyone, which I guess made my decision easier.

I spent as long as I could snuggling him and he kissed every tear I cried til my face was raw and then he kissed me some more and it was bittersweet. He went outside in the front yard (which he loved) to eat a small amount of food and drink a beer, one of his favorite drinks to steal. We went for a car ride with the windows rolled down. His final meal was a Krispy Kreme donut and a Wendy’s sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. My mans loved a donut, turns out and evidently he belonged in the south with how fast he ate that biscuit.

It was raining. How poetic.

I carried him inside the vet and he laid down comfortably…they brought a towel to dry him which ALSO was one of his favorite things. He usually shakes at the vet, but that day he was comfortable. His favorites were with him, he had a towel, he was well-fed, and filled with love. And that was how he went.

With his favorites. Wrapped in a towel. Filled with love.

There were many, many tears. Many hugs. Halfway through I wanted to beg the vet to not give the injection, but I knew this time wasn’t for me but for him. I would’ve moved mountains and seas to keep this dog alive, but not like that. A couple minutes after his head fell into my hand, I was overcome by a strange stillness and sense of relief. All my tears were dried and in my heart I knew everything was okay and that you were comforting me one last time. It was very spiritual. I made the right choice. For as hard as this is and will continue to be, there’s definite solace in knowing that doggy heaven gained the sweetest angel when he was perfectly ready to go there.

I miss the morning snuggles. The nonstop kisses. Your innate ability to know when I’m sad and need a hug. The adventures. You chasing Florida squirrels aka lizards. Coming home to you sunbathing. Eating lunch with you. Hours of tug of war. Hell, I’ll even miss shoving pills down your throat, carrying you up and down the stairs, hand feeding you, and cleaning up your radioactive poop.

The sun shined for you yesterday and anytime I see the sun, I’ll think of you and know you’re sunbathing in heaven.

My grandpa sent me a message saying that God sent me Cooper to provide unquestioned love, companionship, protection, and loyalty during my time of need and now that I’m more settled and secure, his job was done and he didn’t need to suffer any longer.

Well done, good and loyal Cooper.

I think he was probably right.

I love you, my sweet angel boy. Well done. Until we meet again.

xx, lauren.