Wednesday, April 17, 2019


Yesterday we put Dimi down.  He had another seizure and this one did him in.  He couldn’t stand, hear or see much of anything.  We took him to the emergency animal hospital and they medicated him to see if he could survive and live a while longer.  By the morning it was clear that his life was over.  We had tried everything, but it was time to say goodbye.  We sat in a room waiting for the nurse to bring in him, wishing that we could find some way to keep him going, knowing that it was time. It was one of those moments in life when your body is screaming no, and you have to muster up the will to go ahead and do what’s right.  Trying to keep him going would be for us; but a cruelty for him. 

They brought him in, wrapped in a blanket, and handed him to Arleah. His eyes were shut tight and he was uncontrollably shaking.  He was gone from this world and was a mass of pain and suffering.  The vet gave him a sedative and he mercifully stopped shaking.  She then gave him the lethal dose that stopped his heart.  He looked so peaceful as he was dying.  We gave him a kiss on his head and gave him back to the nurse.  It was over, and all we had then was our grief.

At times like these we have always found it bizarre to be filling out paperwork and charging things like a cremation.  We talked about the experience of picking out Sharon’s casket, and trying to decide what the lining should be.  It’s surreal, no doubt, to be dealing with the practicalities of death, when immersed in deep, gut-wrenching grief.  But, in retrospect, life goes on, and it must.  There is no consolation and the world knows nothing of your suffering; and that’s how it should be.

Today, I can think of nothing else but Dimi.  I expect him to be around every corner and think that I see glimpses of him as I leave a room.  If there’s a doggie heaven I can picture him sitting alertly and so cutely, looking for rabbits to chase.  I want him back so much, it hurts.  I don’t know how many more bits of my heart I can lose.  Arleah and I always wonder, every time we go thru this agony, if we can do it again.  I’m sure we will, but not now.

Morrie Shechtman
April, 2019

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