I joined your club yesterday.
Not by choice but through the brutal initiation of lying next to our beloved dog, Tonsina, as he took his last breath.
"Christy, we're losing him, " Nick called from the bottom of the stairs. I jumped out of bed and ran out to the front porch, where Nick lay looking into Tonsina's eyes, telling him, "Its OK, you can go...good boy, it's alright."
I curled up on the other side, held Tonsina, and cried.
We think a benign cyst that's grown in size over the years finally put too much pressure on his lungs. His energy dropped, he developed a deep cough, and has labored for breath over the past week. We had planned to take him to Anchorage for an X-ray today.
Instead we spent yesterday morning digging a hole off the side of our driveway. We collected old pairs of shoes to bury with Tonsina, since he loved to snuggle with our sneakers when we'd leave him for the day. He never chewed them, just lay with his nose on the laces. We found a ball and a stick and placed our boy in the ground with a few items he loved.
Olive didn't want to look inside the blanket and see him one last time; she asked Grandma to walk away with her after we lowered Tonsina into the ground. The shoveling of the dirt back on his body was too much for our ten-year-old daughter experiencing death for the first time. I'm so glad my in-laws visit coincided with our loss, to help Olive process it all, as Nick and I did the dirt work, neither of us hiding our tears.
Elias seemed unfazed, giving Tonzy one last pet on the head, standing with Pop while Nick and I refilled the hole. Making comments unrelated.
"Its ok to feel sad," I told him earlier. "You Dad and I both feel sad.
"Ok," Elias responded looking down at his hands.
We just happened to adopt a cat before Tonsina's health took a dive, not even two weeks ago; his name is Spruce Tip, who knew the 8-moth old shelter cat would come at the right time.
Nick brought the tomcat to my lap after we rolled Tonsina in a blanket and moved him from the front porch.
"Time to learn to bark, Spruce Tip," Nick said.
The night before Tonsina passed he made one last walk over to David's house for liverworts, an evening tradition he'd been too tired recently to make. He walked slow and stopped often, forcing me to slow down as well.
Last week he made it out to his namesake, Tonsina Point, for a final stroll to the beach, stopping to wade in the pond along the way.
I wish I had known to pet Tonsina more, to take more pictures, to lay my body around his more often.
I knew he was getting older and yet I still wasn't ready to let him go.
To all who have lost a dog, does it get easier?
After finding a rock for a headstone and transplanting some plants around it, we took a family walk to the waterfall. Nick and I left the kids with Nick's parents and ventured farther up the mountain to a rocky look out over Spruce Creek and then climbed off trail to find the eagles' nest on the back property. After bushwhacking our way down, I expected Tonsina to greet us at the door.
When I woke up this morning, I expected to find him at the foot of my bed. He should be lying in front of the refrigerator, leaving a pile of small sticks and dirt from his shaggy coat. Or blocking the door so I need to step over him to walk out.
Thirteen years of Tonsina in our lives--the dog we rescued as a puppy, chose through a computer screen, drove to Wasilla to meet, arrived with three-year-old Elias and his silver and red walker and said: "We need a puppy with a mellow temperament". And of all the ones in the litter, the foster mom replied: "I have the perfect one for you.
Tonsina--the one we wanted first.
I knew I would outlive him, but I didn't know how much it would hurt to say goodbye.
Tonsina, 6/2007 - 6/2020, picture taken on Tonsina Point.
Sending you hugs and love. ♡
Posted by: Missy | 06/08/2020 at 04:22 PM
Oh Tonz. Oh, no. I am so sad to read this. What a sweet, wonderful, amazing boy and friend to all of you. Thanks for sharing your goodbye. Tons of love.
Posted by: Ginna | 06/08/2020 at 04:31 PM
No Christy...it never gets easier...sorry to say. We love them while they are with us and then we let them go...
Posted by: Valerie Demming | 06/08/2020 at 06:32 PM
It never gets easier. It is snot running, hard to breathe painful. I was crying once I read your title. In ten years you might see another dog like Tonsina and be prepared to be reduced to tears like you have right now. If they weren't so freaking amazing, it wouldn't hurt so bad. Hugs Christy, hugs to the whole family!!!
Posted by: Sarah Spanos | 06/08/2020 at 08:13 PM
"To all who have lost a dog, does it get easier?"
No, not really. Every time it hurts to say goodbye, particularly when you weren't ready for it or there wasn't much warning or preparation.
I'm so sorry for having to say goodbye to your sweet pooch.
Posted by: Candice | 06/08/2020 at 08:46 PM
We’re so blessed to have these sweet, sweet beings in our lives. I’m not sure the missing them goes away, but the relief that they’re not in pain anymore helps. Maybe it’s odd, but I miss my beloved Derby-girl now, almost two years later more than I did in the first year after she died(we were blessed to have her for 16+ years, she was a miracle lab!). Big hugs to you and your family, and free, easy running and playing for Tonsina ❤️
Posted by: Sara | 06/08/2020 at 10:06 PM
Anatole France once said "Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened". The fact is, no matter how hard we try, or how close we come, we can never quite give or receive the truly unconditional love that our dogs freely lavish upon us.
Posted by: Paul Le Fort | 06/09/2020 at 10:13 AM
So sorry for your loss of a dear dear family member. It doesn’t get easier,
But it does make our heart bigger.
You have honored him as he entrusted in you to come home everyday, say his name, and share your love and energy for life.
He was one lucky dog!
RIP Tonsina with all your favorite toys, sticks and small rodents to chase.
Posted by: Dana | 06/09/2020 at 03:23 PM
Well, I guess I’m going to be the chin-up friend in the group. We just lost our dog Victor, my baby, to cancer in February. He didn’t even make it to his 10th birthday. Our family feels robbed and the house is far too quiet. We are all still grieving hard, but it’s only been a few months...
Do I miss Max, my childhood dog? Sure, yes, but it’s not a raw, daily pain. So I have to disagree. It does get better, Christy and family. The hard shock of loss does wear down to an ache... eventually.
Tonsina grew up with your kids. Just like our Victor did. And that is a family unit that can never be replicated or replaced. So we pour through photos to remember, celebrate and mourn the very special dog who is woven into the fabric of our kids’ childhood. We are grateful and heartbroken. We are also deeply bonded with these beautiful, loyal creatures, and I swear, their spirits do not stray from the ones they loved. Just breathe and feel it. ❤️
Posted by: Kristina DeKoz Georges | 06/09/2020 at 05:54 PM
I'm so glad that he died in your arms and that you cried huge tears for him. There was real love there and the vice around your heart will lose its grip a little each day. A new puppy is the only thing I have ever felt truly helps. That is my honest truth.
Posted by: fleming | 06/10/2020 at 07:14 AM
Thank you all so much for giving me the gift of your words.
This is my first death of a family dog and the first time I've witnessed a soul I love pass. It was profound, both heartbreaking and beautiful, to watch him leave in our company just the three of us lying on our front porch at 5 in the morning.
And the grief just keeps rubbing against me, as Tonsina would. He was BorderCollie mixed with Lab or Retriever and we use to say that side dumbed him down making him less intense then our other Border/Shepard mix. He was a lover. Even as an energetic puppy I will always remember coming home from the hospital after a miscarriage and crawling into bed where he found me, looked me in the eyes and stayed in bed and snuggled me till I was done crying. He was so patient with the kids, even when Olive tried to ride him or Elias grabbed his face. And just always with us, for thirteen years.
I 've spent the past two days working on his new garden, pouring myself into soil and seeds and transplants. Its good therapy. Thanks again my friends for letting me know you understand.
Posted by: Christy | 06/10/2020 at 07:21 AM
I’m so sorry for your loss. I think one level of difficulty is the loss of their physical presence. That is hard enough, but what really wrecks us is the loss of their unconditional love and that feeling, like you mentioned, of wishing we had been able to match it, to pet them enough, give them enough time to make sure they knew how much they were loved in return.
Posted by: Lisa Y | 06/10/2020 at 10:31 AM
I’m so sorry. I’m not sure easier is the right word, but it does get less sharp. We lost our Lola in 2017 and I still say, at least once a week, that I miss her. It will never not suck that she’s gone, but I don’t cry anymore. And I can enjoy the memories without being overwhelmed.
Posted by: Amanda | 06/11/2020 at 11:32 AM
I'm so sorry. I am a lifelong animal lover and Crazy Dog and Cat Lady. A couple of things have made it easier for me over the years. First, know that from Tonsina's perspective, at 13, he lived a full complete life, almost all the time he would have to live. As far as he is concerned, he lived about as long as any dog could hope to, and you are like a mythical Tolkienesque elf who lives five times as long as he does and goes on to care for many of his kind.
Second, it would never be enough time. Not if you had one more year, five more years or 25 more years. It's okay for the last day to be a good day, or to happen during a good week. Most of the pet owners who have animals that live a long time and ultimately get put to sleep after a long battle with cancer (or similar)... They don't regret putting their pets down too soon. They regret waiting too long. It's okay to say goodbye like this, in his own time, with his favorite people by his side.
It may actually be preferable to having to make that choice for him, or to weight the costs and expenses of x-rays and interventions for a very old dog, feeling guilty about worrying about the expenses of vet treatments when you would only increase the number of his days but not the quality of them. In a way, Tonz passing in his own time without you having gto agonize over what you could or should do for him is the beautiful final gift from him to you. What a good boy.
Third, know that Tonsina is utterly irreplaceable. There's no other pup like him, and it's so hard knowing that you had so much more love to give him. However, there's a pup somewhere out there tonight, in a shelter or on a street or in a foster home or with an owner who knows knows there's a hard choice coming due to allergies or job loss or impending eviction. There is a dog, somewhere, right now, that would lap up all the love you wish you could still give Tonsina, but can't. You have the chance to give that love and care to a different dog in Tonz's honor.
I've learned that, for hardcore dog people, we can have wonderful dogs in each era of our lives. Canis was my childhood dog, my parents' practice baby. He died when I was Olive's age.
Bella was the dog of my 20s. I found her the first day of fall semester my senior year of college. She was my roommates and mine with the agreement she would go with me after graduation. We packed up and moved to Florida when I was 22, driving 2,000 miles down 1-95 for our next adventure. She was a flower girl in my wedding. I so wanted her to meet my babies and lay under a high chair. It wasn't meant to be. Pregnancy took longer to happen for me, and she died at 13 before they were born.
Molly is my Baby Years dog. She's a family dog, my children's Canis. She is young and gentle and playful, and honestly, better suited to life with little kids and their well-meaning but ham-handed affections than Bella would have been, with her arthritis at the end.
Each dog is a privilege, a kindred spirt, a protector and a gift. We save each other. Another dog, if you so choose, with so many hikes and jogs and adventures in the Alaskan woods, will be so damn lucky to have your family, when you're ready. It won't be the same, but it will be wonderful in a new way.
Last thing- I've had cats and dogs living together in a duo or trio since 2003. It's great, seeing them snuggle and love each other up. Two new fur babies who come into the same family at about the same time will form their own pack. It's pretty great.
I'm so sorry. I remember when Tonsina got between you and that bear. Good boy, that Tonz.
Posted by: AngieinNYC | 06/11/2020 at 07:38 PM
Such helpful thoughts thank you. As much as I am sad that he went so quickly and we wonder if we had brought him to the vet sooner if we could have saved him I also am relived he went so quickly and on his own front porch with both of us and Lola with him. You are so right Angie that we would have struggled with all the decisions involved. We had called our local house call vet the week before he dies but she isnt doing appointments due to Covid and recommended we consider an X-ray up in Anchorage. In many ways its a blessing that we didn't start that process if I can ditch the guilt.
And yes, there will never be another Tonz. We love our Lola but she doesn't replace him. very different personalities. He was our steady mellow lover. She is our protective unpredictable worker dog. Both wonderful and so different. And now we have Spruce Tip a chill by day terror by night cat. Another dog will find its way to us I know. Not sure when but we will find each other when the time is right.
So much love to all--thank you.
Posted by: Christy | 06/12/2020 at 08:25 AM