We have all heard the old saying “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade” The obviously disturbed flower child that coined that phrase probably still lives in a tree and braids their underarm hair. When tragedy strikes it is not pleasant. I firmly believe, however, that the way you handle it determines how well you will get through it.
Seeing as how our family loved animals it was always a sad occasion when they lived out their life span and passed on to the great pet sanitarium in the sky. It is particularly hard if you were very closely attached to the beast as was the case with a large chocolate lab named Ivan.
He was a great dog for our family. He was patient with all the children and extremely affectionate to us adults. Many of the family’s trips were made even better by the company of that big, brown, saggy eyed beast. When the inevitable day came I never realized how difficult it is to part with such a close part of our family. Angie had decided that the animals needed to be wormed as she had the odd habit of closely examining the variously sized offerings the animals of our family left in the back yard. She swore that she saw some worms wiggling in some of them so off to the pet store she runs and gets a generous supply of worming medicine and distributed it to the whole menagerie.
Poor old Ivan’s system apparently was held together by the worms because the day after he received the medicine he collapsed and couldn’t stand up. We brought him into the house and laid him on a soft blanket and a loving vigil was kept by all members of the family with the hopes of improvement.
The next day he got worse so we took him to the vet and he was diagnosed with a failing liver. I went down to the pet hospital after consulting with the vet as to what was best for the old boy. I walked into the treatment room and Ivan was able to lift his head and place it on my leg when I kneeled beside him. His big brown eyes met mine and I could see the trust and love this large goofy dog showed for all of us in our family. I stroked his head and softly praised him for his loving care he had given our family as the vet administered the solution that would forever remove his suffering. I watched as the sad old eyes gently closed and the slow rhythmic raising and lowering of that massive chest came to a stop.
The vet kindly gave me a few minutes alone with him as my heart broke and I gave way to tears. After recovering my composure, I carefully picked up the gentle beast and carried him to the car for burial in the back yard as the staff at the vet’s sadly looked on. It was one of the toughest walks of my life. We will always miss and remember Ivan as one of the best dogs we ever had.
There are times however when a family pet lives way longer than it ever should. Sassy, mentioned earlier in the animal chapter was one of them as she carried the unpleasant aroma of doggie decay from the inside out. Another ancient dog we had was not ours.
For a time, my son and his wife had to live with us due to adverse economic conditions they were experiencing. Along with them came my daughter in law’s lifelong pet, Sadie. She was a black and white Australian Shepherd who was obsessed with retrieving her Frisbee or ball 24/7. When she was young, she would always be staring at the “toy de jour” with the intensity of a brain surgeon. If you didn’t throw the item for her, she would nudge it over to your leg until you gave in.
She was a nice enough dog but when she showed up at our home, she was already several years past any quality of life. Rachel, however, could not deal with the thought of parting with her so Sadie spent all her time outside in the backyard as her aroma and bodily functions were starting to deteriorate day by day.
When the kids moved out, they failed to take her with them so, added to our dogs, Sadie was still staggering around the yard trying to do the best she could. By this time, she was almost totally blind and stone deaf. I encouraged my son to do the right thing and take her in to the vet to be humanly put down. Ben, unfortunately, didn’t have the funds or the will to do so. We, unfortunately we’re also in the same financial state with a severe economic downturn in California in full effect.
When a heavy rain storm occurred shortly thereafter I went outside and found Sadie sleeping in about 2” of cold standing water. I woke her and tried to get her to move into shelter she refused to cooperate. It was at this time Angie and I decided it was time to do something about her. We had some old medication left over from many of our previous injuries in the family so we loaded a hot dog up with a varied combination of pain killers thinking that this concoction would surely let the dog fall asleep peacefully and pass away quietly. About one hour after giving Sadie her final “treat” I went to the back door only to find her with her patented stare at the door waiting for the next “goodie”. I went to bed thinking that it would be done by the morning. On getting up I quickly went to the back door and found Sadie walking/staggering as normal around the back yard. Apparently, she has spent her first night pain free in a long time and was in the process of finding a suitable place to deposit a nugget of appreciation, that is, if she could have seen where she was going or know that she had already made the deposit ten feet back on the deck.
It was then that I set upon a brilliant idea of consulting the internet, the vast depository of all known knowledge in the universe. While I read many horror stories from people who had attempted and failed this feat themselves with their own animals, I did read of one successful account of how a woman had given her dog several Tylenol PM tablets and then hooked up a hose to the auto exhaust and succeeded in peacefully ending her dog’s pitiful existence. I felt this was the best way to help Sadie end her suffering.
I went out and bought a bottle of the sleep aid and we set about helping Sadie to go to the big sleep. Angie asked me “How many tablets did the lady put in the hotdog for her dog?” “Four”, I replied. “Let’s give her six” she answered, “seeing how she did with the pain killers.” Sadie was very happy to have another treat even though I had to almost put it into her open mouth as she had no idea where that delicious smelling hot dog was. After about thirty minutes Sadie was still waiting at the door so we obliged her with six more tablets via another hot dog. An hour later she was still at the door staring at nothing but knowing there must be more treats awaiting her. After giving her six more tablets and another hour passing with no result we gave up.
That is until I remembered that in the “All Creatures Great and Small” books I had read that the old vet’s in the 1930’s used ether to put the small animals to sleep for surgeries.
“Hey!” I thought to myself, “I have ether in the garage!”
I had a can of starter fluid which is almost totally made up of ether. The next thing I know I’m holding an ether-soaked rag up to Sadie’s face. After a first couple of minutes, she finally laid still, and I put our old igloo dog house over her and put the hose from the exhaust of our camping generator into the opening with a towel over it to trap the fatal fumes. I stroked her head for a while and then went into the house for about thirty minutes to allow the fumes to do their sad duty.
When I went out into the yard again, I found Sadie staggering about as usual in the backyard. Apparently, she had awakened from her brief nap and was out looking for imagined balls to chase. I laid her down again and repeated the procedure but this time I stayed next to the dog house with my hand inside the towel petting her head while trying not to inhale the fumes and make a murder/suicide scene for almost a full half hour. After that I sat outside on the deck watching for another hour for any escape attempt. After seeing no movement I put my carbon monoxide tester from by work truck and read 4000 parts per million of C/O. This level was fatal to a human in about two minutes. I left the cover on for another hour, just in case.
When I finally removed the cover Sadie was lying there still staring off into nothing as usual, this time for eternity. As I sadly looked at her Angie appeared with the family stethoscope and said, “Make sure.” Nothing was heard so I called Ben and told him that Sadie had woke up dead and he needed to come over and bury her. An hour later I returned home to find Ben, our youngest, Tristan and our son in law Daren’s trucks in front of the home. I went into the back yard to find them putting the final shovels of dirt over Sadie’s final resting place. I asked Ben as delicately as I could “Did you check to make sure she’s dead? That’s one tough dog!” He assured me she had assumed room temperature and told me he buried her with her Frisbee in her mouth which I thought was a nice touch. Even so, I still tentatively go out to the grave on occasion just to check to make sure she hasn’t crawled out looking for another hot dog.
We all must face death at one time or another and such was the sad case when both of my parents died suddenly within five months of each other. My mother contracted a rare blood disease after my parents returned from a wonderful fortieth anniversary trip to Hawaii. When they got the news from the doctor, I received a phone call from my mother asking me
“Would you be so kind as to come over to the house? I need to talk to you about something.”
The sight that met me was of my mother seated elegantly in her favorite chair while my father was slumped over in his chair sobbing uncontrollably.
“Would you please read this to your father?” my mother asked before I could inquire as to the nature of this visit.
She handed me her Bible that was turned to the fourth chapter of Philippians with verses six and seven highlighted.
“ Do not be anxious over anything,” I read “ but in everything by prayer and supplication along with thanksgiving let YOUR petitions be made known to God; and the peace of God that excels all thought will guard YOUR hearts and YOUR mental powers by means of Christ Jesus.”
I handed the Bible back to my mother as she related to me the phone call from the doctor. I asked her the prognosis and she replied that this disease is very rare and apparently incurable. The doctor told her she had about 6 – 12 months left.
What do you do in such a situation? What do you say? The only thing I could think of was to ask my mother.
“By chance, mother dearest, is it hereditary?”
This caused a little smile to cross her face, the very thing she needed, as she replied in the negative.
“Oh, good, that’s a relief.” I said.
She survived for eight months and passed away with grace and dignity along with a good dose of the British sarcastic humor.
“So how are we today, Mrs. Young?” the doctor asked as he came into the room on my mother’s final visit to the hospital.
“Well, according to you, I’m dying.” my mother replied with a sweet smile and steady stare at the now uncomfortable doctor.
At my mother’s request all her dear friends came by to visit her during her final week. They all came with sad faces and broken hearts and left smiling and encouraged because mother made sure of it. Her last words were in praise of God, and she died eight hours later while I held her hand and said a prayer out loud.
She was just 60 years old. To this day I am still approached by people who want to tell me how my mother influenced their lives. I knowingly smile as I am very aware of the great gift my mother left with all she met and particularly with me. I carry her wonderful outlook and sense of humor with pride.
My father, however, was quite the different story. When mother died, he, as with many couples, just gave up. He stopped taking his medications that were keeping the prostate cancer in check for the last four years. In five months and seven days he died. Pops, as I called him, went out in his own particular style. Being the accomplished con man all his life he found various and interesting ways to even take advantage of dying. Granted, Pops had straightened out his life for the last ten years and had finally given up his old gambling affliction, but as the saying goes “You can’t take the farm boy far from the farm”
Before he died, he went on a spending spree that puzzled me as I knew what his income was. We were in business together at that time. When I asked him about this new level of spending, he replied in good old Pops fashion.
“Don’t worry about it son” So I didn’t.
Even though I knew of his past he was able to con even the son of a con man. After his death I received several phone calls from all his credit card companies. I seemed that he had maxed out all his cards sending his children on trips, giving gifts to his friends, and living in the grand style he was accustomed to. I’m sure it had something to do with the effect the brain tumor was having of his personality and actions. I doubt it was because he might have discovered that if there is no surviving mate all the unsecured credit card debt is erased as uncollectable. That is, only if the estate was too small for probate, which at that time was less than sixty thousand dollars in value. Strangely, before he died, he gave all his things away. Jewelry, cars and valuables were generously handed out with flare and style. No…. Can’t be…….
Speaking of the personality change that Pops had, for the last month or so of his life he inherited the hormones of a teenager. By this time, we were taking turns staying with him to help in his care and I repeatedly had to turn off the Bikini Babes Volley Ball Championship Tournament he found on late night cable. My wife was afraid to come into the house with anything phallic like. Bananas, curling irons and the like were off limits unless you wanted to hear an inappropriate comment from a sixty-six-year-old teenager.
During this time my father requested that my brother, David, and I take him out for a hot dog at his favorite diner. Not wanting to deny a dying man his wish, we nervously set out for Nathan’s Hot Dogs. As my brother parked the car and started helping Pops out I ran ahead to warn the staff. I told them of my dad’s sad condition and that he might utter a few inappropriate comments about the meal due to his brain tumor. The hostess assured me that they will be prepared for anything and commended me and my brother for taking “such good care of your father”. Much to our surprise Pops was the perfect gentleman and politely greeted the staff and behaved with class and style. David and I stared at each other wondering who this guy was and what did he do with our crazy father? His behavior was so good that David and I received glares from the hostess as she was now of the opinion that we were a couple of low class freaks who tried to besmirch the integrity of this nice old man.
Angie and David’s wife, Tammy, also had their experiences with him. He wanted to take them out to lunch, no doubt on one of his credit cards, and get his favorite meal, a steak sandwich. During one of his many professions my father had in his life was that of chief chef in a swanky resort in Northern California in the early 1950’s. This led to his unpleasant habit of calling out the chef at any restaurant he was dining in and giving him a good scolding in front of everyone if the fare was not to his expectations. That was the reason all us kids would get a severe case of indigestion if he declared that the family was going out for dinner. So, when Angie and Tammy saw a hair sitting in plain sight right on top of his steak sandwich they froze and didn’t say a thing as he happily devoured his meal.
In typical Leo G. Young fashion Pops final words were unfortunately not in praise of God as were my mother’s. No, it was more along the lines of commenting on the amount of sun that shines on the beaches of Florida. The initials would be S.O.B..
When I was at the funeral home arraigning his cremation the funeral director asked me what I wanted to do with his ashes. This reminded me of the last time I was in this room. That was with Pops when we were arranging Mother’s cremation. The director asked my father this very same question. Pops asked.
“What are the options?”
“Well,” replied the funeral director “we can package the ashes in an urn for you to take or we can arrange interment in a mausoleum and the third option is to have them spread out at sea.”
My father inquired further about the sea option and was told that the captain of the boat would go two miles offshore and spread the ashes while reciting the 23rd Psalm. This option cost $60.00
At the mention of $60.00 my father loudly erupted with shock and outrage at this obvious unethical financial rape of all bereaved families and after chewing out the poor man he coldly stated that we’ll take mom “to go”. I crawled out from under my chair, apologized to the now shaky funeral director and led Pops out of the office. So, when the same director asked me what I would like to do with my father’s ashes I asked him with a smile,
“Do you still have the spreading at sea option?”
He replied in the affirmative and assured me that the price that was still the same. I smiled to myself as I took out Pop’s old check book and wrote the man the check for $60.00 from his account, knowing in my heart, that mother would greatly approve.