Little Dog Problems
Yesterday, we put down Cosmo, our 15+ year old Bichon Frise, whom we called Cozie or “little dog.”
My daughter’s father gave Toria Cosmo when she was about 11 years old. Her father and I were divorced, so the plan was for Cozie to go back and forth between our homes with Toria. Everything seemed fine until, within weeks of bringing home this itty bitty puppy, my ex-husband’s black lab and he were left home alone. Best anyone could figure, the lab bit Cozie’s head, and we later found out that his jaw was broken.
Guessing it was my week to have Toria and Cozie, I took care of him after the incident. Cozie seemed to be okay but was under my watchful eye. He slept with me, and sat on the bathroom floor whining nonstop while I showered two feet away from him. He whined and cried while eating, and though he was indeed high maintenance, something was very wrong. A trip to the vet and x-rays revealed that his jaw had been broken when the lab bit him, hence all the whining. Since I was working from home, his constant care was most easily handled by me. As you may be able to tell by my tone, full-time care of an injured puppy was not something I had planned for or readily embraced. Little Cozie was a challenge for me from the get-go.
He physically recovered from his injuries, but the damage seemed to linger. Early on, Cozie was not very nice to strangers. On a trip to Nashville, he was so white, fluffy, and cute that people wanted to pet him. He wanted no part of any stranger touching him and made it clear with snarls to stay away. He loved attention from us, so I always told him he could get so much more if he would just be nice to strangers!
When Cozie was several months old, we were in the McDonald’s drive-thru when one of us spilled some milk. Cozie was all over it, and when I tried to stop him from lapping it up, he turned into a wild beast, growling and snarling at me. I was completely caught off guard and scared. So much so that when I grabbed him to get him out of the car, I did not notice the car was not in park and it started to roll away. Two young girls screamed from inside the car while I dealt with a rabid little dog.
He came to love a few people who visited our house, but I had to warn others as they left that he might bite their ankles. When I took him to the office, anyone walking out the door to the shop got their pant legs nipped. Apparently, one time when I was out of town on business and my mom was watching Toria, he bit her.
Looking back, if he had been a Rottweiler or even a black lab with an attitude like that, we would not have tolerated any of this behavior. He would have been trained, given away, or put down. But that was just Cozie—the “cute little white dog.”
With all his personality quirks, Cozie was still a sweet, fun, and dynamic dog. About seven years ago, he and our lab (Bernie) walked with me every day, and they even ran with me as I trained for a few races, Cosmo and Bernie running up to 10 miles. Back in the day, Cozie would play fetch with a tennis ball in the front yard for an hour, catching the ball in the air on a bounce. If he made a break for it to chase the UPS truck or a neighbor walking down the road, there was no catching him; I just ran and hoped he would stop.
When we moved to this house four years ago, his hearing and vision started to diminish. But up until days before we put him down, he could still see the squirrel 50 yards away climbing a tree, barking at it from inside the house.
I’m not sure exactly what is wrong with me, but his whining and constant need for attention were always hard for me. My husband didn’t even notice his whining, but I sometimes wanted to just shake the little dog to make him change; I had no peace.
When we moved to our current home, he couldn’t navigate the hardwood floors or the stairs. I had to pick him up off the couch to get water or go outside. If I went downstairs or even out of the room, he needed to know where I was and whined until I carried him to a spot where he could see me work out, watch me in the kitchen, or find me in the yard. He couldn’t be left in the house if I was outside, or he’d start yelping. As I relayed my frustration to my husband or friends, I’m not sure anyone could grasp how much time and space Cozie took up in my head and body. He was a constant thought and awareness, especially during the last six months of his life.
Every morning, I would get up, feed the big dogs, and prepare Cozie’s special food, often adding leftovers or sprinkling cheese on top since he was slow to eat plain dog food. I stood guard over him and his bowl so the big dogs didn’t steal his food. In the last month, I also had to accompany him outside to pee, so he didn’t get lost in the bushes or wander into the street.
After coming back inside, I carried him to the couch with me. I drank my tea and shared pieces of my muffin with him every day. Even though he couldn’t hear or see well, his sense of smell remained keen until the very end. I got us each a blanket, and some days he would lie right up against me. If he was uncomfortable, he would lay at the other end of the couch. I would meditate, and all too often, he would stand up or need my attention in the middle of it. I frequently thought about how nice it would be to meditate without interruptions.
As I write this, I should be meditating and enjoying the uninterrupted time. But I am alone on the couch with one blanket, and I didn’t have to share my muffin this morning. I am sobbing. A creature that drove me up the walls for so much of his life is now gone. As I look over at the side table, there is a piece of my muffin uneaten—Cozie’s piece.
As his vision declined, like a blind person, he developed a routine and a path he would follow outside. Our daily walks were always on the same path. He was getting by until about six weeks ago when we replaced the old, cracked driveway. When the old one was removed and there was just dirt and rocks, his landmarks were gone. Cozie’s usual path now had a steep drop-off, and he had no reference for where to walk. He was falling into little ditches on the edges, struggling to right himself. I had to watch him nonstop, or he would walk into the road. When the new driveway was complete, it was much higher than the old, and he seemed to have no idea where it was safe. I followed behind him or led the way, guiding him. I was his frame of reference, as I had always been.
The decline continued over the last few weeks. I had to carry him around more and more. Two weeks ago, he coughed or wheezed on and off for a whole day. Then it stopped, but his breathing was never quite the same. He slept more and more. He was always excited to go for a walk. Out of our current three dogs, he was always the most excited to head out for our daily walk. Even when one of his back legs wasn’t cooperating, he hopped along, wagging his tail, and skipping. He would jump up the step to get back into the front door, sliding on the tile. He was only going on 1/4-mile walks in the end, but up until two days before, he was still skipping along. The day he really gave up on his walk was the day I knew. His health had been in decline, he was getting lost in the yard, but the walks were his life, and he just couldn’t anymore.
Two days ago, things got worse, and he didn’t walk more than 10 steps at a time. He would just stand there, waiting for me to come and gently pick him up and carry him to get water, go in or out, or go back to the couch.
On the last day, I stayed home with him on the couch, and most of the time, he lay against me. A dear friend went into the vet with him, while I stayed in the car. I couldn’t have that be my last vision of him.
I have never been in the position of making the decision to put a dog down. What I do know is that I wish, as a person, to be “put down” if I am wandering around lost, doing nothing but sleeping because my body is worn out.
I am floored by how alone I feel. I have a husband and two other dogs. They are in bed together. I am alone on the couch, without the creature who always loved me and wanted to be where I was. He loved me unconditionally, and now I am alone. I will always wish I had stopped and found more time to give him the attention he craved. Even though I gave him so much, I will always wish I hadn’t gotten so frustrated when I had to stop working out and come back up to get him when he whined for me.
I really did the best I could, but now I wish I had done better. I tried so hard to take a breath, be present, calm down, and just pet him when he wanted it. He wanted so much, and I tried.
What do I do now? I need to remember to stop and give my husband and our other two dogs the time and attention they want from me. I must also embrace the time and freedom I now have and that I wanted so much.
Be careful what you wish for.