Yesterday was a very hard day, as we had to make that decision that every pet owner dreads. We had to let our 15-year-old beloved dog, Jaguar, go.
…born in a ditch in January 1997 to a pure-bred Cocker Spaniel with questionable tastes. Picked up by animal control along with her mother and sister. Adopted to us at the age of 6 weeks.
…smart, but uber-stubborn.
…terrified of thunderstorms. We called her the doggie barometer because we knew storms were coming hours before they would arrive.
…funny. She would periodically develop he puppy crazies and run circles around the living room. She prefered to drink from the toilet over a water bowl. She thought she was tougher than she really was.
…caring. If you were in the house and you were sick she stayed by your side until you were better.
…nurturing. She slept by the kids basinettes when they were infants. As soon as they started moving around in their bed she would wake us up, worried about them. And if they cried? She did too.
…a good dog. In every sense of the word.
She went blind a couple of years ago and was probably partly deaf. She soldiered on, following us by our smell around the house. She never liked to be alone and would follow us around the house, though if we were quiet enough, she wouldn’t notice that we had left the room.
Over the weekend she took a turn for the worse. We found several lumps on her chest and stomach and we noticed at the same time that she was in obvious pain when laying down or getting up. She also started to lose control of her bladder and was terribly embarrassed by this.
It was the hardest decision that we ever had to make.
I still walk into rooms and expect her to be there. I expect to come home and meet her, tail wagging, for a good scratch along her neck. I miss her. Even the trash-digging, door-scratching, toilet-drinking, and midnight-pottying.
Rest In Peace, Jaguar.
January 11, 1997 – November 14, 2010.