Some readers may find this blog a bit on the morbid side, but hold your final verdict till you come to the end of it: you may finally feel that it is in fact uplifting, poignant and even heart-warming. Though it deals with death, or, to be more precise, dying.
Last week an online friend of mine sent me a forward that shook me up, even though at 73 I now consider myself shock proof. The title of the piece was " Be with your pet till the End." In it he describes an intense personal, guilt ridden, experience: how he had to put down his beloved Dalmatian who was suffering from an incurable ailment, how he could not bear to be in the room when the vet was administering the lethal injection, how his dog's eyes followed him every inch of the way as he was walking out, imploring him not to leave her at this final moment as the life ebbed out of her. He has, quite rightly, not forgiven himself till today for this betrayal of a loved one when she needed him most. But this is not all.
Stanley (my online friend) informs me that he has since learnt that his experience was not unique; most veterinarians will attest to the fact that when pets are dying (and they always know when the moment has arrived) they long for their masters/owners/family to be with them, craving for the comfort of a final assurance of being wanted. Sadly, according to these doctors, the owners cannot bear to watch their pets dying or being put down, and usually leave the room, like Stanley did, regretting doing so for the rest of their lives. Paradoxically, it is both an expression and betrayal of love.
My own experience confirms this. Many years ago I had this magnificent Golden Retriever named Brutus, so christened because of his sober and regal bearing. He was a one- man dog, I being the man chosen for this honour. Only I could hold his leash when out for a walk, only I could brush or bathe him. Neerja, the good wife, was not allowed to sit next to me on the sofa- that place was reserved for Brutus. If I was ill and in bed no one, not even the doctor was permitted to come next to me, thus delaying my recovery by at least a week on each such occasion! In short, I was the love of his life, and he mine (with apologies to Neerja).
Brutus was 12 years old in 2010, in perfect health and with many years of the good life still ahead of him, when he somehow contrived to fall from the first floor of my Mashobra cottage one night. He broke his right femur badly. He wouldn't tolerate the plaster so I was advised an operation to nail the broken bones together. The procedure was not successful, septicemia set in with all its attendant complications- high fever, semi paralysis, inability to keep down any food. Nothing worked, he kept getting worse and he was suffering terribly. Finally, feeling like a murderer, I accepted my vet's advice to put him down for his own good. We fixed 22nd June for this ultimate betrayal, at 5.30 PM when I returned from office.
[ Brutus, with my son, Saurabh, at two years of age. Photo by author.]
I suspect Brutus, with that extraordinary sixth sense that animals have, sensed the impending course of events. Neerja tells me that that afternoon he somehow dragged himself to the top of the stairs where he would greet me every evening when I returned from office, and collapsed into a semi-coma with the effort. I reached home and sat down next to him, awaiting the vet's arrival with the lethal injection. Brutus opened his eyes, wagged his tail feebly, put his huge head on my lap, sighed happily a few times, and then stopped breathing. He had gone, just like that.
He had waited for me to return, to bid a final farewell, before leaving. And he had spared me the ultimate sin of having had to put him down, an act of murder I know I would have regretted for the rest of my life. Our pets are so large hearted, their love so unconditional and unquestioning, we should never leave them alone in their final moments. We are the only world they ever know, or care about; when they leave this world they should go in the warmth of knowing that we love them, that they will be treasured and missed. Pets may not be our whole life, but they make our life whole: your soul is never truly awakened until you have kept a pet, especially a dog. I have always believed that there are only two kinds of pure, selfless love in this sorry world- the love of a mother for her child, and the love of a pet for his master and family. All of us have experienced the first type, but those who receive the second also are truly blessed. Return that blessing by being there for him or her when it's time to say that last goodbye.
How well I relate to this article.
ReplyDeleteRight from my childhood days, dogs were a beautiful part of our life. 'Fortunately' we never had to euthanise any of our friends, they either just died, or in the case of 2 who travelled with us from Dubai to Colombo and thence to the Nilgiris where six months after we settled in here, they got picked up by leopards. Devastating! But nothing like what I had to do with Dusty - https://teanteas.wordpress.com/2022/01/06/and-so-god-made-a-dog. From the time I signed his death warrant and he went into a permanent sleep, I howled my heart out for three whole days. Reached the point where I was accused by my wife of 'you didn't cry when my dad died'!
Since it's friends such as Dusty I am talking about and since you have an affinity for these lovely fellows, you may want to check out another blog post of mine - https://teanteas.wordpress.com/2021/03/03/the-saga-of-kartoo
Excellent narrations of your pets and life with them! You are clearly at your best in their company! Very enjoyable blogs Mr. Khanna!
DeletePoignantly beautiful Avay. Isn't it funny that our trust with pets are sometimes far more meaningful than our trysts with fellow humans? With AI to eclipse HI, this may be a better deal, what? Love Partho
ReplyDeletePowerful flow of emotional outburst Sir. We had Tiger,the IV with us for 14 long years. IV because all our pets were named Tiger in my 45 years of life journey which still is going on.
ReplyDeleteTiger was sick and had lever cirosis in his last days. Was well attended by the team of Vets. I still remember that day before he ended his mortal journey -he sniffed a large snake in the bedroom.Next day Vets-03 came with me and now... the moment I took his head on my lap to sooth his pain ...He collapsed in my arms... unbearable. The entire family started crying and relations came to give him a warm send off. Remember there were half a dozen cars that followed us to his burial ground.
Tiger was गऊ Doberman.
Still we cherish his memory. Life goes on...
Avay Shukla's tender topic after last week's aggressive thrust and parry is like salve on the bruises.
ReplyDeleteI can only imagine the grief and tumult ravaging the hearts of pet owners when the appointed time comes upon them to make the dreaded decision. And I am certain the real pain must be unstoppably more than the envisioned.
It is said that a mutt apes his master, or is it the other way round. The dashing Brutus looks 'master'ful handling his beer, a quality imbibed unimpeachably under refined tutelage. Conversely, does Avay Shukla derive his ferocity of argumenting from the canine vault one muses. Not from judging the pictures surely!
Stirring reminiscences of a handsome dog, Sir.
I feel sorry for you. Take care.
ReplyDeleteThought I'd be so bold as to share this, so touching was your recount about Brutus - our -what do you call - Samdhi ? Sire to Great Reluctance & Ginger & Salsa (all Brutus' colour) through Missy our golden - two of the least experienced parents ever to have matched, much to the hilarity of the Lodge staff....but this is about our big boy whom you knew well...apologies for the length etc....54. PUPPY LOVE
ReplyDeleteThis one bed puppy thing, head on stomach
Leg on edge
Of a hip that had to fall in line.
He cost.
Not cash but a huge
Heart swallowing thing.
All in black. Listed from the beginning.
Basket case.
Most forward of the lot. Somehow
Seeming to seek us out
Waddling over on one month old paws.
No explanations, excuses, complaints;
Siblings, mother dearly missed but no
Mention at all. Just deep grunts
And rumbles in sleep
Well-fed belly of fine down
Fingers softly caressing the little tight drum,
Eyes fast shut, black silken ears like big flower petals
To the touch.
Black nose wetly cold.
The cost of coming home.
How we miss loving him.
Thirteen years of tyrannical love.
And another thirteen after that.
Chocolate thief, poet. Sunset watcher,
Daughter said. Squash racquet caddy;
Done with the day, terrifying tuck shop lady,
& the chapel bearer’s wife
Into making fresh rotis
Just for him. To eat at home under the table.
Sad eyed understander of everything.
Had a wife. Twin brown brow-spots
Above her beautiful eyes.
Almost as big as him but fifty times him
In suspiciousness. Wouldn’t allow a soul
To get too close except our handsome hero
Henpecked to death and delighted.
Bugger.
Even buffalo chains couldn’t hold his chest back
When it was time.
Surprised them once on a bit of sun-warmed sand
At a construction site not far from home.
We were walking and he leapt up
In some confusion. Came up bum swinging
With judicious looks to the sand mound
And the female in stately disdain blue blooded
Tibetan Mastiff with no expression to give away
Except an enquiring eye turned to appraise.
So we said, out of sheer embarrassment and apology,
Hey that’s okay, see you later back home
(Not though for yet a few days). But so it went.
Even the bus guys were kind
Saying no, no boss not your stop.
Knew him well, laughing. Big huge
Our own all black.
No snarl no bite,
Nothing.
Most disgraceful.
Especially the look.
Not sure he didn’t once make it
On an emptyish run
Got off at the ‘ghoda-aspital’ (or
Govt.’s horse hospital). A casual visit to the vet.
Genius with old nags for some reason.
And the only vet the dogs trusted.
Irrespective of breed, or station in life
Or upbringing. Funny.
Except, at home treatment time
Just that one set of hands and her quiet always voice.
Mummy, he may have presumed.
Something to do with that early bed and sleeping,
Fingers on the round small belly,
Lightly breathing.
Calming. Unafraid.
And that’s how she sent him.
And that’s how he went.
Like sleeping. And then
With a small, quiet sigh.
And the vet said, irrevocably,
He’s gone Ma’am.
Except the 4 of us were there. Now In Jeev-Ashram with his own plaque engraved with Isheeta's words embedded in the stone wall with others. But just above where he was laid to rest.
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Dogs, I tell you.And now the kids conspired to give meanother one. Sugarlips Katy said from where she is to Isheeta.That;s the registered name.Homenameis Oii. 6 months old. Maniac. bed mate until two months ago. Now too monstrous already.
ReplyDeleteAnd, it's not murder Avay. Paralysed, can't get up to poop,piddle; not eating; big eyed, softly whimpered apologies for staying up all night, There is a little return to dignity in euthanasia. Again, aplogies for going on and on.
Fortunate you are having experienced the compassion of an animal who has no language to communicate except goodwill gestures. During my probation in service usually I felt reluctant to return back to my official residence as it remained locked for days together. I found a remarkable change in my attitude, when I found Peter my pet waiting for me eagerly. Peter' compassion turned my residence into a sweet home.
ReplyDelete# in many other cultures, dogs have been working animals, some used for guarding flocks from attacks by predators, other breeds for herding while moving flocks from one hill pasture to another so that animals do not overgraze, move onto to fresher pastures; then there were dogs for hunting, tracking and pointing game, retrieving game when it has gone down in difficult to access ground, flushing out game when it goes to cover, coursing and running down game that is fleeing to escape, bringing to bay game that has been run down and now is taking its stand in a fight. the inuit used teams of dogs to pull loads over snow and ice. today most of the working dogs have been coveted by affluent classes in towns and there has arisen a completely new strain of the old breeds, the show strain having little in common with their working breed, usually distinctive by their coiffed coats which would be a matted mess within five minutes of working rough country. not that they are capable of work, hip dysplasia is the most common marker of the show strain; and among those that are kept as pets, the over whelming majority, exhibit strong indicators of temperamental deficiencies, often high strung, excitable, nervous aggression. invariably being, much like their owners, fed on an unsuitable diet made up of the sort of foods that middle-classes delude themselves as healthy food, these pet dogs have a remarkable propensity to develop cancers, and all the other life style diseases of their owners. in the so called western countries, where people live mostly lonely lives isolated, cut off from most family, community contacts, the pet dogs have become their only companions, and in many instances are treated in the manner of over indulged children and like these children to sulk, throw tantrums, hysteria, and similar to self centred adults lapse into depression. pet dogs can be said to be another ofthe cultural markers of the dysfunctional modern human.
ReplyDeleteVery deep and relevant insights, Mr Ninan. I guess dogs as pets ( as opposed to the "working dog" variety) is another level of domestication. Thanks for sharing this.
ReplyDelete