Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole

Five years ago I started a blog.

It was the beginning of an era, the kick-start to my health and fitness journey, one that I never saw coming.

As with a lot of things in my life, things happen unexpectedly and they happen quickly. Jobs have fallen into my lap. Relationships have come and gone. Opportunities have arisen and my life has completely transformed. And most of these experience and events were out of my control but had massive impacts on my life.

But today, I write this with something that was 100% within my control. A major life decision that while inevitable, had a timeline in my own hands.

Thirteen years ago I bought a house with my now ex-husband.

We closed on the house in October and by December, I adopted my princess pup, Ripley. I knew I wanted my own dog at some point, but wasn’t quite looking yet. Randy had acquired a young beagle from a family friend but she was never my dog.

We had gone to the mall to do some Christmas shopping that year and the Dearborn Animal Shelter was there with a few dogs on display. It was love at first sight, the beautiful German Shepard mix who must have been, unbeknownst to me, heavily sedated at the time because she was not that mellow of a dog once I brought her home.

Princess Ripley started her reign of the household by shredding some brand new furniture to pieces, chewing chunks out of the moulding around the bedroom doorway, and miraculously gnawing multiple electrical outlets out of the wall with no injury to herself. She was the kind of dog who loved the taste of that bitter spray that you put on things so that dogs don’t chew.

I remember taking a picture with my Motorola Razr flip phone (you all remember those?), Ripley smiling as she sat in a happily in a pile of pillow feathers without a care in the world.

Fast forward to any point in time later, when she would have that same silly grin, surrounded by a pile of garbage, teaching me yet another lesson that I have yet to learn – putting the garbage can where she can’t get to it. Eventually she’d learn it was something to be ashamed of, but as long as I was careless, she was more than willing to put me in my place.

Once she got over her puppy phase (minus the ongoing garbage issue), Rip was the most chill dog ever. She was just like her momma, liked to be alone, liked to be a homebody, was more than content being curled up on the couch covered in a blankie.

Ripley came with the name Ripley, and countless times people would reference, “Believe it or Not.” Everyone always thought she was a boy, so I added the “Princess”, or my sister would call her “Ripley Marie.” It wasn’t until less than two years ago, someone thought it was the coolest thing that she was named after the badass female lead in Alien. I liked that namesake much better.

Other names that evolved for her were Rip, Dip, Dipple, Ripple Dipple, and Ripsy, as my cousin’s daughter always called her.

Ripley loved carrots and hated baths. She loved sleeping on the couch and hated the mailman. She was always up for a car ride but despised the vet.

In 13 years of having her living in the same house, she only made friends with a skunk twice – within a few weeks of each other in the last couple years.

And she hated selfies.

In 2009 our 2 human/2 fur-baby family split up, leaving me and Rip alone which made our bond even stronger. There is a saying with rescue dogs, that who rescued who, and it could not have rung more true during that emotionally turbulent time.

With Ripley by my side, I have have since gone through 3 different jobs, 3 different long term relationships. We’ve taken a handful of road trips together to Canada (where even after so many years, still hates sand and is scared of water). I started to do a lot of traveling of my own over the last couple years, leaving her in the hands of my baby sister who treated her as if she was her own.

As a pet owner, you know that someday the inevitable is going to happen, but there is nothing at all that can prepare you for it. As much denial as there is, death is a just as much a part of life as the life itself.

The last year for Ripley was a hard one.

It started with a bout of vestibular in April, which if you have never experienced such a thing in your own pet I pray you never do, as it was one of the most terrifying experiences ever. It happened at 2am after she barked to go outside and then was wandering aimlessly in circles, with her eyes shifting back and forth, and her proceeding to run into the walls.

The quote for treatment started at $800.

3-day hospital stay and and $1,600 later..

She was almost back to normal. This was my first real grown-up realization that her time is limited. I used to always say, “if Ripley ever dies…” never, “When”. No one wants to put a price tag on their best friend. Being that she was about to turn 13 and already had faced a bit of trauma, it was sure it was time to have the difficult conversation, but Rip was completely back to her old self within a few weeks.

And then she developed a nasty cough that sounded like she was hacking up a hairball, which would increasingly get worse, only to be relieved by a heavy steroid.

And then she tore her ACL (a cruciate tear, as it’s called in dogs).

My sister came home for lunch one day and was calling for her and couldn’t find my dog anywhere – then found her at the bottom of the basement stairs, unable to climb her way back up (she never goes down there). Let me tell you the whole functional fitness I train for came in handy getting that girl back up the stairs. I only knew there was a real issue when she no longer jumped onto her happy spot on the couch.

I remember sitting in the vet’s office on the floor when the vet moved Rip’s leg around and told me casually, “Yep, it’s torn,” and then the floodgates of my tears opened instantly. The vet immediately starting spewing surgery options, one which was cheaper at $2,500 but is less effective in bigger dogs, and the other which was $5,000 but was more aggressive and risky with her age and putting her under. Dollar signs and pain and suffering and overwhelm filled my mind as I was at a loss as to what the right answer was, and felt that I was being judged as a dog mom for whatever I was going to say next.

They put her on some drugs and sent us home giving me a few days to think about the alternatives.

I could not stand the thought of putting my pup through those treatments – and it was not at all about the money. But again I had to have a heart to heart with myself on what the right solution is. One torn ACL is manageable but it significantly increases the risk of tearing the other leg, which could ultimately lead to something much uglier.

And as if the universe heard me in despair, a friend of a friend on Facebook suggested chiropractic care for my baby girl, and within a few visits she was seeing major improvement!! She loved the chiropractor way more than the traditional vet, and while I didn’t love the 40 minute drive to see her, I loved the price tag and the peace of mind that came to me during that time.

And then I came home to find Ripley at the bottom of the basement stairs again.

And then she would have random attacks that seemed like asthma attacks or reverse sneezing, which became more frequent.

Something was really wrong with Ripley and it was more than just physical symptoms as she started to show increased signs of anxiety and stress.

In the two weeks leading up to her death, Ripley stopped sleeping at night. She was a couch dog and hadn’t slept in my bedroom in years, but one night she came to my bedroom door and woke me up in the middle of the night. She never had any bathroom issues overnight, but with her age, figured she was having a harder time waiting until the morning.

But it wasn’t barking to go outside.

She would stand at my door, I’d get out of bed and she would guide me into the living room, and lie down. I’d get back into bed and no more than half an hour later, we would repeat this exercise. Between 4am and 7am.

Everyday.

Starting earlier and earlier in the night.

For two weeks straight with no reprieve.

I cried every night those two weeks when she woke me up just to be by my side, wondering when enough is enough.

I tried all sorts of holistic treatments, essential oils, herbal remedies, CBD oil, Benedryl, melatonin. I tried locking her in my bedroom with me and sleeping on the couch instead of my bed, which sometimes got me an extra 15 minutes of sleep at a time.

My roomie sister was a saint during this time loving my dog as it she was her own, and always being a live-in dog sitter, but Ripley wasn’t her baby, nor were any decisions hers. But reality hit hard when I had an upcoming trip planned to Vegas and knew my sis would not be on board with the wake-up calls every half hour. I didn’t want to be on board with wake-up calls every half hour.

I started researching more options, for Rip’s sanity and for mine.

I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t eating.

My sister and I have had chats before about how you know when it’s time; and a standard measure we always thought was if your dog is eating and drinking and going to the bathroom on her own – it’s fair.

But it wasn’t fair for Ripley; she was eating and drinking, but she wasn’t sleeping.

I ran across a site called Laps of Love, and I would sit at work and read the stories and articles on there and cry. I’d go home and hug my dog extra tight and cry. Have I ever mentioned I’m a crier?

The site was beyond helpful in helping me know that the decision that only I could make was the right one. Her life (or death) was completely in my hands. I can’t even decide what to wear sometimes, how was I going to make this literally life-altering decision? I learned so much about how dogs cannot express pain and anxiety and stress the way humans do, that so many of her behaviors likely meant she was suffering.

Do you know there are grief counselors and people trained to deal with loss on the other end of the phone and on the website? A few phone calls (with tears) and many back and forth emails (with more tears), I knew that whatever decision was made Ripley was in the best hands possible. Each email always included a link or article to help educate but also to start the healing process.

People like me need people like that.

There was one article specifically that hit me hard.

It was written by a geriatric doctor who worked with terminal patients at their worst. He said so many of these people woke up daily wondering why God won’t take them yet. Their livelihood was already gone; many could no longer eat or drink or walk or do anything more than open and close their eyes. He knew some of these people silently begged for a way to be out of their misery, but there was no alternative.

So when his dog let him know it was time, he knew he was able to bless his dog with this gift. That the dog would no longer have to suffer, as the percentage of bad days were outweighing the percentage of good days.

Still unsure, or in denial, I paid to have an “end of life” consultation at my home for Rip. I was taken aback when the counselor asked if I wanted to add, “..with the option of euthanasia” included for the same price. (Rather than pay for a home visit, and then when I later decide, pay again for another visit). What a decision.

Four months ago, I made the hardest decision of my life.

When Dr. Laura arrived, we talked about options and how there is really no right or wrong answer. Just the best answer for Ripley.

We talked about Rip’s anxiety and stress, her bum leg and her potential to easily tear the other. We talked about making her comfortable, and talked about what we want the end of life to look like.

Have you ever considered such a thing?

Did I want to come home one day and find that my pup is unable to walk at all? Or find her unable to eat or drink or control herself?

I won’t go over the scenarios that we ran through here, but the one that made most sense and was most peaceful was the one where my dog was no longer suffering and the one in which she got to spend her final moments with me.

If you know me, you know I’m a believer in people coming into your life for a reason just as you are brought into others for the same. And at that moment, I had someone by my side who was not only there to be my rock during the most difficult day of my life, but also to be there for Ripley.

I sat on the floor with Brian to one side and the vet on the other and looked Rip in the eye hoping she would give me a sign that it was time. I cried because I didn’t know if i was being selfish keeping her around because I wasn’t ready to let her go; or selfish for not doing enough for her to prolong her life.

They say that losing a pet can be harder than losing a parent, and I’ve been unfortunate to be on both sides.

If you didn’t know, they do two shots.

The first injection sedates the dog. I sat on the floor and hugged her, held her paw, asked how long it takes to kick in. Ripley, in typical anti-social fashion, got up and went and laid down in her own bed.

Almost instantly, she was out.

Not out like knocked out or not breathing anymore; her eyes were open, but she was gone.. I lost it. I could not cry any more tears and be there for the final goodbye, as at that point I already knew she was in a state of bliss and feeling peaceful. I was able to give her that and that was enough for me to let her go. Ripley took her final breath on November 5, her paw lovingly held laying on the floor next to her by one of the caring men I’ve ever had in my life.

I still mourn the loss of my baby girl quite often with random emotional moments, seeing someone share a picture of their dog on Facebook, or even watching my new roomie, Kitty the Dog (my sister’s pup), start to grow up.

But nothing will ever replace the unconditional love that I had for Ripley, and there will forever be a huge chunk of my heart that she took with her.