There's a lot in my life I am grateful for, but this Thanksgiving I am incredibly happy about one thing: having my irrepressible Freddie around.
Freddie almost died this past week. His health-- he will be 18 in December-- has been sinking steadily. He was an alert, agile, spry dog when he came to live with us at the age of 12, already a senior dog who thought he was a puppy. Freddie's heart suffered from a mitral valve prolapse and he was nearly blind with cataracts when his previous family dumped him at the shelter. Desi and I picked him up as a foster, and when no one chose to adopt him, he and we adopted each other.
Freddie's given us five-plus wonderful years of companionship, but within the past year he has slowed down. He has cancer -- a soft-tissue sarcoma that could have only been removed by amputating the limb it's growing on. But that was not an option given his heart problems and his advanced age and low physical reserves. In the last few months the tumor has grown and-- although initially painless-- it appears to now have advanced to the joint, making it difficult for him to walk and indicating pain.
When we took Freddie to the vet last Friday, she told us what we feared most: that he's in a great deal of pain and the next step, the kind one, would be to put him down. "It's cruel to let him suffer any more," she said. Hurting like never before but keen to do the right thing by our beloved baby, we numbly agreed to an appointment Tuesday for euthanasia.
Over the miserable weekend all we could talk and think about was Freddie. Were we doing the right thing? Would he forgive us if he knew? Would he know we were doing it for him?







