Yesterday, a neighbors dog died. I went to check up on her and she told me her horrid story. She came home and her sweet pup who normally snoozes on the couch or bed was by the back door. She was lying in a puddle of blood and urine, having seizure after seizure. No doubt she was trying to get outside to be obedient. She rushed her to the E.R. (animal version) and they told her that she was blind and it would cost thousands of dollars to keep her alive. This dog was 13 years old and my neighbor chose to euthanize her, which I applaud as a brave decision.
I'm saying all of this because this episode put a terrible fear in my heart. The idea of coming home to Smoot lying in a puddle of blood by the door, trying to be obedient to his last breath, breaks my heart. Smoot will be 8 in March. The average lifespans for English Bulldogs is eight years. While Smoot is healthy and happy, I can't deny that in all likelihood these are his twilight years. I'm praying to God that when I found out something is wrong, it will be in a vet's office. I pray that I will have the strength not to let him live blind, deaf, in pain, scared. I pray that I have the courage to give the ok to end his life.
When it comes down to it, dogs don't have souls. Their suffering isn't "counted to them as righteousness." The only reason people have to keep terminal pets around is their own selfishness. I pray that I am not one of these people. I'm praying that I'll be able to say goodbye to Smoot in a vet's office, stroking him while he painlessly falls asleep. I'm praying that he never has to suffer. I'm praying that by some grace of God, I'll see him on the other side.
