Saying Goodbye to My Soulmate Dog

On Saturday I said goodbye to my soulmate dog. Why does it hurt so much to lose a family pet? It has to do with how they interweave into our lives.

Studies have shown that when we love an animal, our brains are positively impacted. Our cognitive and emotional functions are improved and our quality of life is enhanced. But I don’t want to talk about that, although the knowledge helps me understand the emotional devastation.

Cap showed me how life should be lived. He approached every day with such joy and gusto. The picture in this post shows him on our outdoor balcony chair, ready for our morning ritual. He’d sit in that chair, and I’d sit in the other sipping coffee. Every single morning. His ability to communicate with me was uncanny and his expressive eyes would tell me when he needed to go out, when he was hungry or when he wanted a cuddle or two.

There wasn’t just one day when he’d make me laugh. During the spring, when the dandelions were abundant, he’d attack them with gusto. Instead of blowing the wispy tendrils that most make a wish on, he’d pounce, chomp down and happily trot on his way. During those moments, a belly laugh would erupt from my mouth, sharing in his unbridled joy.

He was a ray of sunshine.

When a loved one entered our home who he hadn’t seen for a while, he’d let out a howl. “WHOO WHOO WHOOOOO!” Then he’d pounce and dance around. We should all greet each other with such love.

Cap had a half sister Mocha, who is still alive today and who is by my side, quietly mourning her loss. I think he helped regulate her emotions and she’s trying to figure out how to do that herself now.

But the shock is this. He and I had a bond that was so deep and so strong that as I walk around the house, it feels as if a piece of me is missing. Who will follow me to the bathroom? Who will tap his paw on the floor when he’s hungry? And who will stare at me with such love and devotion, filling my every day?

His kind demeanor made him a perfect candidate to be a service dog. He spent years visiting memory care homes where he’d allow many hugs and kisses. More than one person would see him and remember their own beloved animals, if only for a moment.

I was in the United States when he started to refuse food. Happily trotting with Dad on Tuesday but not eating. Slowing down on Wednesday and refusing to eat food, even when Dad cooked him a safe homemade meal. Thursday came and with it, a visit to the vet who shocked my husband. “If he doesn’t eat by tomorrow, it may be time to say goodbye.” She hydrated him and gave him pain medication, and we hoped his appetite would return. But it was not meant to be.

That very day, my husband noticed something about his behavior. He was searching. He’d stop on his walks and look at cars. He stared out the front window of our door. I’m convinced he was waiting for me. That day when the vet said those words, the same day I felt in my heart that he was searching for me, I threw my clothes in a suitcase, rebooked my flight back to Sweden that same night. Thursday night.

I arrived on Friday at 3pm. He was still refusing to eat. Day four of no food.

My husband took him and his sister to meet me at the airport. I opened the door of the car and he just stared at me, didn’t get up from his sleeping position, while his sister started barking and wagging her tail. My heart dropped. Where was my “WHOO HOO HOO?” Why did he look so tired? But he was communicating. “I’m not OK.”

We went home and that night he slept next to me. I’d open my eyes and see that he was not sleeping, just staring at me. I’d reach out and put my hand near him and he’d settle. But he didn’t sleep well.

On Saturday, my son Ryan arrived. He entered the house with a ham and cheese hoagie, convinced that Cap would jump at the chance to eat some ham. No reaction. Stayed in the same position and although he did manage to a tail wag, he didn’t have the strength to do more.

On Saturday he stared all day but he wouldn’t come to me. He snuggled in my husband’s lap. But he turned away from me. I was hurt and didn’t understand but later researched the behavior. Dogs don’t have to pretend with the person they bonded so strongly with and he and I were inseparable. He would stare at me, almost begging me to understand that it was his time.

I picked him up and brought him outside so he could sit in the sun. I didn’t verbalize my thoughts to my family, but I knew that this was the day I’d say goodbye.

We went to the vet to “talk.” She was prepared and examined him before I took him onto my lap. He was severely dehydrated. Low temperature. Weak.

My son took the lead, asked his hard questions. “Couldn’t we hydrate him again? Give him an appetite stimulant.” He had done his research. If we treated the cause, maybe we could help him live longer.

“Yes,” she quietly responded. “I could do all that, but at almost fifteen years old, I don’t believe he would recover. You may get a day or two, but you risk that he passes on his own and gets to a point where he’s in a lot of pain, starving and that will be hard for him. There is something systemic in his body and it is unlikely that it can be cured.”

Seeing Ryan’s pain, my husband said “Maybe we could…”

But I interrupted him. “No.” I paused with tears forming in my eyes. “No,” I said louder. It was time for me to advocate, to fight for him, to protect my soulmate. “We will not put him through that.”

And my husband looked at me and nodded his head.

The vet turned to me as if I was the only person in the room. Her soft smile told me all I needed to know. “I will give you some time to discuss.”

And we did. Ryan went out of the room to call his brothers. We knew. Cap had told us, those expressive eyes told us that he was weak, that he needed us to be strong.

He went peacefully and after we said goodbye, we all had a sad sense of relief. Down to the core of our souls, we were the lucky ones. We knew we had made the right decision.

The days that have followed have been the worst ones. Grief is losing the ability to love and receive love in return. It’s the absence of love. The absence of joy. And no one feels it more than me.

So if you have lost your soulmate pet. Give yourself the love that they have given you. Be kind to yourself. Grieve. Write down the happy memories and learn from their example.

I love you Cap. Cappy. King Cappa. Cappuccino. I love you to the moon and back.