At almost 18-months, she is starting to get lots of words. Yesterday she got the word "puppy." She's already been saying "Mo Mo" for months.
As I watched her sleeping and thought about these things, an all too unwelcome lump arose in my throat, and I felt myself tear up. That lump and those tears have flared several times over the last week.
For nineteen of the last almost twenty years, there has been at least one dog in my family's life. Blue taught me that love can fill holes and make a home. Scrubby taught me patience and joy. And Mo has taught me unbridled, hold-back-nothing, unconditional love.
I know that on more than one occasion I have sworn that I would never be without a dog again. And yet I know that I will be--sooner than I want to even try to comprehend.
I wasn't going to go down this path yet. I was going to try and just let the days pass and be what they are. But that's not how I cope. Quiet acceptance is not who I am. And I'm not going to get through this loss, the one that I am now anticipating, by keeping it to myself.
I always wonder if it is worse to lose a loved one suddenly or to know that losing them is imminent. We knew our other dogs were "old," but as I so frequently told clients, "age is not a disease." We knew that the aging process takes its toll on a body. But we were still taken by surprise when it was suddenly time to say "goodbye" to both of them. And now, Mo. We learned last week that she has a nasty cancer that is going to leave us without a dog in our family.
There is more that we could do, but nothing that will buy forever, and nothing that will buy more than a little bit of comfort--for a little while. There is no expense that we would spare if it meant forever and feeling good. I know. Not everyone feels that way about their pets.
When I think of the care we have provided to our three dogs over the last nineteen years, I am sure that we could have put aside a nice little chunk for our daughter's education. Perhaps we could have purchased a car, or paid off other debts sooner. Granted, I could probably say the same thing about travel, concerts and shoes.
The money we have spent to care for our pets bought us things that has no monetary value, but those things have been priceless. It bought us a sense of family when we little understood what that meant. It bought us comfort during heartache. It bought us security whenever we were afraid. It bought us friendship when nobody else understood or cared for our troubles. It bought us the ability to care for those who cannot, or struggle to care for themselves.
Over the years, I have watched people struggle with decisions. Sometimes I know the struggle is real, and other times, I know that the struggle is with priorities I can't understand. These struggles are part of what makes being in veterinary medicine so difficult. People can choose not to care. People can fail to care. People can even be cruel. And there is very little that we can do.
There are plenty of people who think that we are crazy when it comes to our pets. They wouldn't justify hundreds of dollars for tests, hospitalization or medications, let alone what we have spent. They wouldn't have driven hours to get "the right" care. And while it is true that being part of the veterinary profession afforded us the benefit of discounted care at times, we never based any decision on affordability. In some people's books, that makes us frivolous. After all, they are just animals. To plenty of people, humans are "in dominion over" them, or they are just food--certainly not to be valued at the same level as us.
But that's just it--our pets gave us what we needed to become more than what we were before they came into our lives. More than the dumb animals we were. Not many things we've spent money on have done that.
As I have been contemplating the period of time when we will be without a dog in our family, I have been contemplating another cost--the one that is unquantifiable and much higher--the pain of losing them after what will always be too short a time.
We have said goodbye before. We have felt the unbearable pain before. Until I sit down and weigh what we have gained against what we have suffered, there is no question that the high cost is worth it. Knowing this doesn't decrease the past or coming pain, but it makes bearing the time we will wait to bring another family member home a little easier since we know what our daughter might possibly gain from having a "puppy" at the right time.
They are always worth everything we can give and everything we have. In this life, you only "get" what you are willing to "pay" for. I would pay every price for them, again, and again.
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