Bye, Max. Good boy...

I helped my parents put their thirteen year old, geriatric german shepherd down today.

Max was acquired as a puppy at the same time that my sister got another female dog, Sadie, from the same litter. The two of them played together most of their lives.I enjoyed tossing the stick for them to retrieve, and taking max, or both of them together, for walks.

Three years ago Max started to develop the problem where his nerves in his spine go bad and he began to loose control in stages of everything behind his ribs. We expected he would somehow contract some illness as a result and pass, but he was stubbornly healthy, aside from his troubles with control.

Sadie died suddenly just over one and a half years ago. We were all surprised she went first.

Over the last six months Max’s quality of life began to diminish. He had rough function of his back legs at best, and could not get around well anymore. He had to fight to lever himself up onto his hind legs, and then keep his back end up. Holding his tail for him let him pull himself, and you along. When he lay down somewhere, he would ‘zone out.’ His hearing did not seem to substantially diminish, nor did his eyesight, but his attention did. In the last weeks, he began to loose cognitive control of himself, and would not move to where he could relieve himself.

As Mom and Dad discussed this, they came to the conclusion that it was time, that Max was increasingly distant, and upset. So they called the vet.

They live in an in-law’s apartment attached to my sister’s house, on a large yard that has been in the family for three generations. My brother-in-law chose a spot, and one of my nieces started to dig. I spent two and a half hours finishing the grave. I finished by putting part of his dog-bed in the bottom.

When the time came for the vet to show, I took Max out to a spot in the yard and lay him in the sun. Mom and Dad, and my sister, her husband, and some of their children came about. My sister ended up taking her two younger sisters on an outing, as the vet arrived.

The vet evaluated Max, and gave a clinical agreement that this was the best course, though it hurt to do.

Mom and Dad stood by as I cradled Max while the vet administered the cocktail of narcotics that relaxed and put him to sleep, then the vet gave him the last shot, and within a minuet he was gone.

I wrapped Max in part of his dog-bed and using the vet’s litter, the vet helped me carry Max to his grave. We lowered him in; I adjusted his body some to cover it properly. The vet then left. For a few moments I was alone as my geriatric parents slowly made their way to the spot. For a moment I sobbed uncontrollably. Mom and Dad arrived, and after some prayer, threw the first shovels of dirt in. Dad and I then filled the rest in, and I put some temporary stones around the pile.

Normally I am a very stoic person, but I broke down somewhat as the vet did his job. Then again after putting Max to his final rest. And again as I write this.

I refused to have Max spend his last alive moments near the grave, feeling like it would be taking the condemned to the gallows, as opposed to a final rest spot. It is expected that the pile will settle over the next month or so, and the stones around it will be adjusted to final place, and my brother-in-law may make a marker of some kind.

I do not question the wisdom of the actions, for he was old and disabled, but I will miss Max.

Good boy, Max, Go home now...