On my way to the pound to see what dogs were available, I witnessed a murder. That's another story, but it's indelibly linked in my mind with finding Edison, because I didn't make it to the pound until a week later, and that day Eddie was there. Someone had deposited Eddie and her brother in the night drop-off cage just the previous night so, had the murder not detoured me, I would likely never have met Eddie. She and her brother were about two months old and extremely cute.
I did meet the other dogs, but I was sold on one of these two puppies. Since there was no information about these dogs, the pound told me that they would have to keep them for four weeks to make sure that their owners didn't come looking for them. So I was set to come back to the pound a month later to take one of them home. They also told me puppies were extremely popular so I might want to spend the night in my car in the pound's parking lot to be sure I was first to pick a dog when they opened in the morning. The next month, my friend and I drove to the pound at about 10:00p and were the only ones there. I was determined to spend the night, but I thought their precaution was unnecessary. I was wrong. Only a few minutes later another car arrived, then more did. We created a sign-up list on the door of the pound to prove the order we arrived. By midnight there were about 15 cars. My friend started feeling ill, so I drove him home and returned, thankful there was a list. I spent some time coming up with about 20 possible names for my new dog, but when I awoke the next morning I thought of the name "Edison" and loved it. Being the first to choose a dog, I chose the female puppy over the male because she seemed less hyper. The second person to choose a dog selected her brother.
On our ride home she stood in my lap as I drove, her front paws up on my chest, and licked me, which served as a foreshadowing of her licking fetish. That was in 1985. Since then, she has relocated with me seven times, traveled with me thousands of miles, and truly lived up to the proverb "man's best friend." I am a logical person and thus realize that almost all of what I loved about her was mere personification on my part; it made me feel good to pretend that she could sense my emotions or change her own to match mine. Even so, 12 years is a long time to have a best friend - even a pretend one.
Like so many pet owners, my life was different - better - because I had Eddie. And like so many pet owners, I have thousands of very fond memories of her, and hundreds of stories. But want I want to express now is how I behaved on her very last day of life.
About eight months before she died, Eddie developed a sudden difficulty walking. X-rays revealed that she had some form of cancer in one of her hips. I was not ready to not have her in my life, so I paid to have her left rear leg amputated, hoping all the cancer would be removed with it. She recovered remarkably well, walking on "all-threes" the very day after surgery, and although she no longer experienced pain when she walked, about a month later a follow-up X-ray showed the cancer had spread. I spent the next few months babying her: carrying her places (she could not walk very far any more), bringing things to her, even finally let her eat "human" food (previously she ate only dog food and treats, but I realized she spent her entire life not stealing food off the table or even the floor unless I allowed her to, and was very good in almost every other way, and I wanted to reward that behavior).
I could see her health slowly deteriorate. I tried to steel myself to the idea that she would be dead soon. I mentioned to family and friends that she was worsening and that I would have to kill her someday soon. I said "I will have to kill her" because I wanted to hear it as harsh as possible to get used to the idea, but also I knew that I would euthanize her myself - I would not let a stranger kill Eddie for me. I eventually learned that all my preparation for her death was not enough to comfort me when it finally happened. I'm crying even now.
Nonetheless, I knew her final day was approaching, but I didn't realize how quickly. One day, Friday, January 12, 2007, she vomited blood at about 3:00a and then again later in the morning. This was not too uncommon for her those days, but it was a little worse than normal and I should have taken it as a sign. She recovered quickly and behaved stoically, acting her normal self again, but I knew her death was imminent. That evening around 5:00p I joined my parents for dinner, leaving Eddie alone as usual, and on my drive to the restaurant I called my girlfriend, Gordana, to tell her that I would likely have to kill Eddie that weekend; I cried even then, so my preparation had been for naught. When I returned about 90 minute later, Eddie was in a horrible condition. She could barely hold her head up, her tongue was dry, she moved slowly, and her breathing was labored. I called Gordi again to tell her I probably couldn't wait for the weekend, that I'd have to kill Eddie tonight. Gordi surprised me by saying she was already on her way to my house. She lived 500 miles away, but was making the drive to be able to say goodbye to Eddie personally, and to comfort me. My parents were coincidentally also spending the night at my house, so we'd all be able to say goodbye to Eddie in person - Eddie spent a lot of time with all of us.
It was at this point in the evening that my decisions and behavior - my entire personality - failed me. I decided not to kill Eddie until Gordi arrived about seven hours later. I said at the time that it was so Gordi could see Eddie one last time, but I knew the reason was that I did not want to be without Eddie: I wanted to keep her with me as long as possible. I put my own desires above Eddie's obvious pain. I spent the next few hours lying on the floor with her, dripping water onto her tongue, letting her hear my voice, petting her gently - and crying - but still I did not do what I should have done. I should have driven her to the vet and killed her while letting her hear my voice and petting her gently. I knew it then, but could not bring myself to do it.
At 10:10p, Eddie seemed to express a desire to move from where she was lying down to another of her favorite spots, which was right next to my desk chair, where I spent maybe 10 hours a day - I'm sure she remembered that. Perhaps she was only expressing pain - I could not tell. I gently lifted her and moved her to the other spot and she was quiet again, so maybe I guessed correctly. I set her down on her side, thinking it would be more comfortable since she was having difficulty holding her head up. At 10:15p, Eddie began to convulse and there was no more hiding, no more escaping - she was dying. I had been petting her and speaking to her, but when I realized that she was dying I stood up and took a step back and said something - I don't know what, maybe "Oh no!" or "shit!" My mom asked from the other room what was wrong and I sobbed "She's dying! What do I do?"
What do I do?! I had thought about this specific event for almost three quarters of a year. I practiced for this moment. And now my emotion ruled me. The logical path was clear, but my fear and sadness paralyzed me. In retrospect I see that Eddie was lucky that her death throes were short, and I hope her pain was not great (it is even possible that she felt no pain or that she was not conscious of it, that the convulsions were just her body shutting down). But I did not serve her well in her last hours. The one person who it was her life's goal to please, failed her. My own happiness was more important than her suffering, yet I wasn't happy! I tried to evade reality. I thought that if I didn't act to assist her death that she would not die. The result was that reality won and I lost, which is always true. There is no escaping reality. You can ignore it and become insane, but reality is still reality.
One of the few things in my life I am truly ashamed of is how I behaved that night. I must live with myself knowing that is how I acted. I, too, am lucky in one sense: Eddie's death was very nearly a comfortable event, despite my actions. I was physically near her as were my parents, whom she knew well, and she was in her own home and died quickly. All that worked to Eddie's favor, but to mine as well since, when I remember how poorly I acted that night, I can at least comfort myself knowing that her death could have been far worse (I was scheduled to travel two days later and she would have been alone in a kennel). There is no going back, no do-over, no changing the past. Someday I will again face the imminent death of someone I love, and I must learn from this incident! I already know I cannot escape reality. I must be strong enough to deal with it next time.
Pictures of Eddie: http://www.kolicutler.com/images/Gallerie%20Pix/Eddie/index.html
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