Time to let go

Rio, our nearly 12-year-old yellow lab, dozed yesterday on her favorite pillow in an afternoon sunbeam. Every time I get sad, I take her picture.

My best friend is dying.

This is really difficult to talk about without going to pieces and sobbing.

Rio, the spirited, feisty, beautiful yellow Labrador that has lived with us for nearly 12 years is about to die.

I don’t have the words to express how much I hate this.

Last week, Rio stopped eating. She was finicky, shaky and just not herself. So, I went to the grocery store and purchased baby food and deli chicken. Two of her favorites. She started eating again, seemed to be feeling better.

By Thursday, however, it was apparent something was truly wrong with our girl. She had tremors. She was pacing. She was panting. She was disconnected from us.

At the vet’s office, a kind, young vet felt along Rio’s stomach and immediately requested an X-ray.

‘I feel a mass in her abdomen,’ the vet told The Weed and me. ‘Let’s get an X-ray and see what we’re dealing with.’

A few minutes later, the vet entered the room with Rio by her side and immediately faced me with a very sad look.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

The X-ray revealed a large mass in Rio’s abdomen. The vet suspects the mass is on Rio’s liver. The vet suspects the mass is cancerous.

With that news, The Weed and I drove home, staring at the road ahead, not wanting to talk about what we needed to. Rio was quietly resting in the back of my Xterra.

‘I don’t think we should put her through anything else,’ I reluctantly said. ‘She doesn’t deserve to be scared, in pain.’

The Weed and I agreed we would think through the weekend about the possibility of any further medical exams or surgeries. By Sunday, we both agreed it was time to let Rio go.

Right now, she is comfortable. No more pacing. No more panting. Rio is receiving twice-daily doses of painkillers and steroids. The steroids are helping with her appetite. However, they also cause excessive thirst and urination. I have been cautioned to watch for any other changes that might indicate she is declining.

Yesterday, I called an at-home euthanasia service. At least, I tried to.

When I first dialed the phone number, I hung up by the third ring. I was sobbing too heavily to speak.

Eventually, I composed myself and called again. Jesus, this is really difficult.

I spoke with a kind receptionist who explained how veterinarians from the service, Home to Heaven, visit a pet at home; examine them to confirm it is time for euthanasia; administer a heavy sedative; then, administer a final injection to stop the pet’s heart.

I am told this is all done in a quiet, straightforward way. One that will not alarm a pet or be painful.

So, today, I’m trying to figure out where we need to be in the house when the vet from Home to Heaven visits. I don’t think Rio is ready to go just yet. Still, I want to be prepared.

I need to have a blueprint in my mind for how this will go so I don’t mess it up for Rio.

Making this decision will be one of the most difficult of my life. People keep telling me Rio will ‘let us know’ when she’s ready. It will be apparent that it’s time.

This concerns me even more. What if I miss the signs? What if she doesn’t let us know?

I just want to do right by her. She has been by my side through so much emotional garbage. She has been a rock.

For the past few days, I’ve had flashback memories about our time together.

The first night we met Rio … She was about 10 weeks old and bounded through a grassy pasture with the zeal and spirit of the dog she grew up to be.

One night at the dog park … Another dog snapped at her, biting her on the snout. I demanded The Weed and my friend call Flight-4-Life so my baby girl could be fixed. (We went to the vet instead. Rio was fine.)

The countless times we went to the nearby mesa … We jogged along. We were chased by coyotes.

One afternoon hiking on Mount Sanitas … I fell, breaking my ankle. As I crumpled to the ground, Rio sat down by my head and started loudly barking, basically yelling for help.

Our trip to Moab, Utah … Rio sat in the backseat of The Weed’s car ready for some springtime adventure. During a stop in Grand Junction, Rio and her brother, Hank, ran away from us across a huge football field. Hank came back immediately. Rio did so reluctantly. She wanted to bound about as much as possible before getting back in the stupid car. She doesn’t like to be cooped up.

These memories are coming quickly now. They help me realize Rio has had a full life complete with happy times and hijinks.

Still, these memories make me realize she’s about to go. I don’t remember a day without Rio.

Every time I get sad, I take her picture.

Soon, the pictures will help me remember our sweet baby girl. Her devotion. Her silly self.

Letting go really hurts.