I'll warn you right up front this is not a story that will end up with you
feeling anything good. I know this because I've been living with this
almost a year. The difference to me right now is that I'm finally able to
write about it having taken this long because I knew I'd have to re-live
it once again and up until now, I couldn't.


Mojo died a year ago on the 21rd of June.
He did not die well.

I won't go into the details that led us to that last day here as I
already have written of that on my LJ. If you do want to read it just
ask and I'll post the URL.
Luke's death in January of the same year is also there and will show the
vast contrast between what happened with each dog and why Mojo's death has
been so difficult for me and pretty much destroyed any hope of any real
closure for my husband and I. These dogs lived with us daily, close to us
in ways that no other two dogs have been. They'd been through a
catostrophic hurricane with us, they'd both had medical problems we'd
dutifully taken care of for much of their lives and they've traveled
literally, thousands of miles with us. We'd all lived together in
a 26 foot long travel trailer at times and that in itself is pretty darn
intimate in the "living with the dogs" department.

We could read each other's moods and sometimes didn't even have to speak
to them and they'd know what we wanted just by their observations of our
body language. It was unique, even more so than our previous canine crews.

We'd only been back in Idaho,in this town for @ 3 months when we first
took Mojo in to a new vet. I liked him a great deal and was impressed with
him. He was an older guy yet very willing to listen to me and best of all,
he and Mojo seemed to hit it off immediately. He had always been partial
to the big dogs, GSDs in particular.
In the next few days we'd be forced to think the unthinkable that we all
have to when we outlive our dogs but since I'd been through this three
times before I knew all the questions to ask beforehand. Or so I thought.

The vet and I had discussed in great detail what we'd be doing, what we'd
be using, where my husband and I would be, what we'd observe, what would
be happening at what point in time-everything. No surprises. Just as
peacefully and as perfect as when we'd put Luke down six months earlier.
As hard as that was, as much as I will always miss him just as much as all
my other beloved dogs, I left there feeling closure and the deep belief
and comfort that I'd done the right thing by him. I felt as a responsible
dog owner that could proudly look in the mirror and believe I did the
right thing for Luke. The day we took Mojo in to say goodbye however, we
weren't greeted by the vet I'd met and talked to and gotten to know but by
his associate, whom I'd never met before. In retrospect I should have
stopped everything right then and there but I didn't. I trusted he'd do
things exactly the way the other vet and I discussed and I believed
everything that took place when it was Luke's turn would happen that day
with Mojo. And I think also that mentally we'd prepared ourselves for it
so well it never occurred to us to go back. We were ready and Mojo was
ready. I've always abided by one simple rule with all my dogs and that is
that when the time is right, when life is too painful for them to enjoy;
then my promise, my duty is that I will allow them to go with dignity,
quietly and stress free; to a place where there is no pain. I _owe_ them
that at the very least.
That day we sat on the floor with Mojo, his favorite red plaid/sheepskin
blanket under him and hand fed him his favorite treats-beef, chocolate,
whatever. He received his first shot to relax him and as he drifted off
and dozed a bit the vet and his assistant began to administer the final
shot. We expecting the exact same thing that had happened with Champ,
Darcy and Luke...to begin seeing his breathing slow, his eyes close and
his body to fully relax until a check on his heartbeat showed he was
really and truly gone while listening to the love in our voices to comfort
him. That didn't happen.
He suddenly began thrashing around wildly and screaming loudly as
the vet kept trying to stick the needle in his vein. As out of it as he
was then he still managed to half stand up, still screaming loudly in
pain.
I couldn't move. I was absolutely horrified and paralyzed. My husband
finally found the presence of mind to ask "What is happening, what's
going on?, I thought this was going to be peaceful"! The vet screamed
back at him: " IT NORMALLY IS! HIS VEINS HAVE COLLAPSED!" The rational
part of me
realizes the vet was horrified as well and the yelling and defensiveness
was part of that but the other part of me, the white hot angry part was so
upset that Mojo was hearing all of this disturbance in our voices I wanted
to punch the guy right in the face. Instead I grabbed him by his coat
collar and pulled his face close to mine but I couldn't say anything.I was
in shock.
My concern for only Mojo kicked in then and my husband flat out told the
vet to leave right now that we needed some time with Mojo to settle him
and calm him down. The vet left and we spent the next 15 to 20 minutes
crooning to Mojo, petting him and comforting him until he became calm and
dozed again, his head in lap and our arms around him. The vet returned
with a different syringe that contained something of a different color
and I swear to you that his face was ash white. I have no idea what we
looked like but I have no doubt ours were too. The final shot was
administered and we spent the next ten minutes with tears streaming down
our faces and our bodies wracked in sobs not because Mojo was gone but
because he'd gone like that and we felt responsible.
The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him. And
in doing so we also would never receive the closure we needed as well.
After that, we got up and left him there on the floor with his blanket and
walked out like zombies. I don't throw up as a rule of thumb unless I have
a bad stomach virus because I hate it so much which means I've thrown up
about 3 time in the past 30 years. That day ,I made it as far as the car
door then I threw up all over the parking lot then again when I got home.
I literally was so overwhelmed by what had just happened and so
emotionally drained like nothing I'd ever experienced before.
To this day my husband and I have never sat down and gone over the minute
details together because we were there-we don't need to.
We have discussed it indirectly, hugged each other and cried buckets of
tears. To be brutally honest I've been more affected by this than by
losing my Mom last fall because she at least went very peacefully, unlike
Mojo. You can be very sure when it's Taffy's time this is something I will
be discussing with the vet and if there's a backup plan for this sort of
thing you can be damn sure it will be in place. I never ever want to see
another animal I love go through this again in my life. Had I known this
would happen, I'd have taken him out and put a bullet through his head
myself to guarantee it would be painless and quick. I'd much rather live
with that image than the one I carry around.
It took me six months just to be able to drive down that street without
being aware or looking at the window where it happened and I haven't been
back in to talk to that vet whom, I recently learned, sold the practice to
someone else. I probably should have gone back within a few weeks or so
but now too much time has elapsed for me to feel comfortable doing that.

I've never heard of anyone else having this happen and maybe if I had I'd
have somehow been able to prevent it but I'll never know for sure.

So that's what happened last year when Mojo died and it's why I have had
such a difficult time with it as well a big reason as to why I've
disappeared a lot from the newsgroup for long periods of time. Often I've
logged on here but see that someone has recently lost a dog and it's just
too hard so I quietly leave. I do want ya'll to know though that my
silence doesn't mean I'm indifferent to your loss, it's just brings back
too many bad memories of my own.

So this part of the healing process has begun, it seems.
RIP Mojo

On 9 Jun 2007 03:59:39 GMT, Terri wrote:

I'll warn you right up front this is not a story that will end up with you
feeling anything good. I know this because I've been living with this
almost a year. The difference to me right now is that I'm finally able to
write about it having taken this long because I knew I'd have to re-live
it once again and up until now, I couldn't.


Mojo died a year ago on the 21rd of June.
He did not die well.

I won't go into the details that led us to that last day here as I
already have written of that on my LJ. If you do want to read it just
ask and I'll post the URL.
Luke's death in January of the same year is also there and will show the
vast contrast between what happened with each dog and why Mojo's death has
been so difficult for me and pretty much destroyed any hope of any real
closure for my husband and I. These dogs lived with us daily, close to us
in ways that no other two dogs have been. They'd been through a
catostrophic hurricane with us, they'd both had medical problems we'd
dutifully taken care of for much of their lives and they've traveled
literally, thousands of miles with us. We'd all lived together in
a 26 foot long travel trailer at times and that in itself is pretty darn
intimate in the "living with the dogs" department.

We could read each other's moods and sometimes didn't even have to speak
to them and they'd know what we wanted just by their observations of our
body language. It was unique, even more so than our previous canine crews.

We'd only been back in Idaho,in this town for @ 3 months when we first
took Mojo in to a new vet. I liked him a great deal and was impressed with
him. He was an older guy yet very willing to listen to me and best of all,
he and Mojo seemed to hit it off immediately. He had always been partial
to the big dogs, GSDs in particular.
In the next few days we'd be forced to think the unthinkable that we all
have to when we outlive our dogs but since I'd been through this three
times before I knew all the questions to ask beforehand. Or so I thought.

The vet and I had discussed in great detail what we'd be doing, what we'd
be using, where my husband and I would be, what we'd observe, what would
be happening at what point in time-everything. No surprises. Just as
peacefully and as perfect as when we'd put Luke down six months earlier.
As hard as that was, as much as I will always miss him just as much as all
my other beloved dogs, I left there feeling closure and the deep belief
and comfort that I'd done the right thing by him. I felt as a responsible
dog owner that could proudly look in the mirror and believe I did the
right thing for Luke. The day we took Mojo in to say goodbye however, we
weren't greeted by the vet I'd met and talked to and gotten to know but by
his associate, whom I'd never met before. In retrospect I should have
stopped everything right then and there but I didn't. I trusted he'd do
things exactly the way the other vet and I discussed and I believed
everything that took place when it was Luke's turn would happen that day
with Mojo. And I think also that mentally we'd prepared ourselves for it
so well it never occurred to us to go back. We were ready and Mojo was
ready. I've always abided by one simple rule with all my dogs and that is
that when the time is right, when life is too painful for them to enjoy;
then my promise, my duty is that I will allow them to go with dignity,
quietly and stress free; to a place where there is no pain. I _owe_ them
that at the very least.
That day we sat on the floor with Mojo, his favorite red plaid/sheepskin
blanket under him and hand fed him his favorite treats-beef, chocolate,
whatever. He received his first shot to relax him and as he drifted off
and dozed a bit the vet and his assistant began to administer the final
shot. We expecting the exact same thing that had happened with Champ,
Darcy and Luke...to begin seeing his breathing slow, his eyes close and
his body to fully relax until a check on his heartbeat showed he was
really and truly gone while listening to the love in our voices to comfort
him. That didn't happen.
He suddenly began thrashing around wildly and screaming loudly as
the vet kept trying to stick the needle in his vein. As out of it as he
was then he still managed to half stand up, still screaming loudly in
pain.
I couldn't move. I was absolutely horrified and paralyzed. My husband
finally found the presence of mind to ask "What is happening, what's
going on?, I thought this was going to be peaceful"! The vet screamed
back at him: " IT NORMALLY IS! HIS VEINS HAVE COLLAPSED!" The rational
part of me
realizes the vet was horrified as well and the yelling and defensiveness
was part of that but the other part of me, the white hot angry part was so
upset that Mojo was hearing all of this disturbance in our voices I wanted
to punch the guy right in the face. Instead I grabbed him by his coat
collar and pulled his face close to mine but I couldn't say anything.I was
in shock.
My concern for only Mojo kicked in then and my husband flat out told the
vet to leave right now that we needed some time with Mojo to settle him
and calm him down. The vet left and we spent the next 15 to 20 minutes
crooning to Mojo, petting him and comforting him until he became calm and
dozed again, his head in lap and our arms around him. The vet returned
with a different syringe that contained something of a different color
and I swear to you that his face was ash white. I have no idea what we
looked like but I have no doubt ours were too. The final shot was
administered and we spent the next ten minutes with tears streaming down
our faces and our bodies wracked in sobs not because Mojo was gone but
because he'd gone like that and we felt responsible.
The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him. And
in doing so we also would never receive the closure we needed as well.
After that, we got up and left him there on the floor with his blanket and
walked out like zombies. I don't throw up as a rule of thumb unless I have
a bad stomach virus because I hate it so much which means I've thrown up
about 3 time in the past 30 years. That day ,I made it as far as the car
door then I threw up all over the parking lot then again when I got home.
I literally was so overwhelmed by what had just happened and so
emotionally drained like nothing I'd ever experienced before.
To this day my husband and I have never sat down and gone over the minute
details together because we were there-we don't need to.
We have discussed it indirectly, hugged each other and cried buckets of
tears. To be brutally honest I've been more affected by this than by
losing my Mom last fall because she at least went very peacefully, unlike
Mojo. You can be very sure when it's Taffy's time this is something I will
be discussing with the vet and if there's a backup plan for this sort of
thing you can be damn sure it will be in place. I never ever want to see
another animal I love go through this again in my life. Had I known this
would happen, I'd have taken him out and put a bullet through his head
myself to guarantee it would be painless and quick. I'd much rather live
with that image than the one I carry around.
It took me six months just to be able to drive down that street without
being aware or looking at the window where it happened and I haven't been
back in to talk to that vet whom, I recently learned, sold the practice to
someone else. I probably should have gone back within a few weeks or so
but now too much time has elapsed for me to feel comfortable doing that.

I've never heard of anyone else having this happen and maybe if I had I'd
have somehow been able to prevent it but I'll never know for sure.

So that's what happened last year when Mojo died and it's why I have had
such a difficult time with it as well a big reason as to why I've
disappeared a lot from the newsgroup for long periods of time. Often I've
logged on here but see that someone has recently lost a dog and it's just
too hard so I quietly leave. I do want ya'll to know though that my
silence doesn't mean I'm indifferent to your loss, it's just brings back
too many bad memories of my own.

So this part of the healing process has begun, it seems.
RIP Mojo

Terri,

We've lost 5 dogs in 13 months, and unfortunately, one of them went
less than peacefully, as Mojo did. It was the first and will be the
last time I leave that incredibly important job to an associate vet
I'm not familiar with. Life is a learning process.

You still gave Mojo the gift of release from pain. He would know that
the way that last day went wasn't what you'd have wanted for him and
wasn't your fault, and he'd want you to let those memories go and
instead remember the many good years you had together.

Mustang Sallyu

Terri wrote in news:5cumt9F2ikd9sU1
@mid.individual.net:

The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him.

Terri,

That's not true at all. Please don't keep telling yourself that.

You made sure that the vet didn't send him out like that. You made the
vet leave. You made damned sure that you gave Mojo the comfort that he
clearly needed and you brought him back to peace before you sent him on
his journey.

Remember, he wasn't reflecting back on the fear. That was *your* burden,
not his. He died while sleepily cradled in your arms. Those moments of
peace that you gave him (no....that you *fought* to give him) are the
ones he left with. Please know that.

And, fwiw, my Aunt went through a scenario a lot like this with her old
heart-cat. He was over 20 years old, and had developed a brain tumor.
Her experience was much like yours except for two things: the vet walked
in snappy and brusk, and when the trouble occured, she was alone and too
overwhelmed to stop the proceedings to allow time to calm him down (plus
the vet was clearly upset by how long this was taking, so she had no
faith that stopping it was going to make it better). She was so
traumatized by all this, that she still can't talk about how he
went....and this was more than 4 years ago now.

You stood up for him when he needed you to. You *successfully* gave him
comfort when he needed it most. You sent him on his way when he was able
to recieve that comfort from you.

I hope you find peace in that, because you truly did send him out in
comfort.

Tara

Terri wrote in :

The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him

One more point on this (then I'll shut up...I promise)

Try writing a letter. But write what Mojo would say to you. Given how much
he loved you, and how much you all had been through together, what would he
say to you about your lives together, about your love for him and his for
you, and about that last day.

I bet he'd be a lot more forgiving of you than you're being of yourself.

Tara

In article 6,
Tara wrote:

Terri wrote in news:5cumt9F2ikd9sU1
@mid.individual.net:

The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him.

That's not true at all. Please don't keep telling yourself that.

You made sure that the vet didn't send him out like that. You made the
vet leave. You made damned sure that you gave Mojo the comfort that he
clearly needed and you brought him back to peace before you sent him on
his journey.

Remember, he wasn't reflecting back on the fear. That was *your* burden,
not his. He died while sleepily cradled in your arms. Those moments of
peace that you gave him (no....that you *fought* to give him) are the
ones he left with. Please know that.

You stood up for him when he needed you to. You *successfully* gave him
comfort when he needed it most. You sent him on his way when he was able
to recieve that comfort from you.

I hope you find peace in that, because you truly did send him out in
comfort.

I can't say it any better than Tara did. Mojo is at peace, and now it's
time for you to be, too.
--
Kevin Michael Vail* * | I would rather have a mind opened by wonder
* * * | than one closed by belief. * -- Gerry Spence

Tara wrote:
Terri wrote in :

The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him

One more point on this (then I'll shut up...I promise)

Try writing a letter. But write what Mojo would say to you. Given how much
he loved you, and how much you all had been through together, what would he
say to you about your lives together, about your love for him and his for
you, and about that last day.

I bet he'd be a lot more forgiving of you than you're being of yourself.

What Tara said. Both times. I hope you can find peace in
knowing that you hung in there for him.

FurPaw


--
My family values don't involve depleted uranium.

To reply, unleash the dog.

In article ,
Terri wrote:


So this part of the healing process has begun, it seems.
RIP Mojo


Wow Terri - it took a lot for you to write that. I have only had to
make the choice for one pet thus far, and it was truly the hardest thing
I've ever done, no matter how much I knew it was right. I now realize
how lucky I was. My loving and caring vet, after hours, quiet and
peace, an IV so there was no more sticking with needles, and even
wrapping of his body for transport to cremation. I thank her in my mind
a lot. Maybe it's time to thank her again in a letter. It means more
than anyone car imagine.

--
Janet Boss
www.bestfriendsdogobedience.com

Tara wrote in
4.196:

Terri wrote in news:5cumt9F2ikd9sU1
@mid.individual.net:

The gift of going without pain was ours to give him and we failed him.

Terri,

That's not true at all. Please don't keep telling yourself that.

Tara said it better than I could. Terri, I know you feel like you failed
Mojo, but you *didn't*. In the real world, crappy things happen despite our
best efforts. You did everything you could to overcome the unexpected
difficulties in an already difficult time.

On 10 Jun 2007 01:16:09 GMT, Terri wrote:


I had no idea, only that you'd gone through a horrible period
losing so many animals.
I hope you don't mind me asking some questions here.

Not at all.

Did you have a problem with the veins collapsing such as Mojo did?

No; what happened with Boomer, the world's most loving Siberian, is
that he had lumbosacral stenosis, which is why he was going to the
Bridge in the first place - he'd had discomfort and mobility problems
for some time but still bounded around with his odd rocking horse
gait, happy to be alive, until that Friday evening when his back end
just gave out and he couldn't get up. But our usual vet, the senior
guy, isn't in on Saturdays, and this vet didn't know about his back
problem, and I think the position she put him in on the table
aggravated it. But I also have to say that for some reason, Boomer
was agitated as soon as I put him in the van to go to the vet that
morning, which was very unusual for him. He kind of whined off and on
to the vet and acted as though he were in distress at the vet's until
the euthanasia solution kicked in. It was very unnerving and, as with
you and Mojo, not something I like to remember.

Do you feel it was a lack of experience that caused the problem,
the bedside manner or the fact you didn't know him/her very well?

Lack of experience. Her bedside manner was fine; she was very kind.
But she didn't know Boomer, and I guess she didn't look at his chart
or she'd have seen he had back problems, and I didn't think to tell
her until it was too late. Obviously, I wasn't thinking as clearly as
I hopefully do ordinarily, but that's a good reason to never have an
unfamiliar vet euthanize one's animals.

And most importantly, what do you know of backup plans that can
be put into place in the event it isn't going well initially and
needs to be quickly ended, keeping the tension out of it?

In Boomer's case, I think she was a bit unnerved by his crying (not
screaming), and tried to speed it up. I chose not to say anything
about his back at that point and reposition him because I didn't want
to prolong it. I honestly don't know the answer to your question
about backup plans. We have never had a problem when the senior vet
does the procedure - - unlike many, maybe most vets, he does not use a
sedative beforehand, because he says that slows down the dog's system
and prolongs the process. Sighthounds have these big old hearts that
sometimes want to keep going, so he tends to use more euthanasia
solution than needed, and I think that what he does is just give a
huge dose that would drop a small horse. The result is *always* that
the dog loses consciousness and dies very quickly. Peaceful each and
every time, and the dog doesn't have the added discomfort of an extra
IV or catheter.

You still gave Mojo the gift of release from pain.
Eventually.


I know. But does live in and for the moment, and we humans can take a
big lesson from that. A dog would never keep remembering and
torturing itself the way you and your DH and I have. I know Boomer
would forgive those last moments, as he forgave everything else, and
I'm sure Mojo would as well. FWIW, you did the exact right thing by
calling a halt to the procedure and calming everybody, especially Mojo
down.

To lighten the moment, I will tell you what happened when we put Tasha
down on April 28. Tasha was a most awesome Siberian Husky. She was
14 and we got her from a pound when she was about a year. To say she
was intelligent is like saying Paris Hilton is spoiled. She once
found our greyhound Matty in some woods about 6 miles from home, where
he hid during the 36 hours he was lost - DH said "find Matty", and
damned if she didn't. She once grabbed the neck of a dog that DH was
unsuccessfully trying to prevent from attacking another dog - just
closed her jaws and held on. Anyway, she'd had osteosarcoma for 22
months and it showed signs of having spread to her brain, and she had
impaired kidney function as well. We were dreading this day like
never before. Oddly enough, I believe Tasha was ready. She was
always our alpha, a supremely confident dog with a great deal of
pride. On the table, her front paw shook and DH - - she was always
his girl - - held it. As always with this vet, it was very smooth and
peaceful (he particularly liked her, said she reminded him of that
female lead dog on Eight Below) and she was gone very quickly. Just
as the vet and tech left the room and closed the door, leaving DH and
me alone with Tasha, her head came up, facing the door, and her tongue
stuck out. DH couldn't help laughing - said she'd gotten the last
word. Yes, we know it was just a reflex, but it was somehow fitting.

I hope you don't mind me asking: have you ever discussed this with
another vet? If Mojo's reaction was caused by his veins collapsing
(and I've heard of that but not heard of it causing that result), why
was the vet able to complete the procedure? Did he have something in
the second syringe to dilate the veins?

Mustang Sally