The End of Our Friendship
Julia Hones
“Death is a release from the impressions of sense, and from impulses that make us their puppets, from the vagaries of the mind, and the hard service of the flesh.” ~ Marcus Aurelius, Meditations.
The silence of our house is still charged with her gentle spirit, as if she is still sleeping in here, waiting for me to get out of bed and let her out to welcome the crisp morning air.
My husband and I share an uncanny magnetism towards animals. After living in three different countries, we found that nobody is drawn to us with more enthusiasm than our neighbors’ pets. During the two years we lived in New Zealand, Campbell, the golden plump cat who lived next door, became so attached to us that we ended up sharing our bed with him every night without our neighbor ever finding out.
Our strongest bond, however, was with our last dog, Autumn, a Golden Retriever. It was through her that we made friends with Robert, her owner. Autumn had achieved what no other woman had ever attained: she captivated Robert’s heart in such a way that he became committed to her. This was not a minor deed, considering that Robert had never been committed to any woman before. He liked to flirt, yes, but when the inkling of marriage flashed into the mind of the woman he had seduced, Robert would always find a good excuse to spurn the lady. It happened so many times that Robert forgot the reasons for ending some of those relationships.
Robert had a penchant for traveling the world. No place was too far to reach if he was determined to get there. During each trip, he was likely to meet a woman. Every woman he fell in love with had a unique charm that he admired until the ties of affection called for commitment. At that point, he would reject her with contempt; his love would dissolve like a dream on awakening after a deep sleep.
Robert used to say that he loathed control from others. Yet he would seek every opportunity to be the one in control over others. He enjoyed talking about his trips, and enchanted his listeners with astounding stories. He rejoiced in his knowledge of history and geography, and convinced everyone that he had fathomed the world and its mysteries. He had a restless appetite for books and plays, and would delight his friends with his ramblings and unexpected conclusions.
I met Autumn when I was swimming the murky waters of grief, on a cool morning as I arrived home from my Sunday stroll. She came to me swaying her head gently, with a stick in her mouth. My instinct always told me not to pet dogs if the owner was not around, but the minute she approached me I started to caress her golden fur without fear. Soon, she released her stick and thanked me for my warm display of affection by burrowing her head in my hands. That was the beginning of our long-term relationship.
“She loves sticks; sticks and balls.” I turned round to see a man in his early fifties. “Hi, I live one block away from your house. And this is my dog, Autumn.”
“I’m Kayla, nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“Your husband and I work at the same office. I’ve seen you before. My name is Robert Perreti...I’m sorry about your loss.”
After his comment, there was a silence broken only by the wind rustling among the fall leaves. I felt the need to tell him how I had done everything the right way for our baby and how unfair life had been to us, but I said nothing. Back then I was searching for answers that did not exist. We had lost our healthy baby to stillbirth when I was nine months pregnant -- it was when we were getting ready to celebrate Noel’s birth that we ended up organizing his funeral.
Autumn sat on her rear legs staring at Robert and panting, as if she were waiting for something important to happen next. Robert kneeled and patted her abdomen.
“She’s sweet. Dogs are special beings,” Robert said, while fondling Autumn’s head. Then he gazed up at me to add, “I was about to invite you guys for dinner next Sunday.”
The following Sunday we visited him. Robert’s house brimmed with paintings and exotic ornaments. He showed us around while he raved about the beauty of his adventures overseas.
“I’m an Epicurean. I believe friendship is the most important thing in life,” he said, as we savored the mussels that he’d cooked for us. His kitchen, brightened by sunlight, matched his contagious enthusiasm for being alive.
Right from the start, we began knitting a friendship through e-mails in which he liked to tell us about his life and his trips. His dark attitude towards women, however, was revealed to me when he confessed, “Every woman reminds me of my mother. I think every one of them wants to control me sooner or later.” It was clear to us that Robert had no intentions of deepening a relationship with any woman. Hence, Autumn was the only being who was able to satisfy his need for unconditional love.
She was somewhat obedient, warm-hearted, and always willing to treat him with affection. Robert decided that my husband and I would be good candidates to take care of Autumn during his next trip. He would be flying to Greece in a couple of weeks, and Autumn would be staying with us. It was convenient for everybody. Robert would save some money by not hiring a pet-sitter, and I would have the best therapy dog to help me through that dark period of our lives.
Unlike some human beings, Autumn did not judge my grief nor did she ask me to get over it. She was silent but, like a good friend, ready to assist me with her love. Her company infused me with genuine tenderness, a refuge to my feelings. There were no assumptions that I may have done something sordid to deserve this loss, no hidden thoughts that blamed me for my anguish.
Human beings have a tendency to believe in reasons to justify a tragedy that has no justification. Autumn did not invest energy in finding a reason for anything. She was simply there for me to allay my pain through love. That was all I needed at the time. When our hearts are buried in sorrow, we do not need reasons to explain anything. We just need a break from reasons because reality has beaten us so hard that we know there is no justice underlying the beating. But human beings are afraid of this truth. They prefer to hide from it to protect their naïve view of the world. They prefer to believe in some kind of “justice.”
Every time Robert traveled, Autumn stayed with us. It was a delight to see her spring with joy every time she came to visit. Despite her twelve years of age, she had the energy of a puppy and enjoyed our daily walks in the woods.
Five months after losing our son, I was pregnant with our second baby. It was around this time that Robert did not come to get Autumn after one of his trips overseas. Days, weeks and months passed and Robert was always too busy, engrossed in the writing of a history book, he said. During those days his e-mails dwindled, but he kept on asking about her. We were taken aback by his lack of interest in visiting Autumn, considering that he lived so close to our house. On the other hand, we were thankful to have her with us as my relationship with Autumn continued to thrive. Every night she followed me to our bedroom to sleep by my side. In the morning, she would not rise for her daily walk until after I got out of bed. It did not make a difference to her if my husband was up first. She would patiently wait for me.
My friendship with Autumn deepened through the routine of living together, side by side, understanding each other’s silence. I counted on her; she counted on me. We became inseparable.
One day, Henry and I decided to invite Robert for lunch to give him an excuse to see Autumn again. He accepted the invitation but ended up canceling it at the last minute, and asked for a raincheck for the following weekend. We agreed.
One week later, I cooked some pasta again and looked forward to his endless conversations. To our surprise, however, he did not turn up. He said he was rather tired and still needed to accomplish some more of his writing during those hours.
A few months later, Henry and I had to make the decision to move to another state. In less than four months, we would be heading to Indiana. This meant that Robert had to decide whether he would let us keep Autumn for the rest of her life.
“I need to think about it. I know she will be better off with you guys,” he said calmly over the phone. I stayed silent. I understood very well how sensitive he was to a woman’s opinion. He would have been inclined to keep her if I had expressed a hint of my deep desire to take her to Indiana, so I did my best to conceal my wish.
“I work all day so she’d be by herself all day. You will be staying at home now to take care of the baby,” he said, without making a clear decision. “She always longed to have a family, you know. She loves kids.”
“Yes, but she is your dog,” I said. “We understand it would be difficult for you to separate from her. It’s a hard decision for you.” Not even for a minute would I have expressed my hope to take her with us. I encouraged him, instead, to keep her despite my thoughts being biased in the opposite direction. The odds of adopting her would not have been in my favor if he had come to the realization that I was very attached to her. Robert liked to go to concerts, plays, and dates. He had no time to brush her or clean her.
“A guy cannot be bothered with all that,” he used to say. I pictured her alone until eleven at night every day and it made me sad.
A few days before our departure to Indiana, Robert paid us a visit to announce his final decision.
“When we really love somebody, we need to let go,” he said. “She will be happier with you guys. She has to move with you.” I said nothing at first, but was elated to hear the good news.
“That’s a very hard decision for you to make.”
“Yes, but she’s always wanted a family,” he said with a faint smile. “And she’s an old dog. I want her to be happy the last few years she has left.”
Henry and I would be the ones looking after her until the end of her life. We were both grateful. Yet looking after an old dog can become challenging at some point. We knew we would have to face the upheavals that come with age, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Robert would ever see her again.
Our new house in Indiana looked over an extensive patch of garden where Autumn chased her tennis balls despite her arthritis, which made her limp every time she moved around. Beyond the yard, our eyes rested on the open wild meadows contoured by the woods farther away.
Autumn basked in the sunlight that flooded in through the windows. She spent the days sitting in her bed, but would rise every evening when Henry came from work to play with her balls outside.
Our daughter, Elena, was born without complications, and the bond between her and Autumn thrived in no time. After she turned one year old, the word Autumn gushed out of her mouth with an easiness that left everybody speechless. Autumn became a member of our family, and we were so embedded in the present that we were blind to the fact that she was still a senior dog. And aging comes hand in hand with medical problems.
Every evening, when Henry arrived home, he would take Elena to the swing in our backyard. Behind them, Autumn sprang around, barking, gamboling, and chasing the ball. After resting all day, she was full of energy to play; they all relished their daily routine.
It was two months before Elena’s second birthday when Autumn was unable to rise after one of her evening games with Henry. For the first time, it dawned on me that we were close to losing her.
Not being able to get up from the floor was not a minor hurdle. After all, she was fourteen years old, the equivalent to a hundred-year old human being, according to Robert. Her young spirit had made me blind to her age before this happened. Assuming it was arthritis, we gave her some pain medication to relieve her discomfort. I was aware of the fact that osteoarthritis is progressive and can worsen to the point of preventing her from rising from the floor. Autumn seemed to do well on the medication, but a few days later, she had another episode of immobility. This time I noticed that her abdomen was having some contractions and that she was gasping for breath. She lay on her back and stretched her head as if some kind of excruciating pain were stabbing her. My heart sank. No, this was not just osteoarthritis. I feared the worst; the thought of abdominal bleeding crossed my mind at once.
It had been massive internal abdominal bleeding that had taken our son’s life away when I was nine months pregnant. Thinking it was indigestion, I had delayed my visit to the hospital, but the pain had been the most intense I had ever experienced in my life. By the time we got to the hospital our baby was dead, and I was on the verge of losing my own life.
What if Autumn was having some kind of internal bleeding now?
“I can’t let her die in pain. She’s suffering!”
“There’s no ambulance for dogs. What can we do? Carrying her like this is close to impossible,” Henry said.
I was afraid of failing her, of not doing the right thing at the right time. After a few minutes, though, Autumn stopped panting and she was able to relax. Her abdominal contractions ceased and, after a couple of hours, she was able to get up, albeit with difficulty.
The following day we took her to the vet. After a thorough examination, she found a mass in her spleen. She also did an x-ray and some blood tests that showed her hemoglobin was very low.
“I think you’re right. Autumn must have bled when you saw her in pain with those contractions yesterday,” she said.
“Why did she bleed?”
“She must have bled from the mass in her spleen, most likely an angiosarcoma, a malignant tumor. They're common in Golden Retrievers. They can grow fast and cause bleeding episodes.” Then she proceeded to discuss the alternatives to manage Autumn's disease.
The only curative treatment was to excise the tumor. Considering her age, we all agreed that it would not be safe to do so. Surgery would only add more stress to her life - it had been something we had discussed with Robert before he gave her to us - and there was no guarantee that it would cure her because the vet suspected that the cancer had already spread to other organs.
“My priority is to keep her comfortable at all times,” I said.
“Of course, I understand.” She hugged me as I stared into space, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Autumn huddled next to me as if she were begging me not to abandon her there.
“I will never leave you. Mommy’s here for you, Autumn,” I said. Then she sat down by my side, leaning her head against my chest like a baby in need of a cuddle.
“She’s a very sweet dog,” said the vet. “I can see that you are attuned to her.”
“I don’t want her to have a massive bleeding and suffer like that again. It was awful and I know how much it hurts. I’ve been through it myself,” I said.
“Oh…Is she eating?” asked the vet.
“Not much.”
“You’ll know when the time is right...She’ll continue to get worse. The mass will continue to grow. It’ll compress other organs, cause more pain…and it will bleed again.”
“But what would happen if she had a massive bleeding? There’s no ambulance for dogs…”
“It’s a hard decision to make, but if you see that life is too much of a burden for her we can put her down. We give her intravenous Phenobarbital and we monitor her while you keep her company. It would be like dying in her sleep. That way she will not suffer.”
I knew that would be eventually the best way to go if I wanted to avoid the pain that was starting to get out of control. Autumn spent most of her day in the same place; she didn’t move and she hardly ate anything. She no longer cared for balls or sticks, and she looked at me as if she were trying to say, “I’m sorry, but I cannot hold on to life any longer.”
I imagined there was a hint of guilt in her eyes for not being able to be the dog that she used to be.
The vet was right. Her condition worsened to the point that Henry not only had to lift her from the floor, but he also had to carry her outside so that she could relieve herself. Living was a daily struggle to her. Her pain became my pain. At night, when she lay by my side, she was unable to sleep. I perceived her open eyes piercing the darkness and reaching me with sorrow. She was begging me for help.
When everybody else was sleeping, in that mysterious silence, we stared at each other in the dim moonlight, sharing the desperation of a situation that had no end in sight.
“We need to make a decision. I don’t want her to suffer any longer,” I told Henry the next day, on a sunny Sunday afternoon. We were sitting out on our garden, watching the golden glow of the sun burnishing the mosaic of red and yellow hues made up of trees contouring the sky. A cool breeze caressed our faces.
“We need to discuss it with Robert first. He also needs to come and say goodbye to her.”
I shrugged. “We’ve been writing to him. He just tells us to keep her the way she is. He’s made no attempt to visit her even though he knows she’s sick. Why do we have to ask Robert?”
“Because she is his dog,” Henry answered curtly.
“Forget Robert. He’s going to cause more trouble at this point. I’m the one who stays with her all day long. I’m the one who knows what’s going on.”
“I’ll call him now to let him know,” he said as he seized his cell-phone.
After their conversation, my husband announced that Robert would be flying to Indiana the following weekend to visit her.
“Nonsense,” I said. “She will not make it till next weekend.”
I e-mailed Robert, telling him that I thought Autumn would not make it beyond Tuesday, so he made up his mind to fly the following day. That way, Robert would have the chance to say his final goodbye to her. I had also made an appointment to see the vet on Monday afternoon, sensing that a final decision would have to be made on that same day.
It was a chilly, cloudy Monday. Robert stayed for a few hours, knowing that would be the last time he would see her. He hunkered down beside her and began rambling about their past. I decided to leave him alone with her and went to the food store.
As I drove, my eyes scanned the extensive fields on either side of the road, and my mind wandered over Autumn’s situation. I came to understand that putting her down was in Autumn’s best interest. Life could become very painful. Life could be burdened by incurable diseases, distress, hunger, thirst. But death can set us free from all the burdens that we have to endure. Sometimes death is a relief to the inevitable suffering that life casts upon us. A gentle spirit like Autumn’s did not deserve to suffer like that.
I told Robert about my plans. He disagreed.
“Let her die on her own. Keep on what you are doing for her. A natural death,” he said calmly, while staring at her with tenderness.
“Robert, if she gets worse tonight, it will be difficult to help her. There’s no ER in town. She will suffer. I think we shouldn’t delay this any longer.”
Henry said nothing.
“She’s suffering all day. She’s in pain. She doesn’t even sleep. We are not keeping her alive for her sake. It’s for our sake… because saying goodbye is too hard to bear,” I said.
“No, I think she looks comfortable. Just give her the pain medication and keep her going,” Robert said. His voice was firm this time, and it was clear he was not willing to discuss it any further.
I wanted to scream that she was not comfortable, but I knew I would not be able to convince Robert. Henry did not appear to have an opinion one way or the other. I was disappointed and confused.
A few hours after his departure, when we went to sleep, I lay by Autumn’s side on a mattress that I had laid on the floor. It would have been too painful for her to walk to my bedroom, so I wanted to show her that I would continue to be by her side, no matter what happened to her. Within a few minutes, when we were trying to fall asleep, Autumn began to pant. Then she gave a squeal of deep pain as if she were desperately calling upon me. My panic set in and I turned on the lights to see her.
She was gasping for breath, choking, but I did not know how to help her. As I watched her suffering relentlessly, Robert’s image flashed into my mind and a pang of intense hatred towards him took hold of me. I had tried to avoid this situation earlier by putting her to sleep, but Robert had discarded my opinion with disdain.
How could I fail her like this? She was agonizing in front of my eyes, and I stayed beside her every minute of it without knowing what to do. When I finally talked my husband into taking her to the emergency room in another town, it was a few minutes after midnight. Under the starred sky we lifted her, and she died in our arms after giving one last cry of pain.
“Had we put her down to sleep on Monday afternoon, we could have spared her all that terrible suffering. She died in frank respiratory distress.” I e-mailed Robert that same night. Those were my last words addressed to him, for Autumn’s death was the end of our friendship with Robert.
It was a hard lesson for me, a reflection of my own journey. Living my life is sometimes about choosing between those two roads. The one led by my heart and my intuition and the one that everybody expects me to take. Trusting my intuition when the people around me are against my decisions is a challenge. I still fail at times.
The silence of our house is still charged with her gentle spirit, as if she is still sleeping in here, waiting for me to get out of bed and let her out to welcome the crisp morning air.
My husband and I share an uncanny magnetism towards animals. After living in three different countries, we found that nobody is drawn to us with more enthusiasm than our neighbors’ pets. During the two years we lived in New Zealand, Campbell, the golden plump cat who lived next door, became so attached to us that we ended up sharing our bed with him every night without our neighbor ever finding out.
Our strongest bond, however, was with our last dog, Autumn, a Golden Retriever. It was through her that we made friends with Robert, her owner. Autumn had achieved what no other woman had ever attained: she captivated Robert’s heart in such a way that he became committed to her. This was not a minor deed, considering that Robert had never been committed to any woman before. He liked to flirt, yes, but when the inkling of marriage flashed into the mind of the woman he had seduced, Robert would always find a good excuse to spurn the lady. It happened so many times that Robert forgot the reasons for ending some of those relationships.
Robert had a penchant for traveling the world. No place was too far to reach if he was determined to get there. During each trip, he was likely to meet a woman. Every woman he fell in love with had a unique charm that he admired until the ties of affection called for commitment. At that point, he would reject her with contempt; his love would dissolve like a dream on awakening after a deep sleep.
Robert used to say that he loathed control from others. Yet he would seek every opportunity to be the one in control over others. He enjoyed talking about his trips, and enchanted his listeners with astounding stories. He rejoiced in his knowledge of history and geography, and convinced everyone that he had fathomed the world and its mysteries. He had a restless appetite for books and plays, and would delight his friends with his ramblings and unexpected conclusions.
I met Autumn when I was swimming the murky waters of grief, on a cool morning as I arrived home from my Sunday stroll. She came to me swaying her head gently, with a stick in her mouth. My instinct always told me not to pet dogs if the owner was not around, but the minute she approached me I started to caress her golden fur without fear. Soon, she released her stick and thanked me for my warm display of affection by burrowing her head in my hands. That was the beginning of our long-term relationship.
“She loves sticks; sticks and balls.” I turned round to see a man in his early fifties. “Hi, I live one block away from your house. And this is my dog, Autumn.”
“I’m Kayla, nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“Your husband and I work at the same office. I’ve seen you before. My name is Robert Perreti...I’m sorry about your loss.”
After his comment, there was a silence broken only by the wind rustling among the fall leaves. I felt the need to tell him how I had done everything the right way for our baby and how unfair life had been to us, but I said nothing. Back then I was searching for answers that did not exist. We had lost our healthy baby to stillbirth when I was nine months pregnant -- it was when we were getting ready to celebrate Noel’s birth that we ended up organizing his funeral.
Autumn sat on her rear legs staring at Robert and panting, as if she were waiting for something important to happen next. Robert kneeled and patted her abdomen.
“She’s sweet. Dogs are special beings,” Robert said, while fondling Autumn’s head. Then he gazed up at me to add, “I was about to invite you guys for dinner next Sunday.”
The following Sunday we visited him. Robert’s house brimmed with paintings and exotic ornaments. He showed us around while he raved about the beauty of his adventures overseas.
“I’m an Epicurean. I believe friendship is the most important thing in life,” he said, as we savored the mussels that he’d cooked for us. His kitchen, brightened by sunlight, matched his contagious enthusiasm for being alive.
Right from the start, we began knitting a friendship through e-mails in which he liked to tell us about his life and his trips. His dark attitude towards women, however, was revealed to me when he confessed, “Every woman reminds me of my mother. I think every one of them wants to control me sooner or later.” It was clear to us that Robert had no intentions of deepening a relationship with any woman. Hence, Autumn was the only being who was able to satisfy his need for unconditional love.
She was somewhat obedient, warm-hearted, and always willing to treat him with affection. Robert decided that my husband and I would be good candidates to take care of Autumn during his next trip. He would be flying to Greece in a couple of weeks, and Autumn would be staying with us. It was convenient for everybody. Robert would save some money by not hiring a pet-sitter, and I would have the best therapy dog to help me through that dark period of our lives.
Unlike some human beings, Autumn did not judge my grief nor did she ask me to get over it. She was silent but, like a good friend, ready to assist me with her love. Her company infused me with genuine tenderness, a refuge to my feelings. There were no assumptions that I may have done something sordid to deserve this loss, no hidden thoughts that blamed me for my anguish.
Human beings have a tendency to believe in reasons to justify a tragedy that has no justification. Autumn did not invest energy in finding a reason for anything. She was simply there for me to allay my pain through love. That was all I needed at the time. When our hearts are buried in sorrow, we do not need reasons to explain anything. We just need a break from reasons because reality has beaten us so hard that we know there is no justice underlying the beating. But human beings are afraid of this truth. They prefer to hide from it to protect their naïve view of the world. They prefer to believe in some kind of “justice.”
Every time Robert traveled, Autumn stayed with us. It was a delight to see her spring with joy every time she came to visit. Despite her twelve years of age, she had the energy of a puppy and enjoyed our daily walks in the woods.
Five months after losing our son, I was pregnant with our second baby. It was around this time that Robert did not come to get Autumn after one of his trips overseas. Days, weeks and months passed and Robert was always too busy, engrossed in the writing of a history book, he said. During those days his e-mails dwindled, but he kept on asking about her. We were taken aback by his lack of interest in visiting Autumn, considering that he lived so close to our house. On the other hand, we were thankful to have her with us as my relationship with Autumn continued to thrive. Every night she followed me to our bedroom to sleep by my side. In the morning, she would not rise for her daily walk until after I got out of bed. It did not make a difference to her if my husband was up first. She would patiently wait for me.
My friendship with Autumn deepened through the routine of living together, side by side, understanding each other’s silence. I counted on her; she counted on me. We became inseparable.
One day, Henry and I decided to invite Robert for lunch to give him an excuse to see Autumn again. He accepted the invitation but ended up canceling it at the last minute, and asked for a raincheck for the following weekend. We agreed.
One week later, I cooked some pasta again and looked forward to his endless conversations. To our surprise, however, he did not turn up. He said he was rather tired and still needed to accomplish some more of his writing during those hours.
A few months later, Henry and I had to make the decision to move to another state. In less than four months, we would be heading to Indiana. This meant that Robert had to decide whether he would let us keep Autumn for the rest of her life.
“I need to think about it. I know she will be better off with you guys,” he said calmly over the phone. I stayed silent. I understood very well how sensitive he was to a woman’s opinion. He would have been inclined to keep her if I had expressed a hint of my deep desire to take her to Indiana, so I did my best to conceal my wish.
“I work all day so she’d be by herself all day. You will be staying at home now to take care of the baby,” he said, without making a clear decision. “She always longed to have a family, you know. She loves kids.”
“Yes, but she is your dog,” I said. “We understand it would be difficult for you to separate from her. It’s a hard decision for you.” Not even for a minute would I have expressed my hope to take her with us. I encouraged him, instead, to keep her despite my thoughts being biased in the opposite direction. The odds of adopting her would not have been in my favor if he had come to the realization that I was very attached to her. Robert liked to go to concerts, plays, and dates. He had no time to brush her or clean her.
“A guy cannot be bothered with all that,” he used to say. I pictured her alone until eleven at night every day and it made me sad.
A few days before our departure to Indiana, Robert paid us a visit to announce his final decision.
“When we really love somebody, we need to let go,” he said. “She will be happier with you guys. She has to move with you.” I said nothing at first, but was elated to hear the good news.
“That’s a very hard decision for you to make.”
“Yes, but she’s always wanted a family,” he said with a faint smile. “And she’s an old dog. I want her to be happy the last few years she has left.”
Henry and I would be the ones looking after her until the end of her life. We were both grateful. Yet looking after an old dog can become challenging at some point. We knew we would have to face the upheavals that come with age, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Robert would ever see her again.
Our new house in Indiana looked over an extensive patch of garden where Autumn chased her tennis balls despite her arthritis, which made her limp every time she moved around. Beyond the yard, our eyes rested on the open wild meadows contoured by the woods farther away.
Autumn basked in the sunlight that flooded in through the windows. She spent the days sitting in her bed, but would rise every evening when Henry came from work to play with her balls outside.
Our daughter, Elena, was born without complications, and the bond between her and Autumn thrived in no time. After she turned one year old, the word Autumn gushed out of her mouth with an easiness that left everybody speechless. Autumn became a member of our family, and we were so embedded in the present that we were blind to the fact that she was still a senior dog. And aging comes hand in hand with medical problems.
Every evening, when Henry arrived home, he would take Elena to the swing in our backyard. Behind them, Autumn sprang around, barking, gamboling, and chasing the ball. After resting all day, she was full of energy to play; they all relished their daily routine.
It was two months before Elena’s second birthday when Autumn was unable to rise after one of her evening games with Henry. For the first time, it dawned on me that we were close to losing her.
Not being able to get up from the floor was not a minor hurdle. After all, she was fourteen years old, the equivalent to a hundred-year old human being, according to Robert. Her young spirit had made me blind to her age before this happened. Assuming it was arthritis, we gave her some pain medication to relieve her discomfort. I was aware of the fact that osteoarthritis is progressive and can worsen to the point of preventing her from rising from the floor. Autumn seemed to do well on the medication, but a few days later, she had another episode of immobility. This time I noticed that her abdomen was having some contractions and that she was gasping for breath. She lay on her back and stretched her head as if some kind of excruciating pain were stabbing her. My heart sank. No, this was not just osteoarthritis. I feared the worst; the thought of abdominal bleeding crossed my mind at once.
It had been massive internal abdominal bleeding that had taken our son’s life away when I was nine months pregnant. Thinking it was indigestion, I had delayed my visit to the hospital, but the pain had been the most intense I had ever experienced in my life. By the time we got to the hospital our baby was dead, and I was on the verge of losing my own life.
What if Autumn was having some kind of internal bleeding now?
“I can’t let her die in pain. She’s suffering!”
“There’s no ambulance for dogs. What can we do? Carrying her like this is close to impossible,” Henry said.
I was afraid of failing her, of not doing the right thing at the right time. After a few minutes, though, Autumn stopped panting and she was able to relax. Her abdominal contractions ceased and, after a couple of hours, she was able to get up, albeit with difficulty.
The following day we took her to the vet. After a thorough examination, she found a mass in her spleen. She also did an x-ray and some blood tests that showed her hemoglobin was very low.
“I think you’re right. Autumn must have bled when you saw her in pain with those contractions yesterday,” she said.
“Why did she bleed?”
“She must have bled from the mass in her spleen, most likely an angiosarcoma, a malignant tumor. They're common in Golden Retrievers. They can grow fast and cause bleeding episodes.” Then she proceeded to discuss the alternatives to manage Autumn's disease.
The only curative treatment was to excise the tumor. Considering her age, we all agreed that it would not be safe to do so. Surgery would only add more stress to her life - it had been something we had discussed with Robert before he gave her to us - and there was no guarantee that it would cure her because the vet suspected that the cancer had already spread to other organs.
“My priority is to keep her comfortable at all times,” I said.
“Of course, I understand.” She hugged me as I stared into space, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Autumn huddled next to me as if she were begging me not to abandon her there.
“I will never leave you. Mommy’s here for you, Autumn,” I said. Then she sat down by my side, leaning her head against my chest like a baby in need of a cuddle.
“She’s a very sweet dog,” said the vet. “I can see that you are attuned to her.”
“I don’t want her to have a massive bleeding and suffer like that again. It was awful and I know how much it hurts. I’ve been through it myself,” I said.
“Oh…Is she eating?” asked the vet.
“Not much.”
“You’ll know when the time is right...She’ll continue to get worse. The mass will continue to grow. It’ll compress other organs, cause more pain…and it will bleed again.”
“But what would happen if she had a massive bleeding? There’s no ambulance for dogs…”
“It’s a hard decision to make, but if you see that life is too much of a burden for her we can put her down. We give her intravenous Phenobarbital and we monitor her while you keep her company. It would be like dying in her sleep. That way she will not suffer.”
I knew that would be eventually the best way to go if I wanted to avoid the pain that was starting to get out of control. Autumn spent most of her day in the same place; she didn’t move and she hardly ate anything. She no longer cared for balls or sticks, and she looked at me as if she were trying to say, “I’m sorry, but I cannot hold on to life any longer.”
I imagined there was a hint of guilt in her eyes for not being able to be the dog that she used to be.
The vet was right. Her condition worsened to the point that Henry not only had to lift her from the floor, but he also had to carry her outside so that she could relieve herself. Living was a daily struggle to her. Her pain became my pain. At night, when she lay by my side, she was unable to sleep. I perceived her open eyes piercing the darkness and reaching me with sorrow. She was begging me for help.
When everybody else was sleeping, in that mysterious silence, we stared at each other in the dim moonlight, sharing the desperation of a situation that had no end in sight.
“We need to make a decision. I don’t want her to suffer any longer,” I told Henry the next day, on a sunny Sunday afternoon. We were sitting out on our garden, watching the golden glow of the sun burnishing the mosaic of red and yellow hues made up of trees contouring the sky. A cool breeze caressed our faces.
“We need to discuss it with Robert first. He also needs to come and say goodbye to her.”
I shrugged. “We’ve been writing to him. He just tells us to keep her the way she is. He’s made no attempt to visit her even though he knows she’s sick. Why do we have to ask Robert?”
“Because she is his dog,” Henry answered curtly.
“Forget Robert. He’s going to cause more trouble at this point. I’m the one who stays with her all day long. I’m the one who knows what’s going on.”
“I’ll call him now to let him know,” he said as he seized his cell-phone.
After their conversation, my husband announced that Robert would be flying to Indiana the following weekend to visit her.
“Nonsense,” I said. “She will not make it till next weekend.”
I e-mailed Robert, telling him that I thought Autumn would not make it beyond Tuesday, so he made up his mind to fly the following day. That way, Robert would have the chance to say his final goodbye to her. I had also made an appointment to see the vet on Monday afternoon, sensing that a final decision would have to be made on that same day.
It was a chilly, cloudy Monday. Robert stayed for a few hours, knowing that would be the last time he would see her. He hunkered down beside her and began rambling about their past. I decided to leave him alone with her and went to the food store.
As I drove, my eyes scanned the extensive fields on either side of the road, and my mind wandered over Autumn’s situation. I came to understand that putting her down was in Autumn’s best interest. Life could become very painful. Life could be burdened by incurable diseases, distress, hunger, thirst. But death can set us free from all the burdens that we have to endure. Sometimes death is a relief to the inevitable suffering that life casts upon us. A gentle spirit like Autumn’s did not deserve to suffer like that.
I told Robert about my plans. He disagreed.
“Let her die on her own. Keep on what you are doing for her. A natural death,” he said calmly, while staring at her with tenderness.
“Robert, if she gets worse tonight, it will be difficult to help her. There’s no ER in town. She will suffer. I think we shouldn’t delay this any longer.”
Henry said nothing.
“She’s suffering all day. She’s in pain. She doesn’t even sleep. We are not keeping her alive for her sake. It’s for our sake… because saying goodbye is too hard to bear,” I said.
“No, I think she looks comfortable. Just give her the pain medication and keep her going,” Robert said. His voice was firm this time, and it was clear he was not willing to discuss it any further.
I wanted to scream that she was not comfortable, but I knew I would not be able to convince Robert. Henry did not appear to have an opinion one way or the other. I was disappointed and confused.
A few hours after his departure, when we went to sleep, I lay by Autumn’s side on a mattress that I had laid on the floor. It would have been too painful for her to walk to my bedroom, so I wanted to show her that I would continue to be by her side, no matter what happened to her. Within a few minutes, when we were trying to fall asleep, Autumn began to pant. Then she gave a squeal of deep pain as if she were desperately calling upon me. My panic set in and I turned on the lights to see her.
She was gasping for breath, choking, but I did not know how to help her. As I watched her suffering relentlessly, Robert’s image flashed into my mind and a pang of intense hatred towards him took hold of me. I had tried to avoid this situation earlier by putting her to sleep, but Robert had discarded my opinion with disdain.
How could I fail her like this? She was agonizing in front of my eyes, and I stayed beside her every minute of it without knowing what to do. When I finally talked my husband into taking her to the emergency room in another town, it was a few minutes after midnight. Under the starred sky we lifted her, and she died in our arms after giving one last cry of pain.
“Had we put her down to sleep on Monday afternoon, we could have spared her all that terrible suffering. She died in frank respiratory distress.” I e-mailed Robert that same night. Those were my last words addressed to him, for Autumn’s death was the end of our friendship with Robert.
It was a hard lesson for me, a reflection of my own journey. Living my life is sometimes about choosing between those two roads. The one led by my heart and my intuition and the one that everybody expects me to take. Trusting my intuition when the people around me are against my decisions is a challenge. I still fail at times.
Working notes
This story illustrates clearly how gender biases influence relationships, behaviors, and decisions in a negative way. Based on a true life experience, this story reveals that there are situations in which we need to ignore everybody’s advice and let our intuition guide us. It reminds us that there is nothing wrong with following our inner voice, even when it doesn't match the expectations of others.
About the author
Julia Hones writes short stories, flash fiction, essays, poetry, and book reviews. Her literary work has appeared and is forthcoming in literary journals and anthologies such as the Greensilk Journal, Epiphany Magazine, Skive, Freedom Forge Press, Flash Fiction World, and others. She is the poetry editor of Southern Pacific Review. To learn more about her work, visit her blog at http://juliahoneswritinglife.blogspot.com.