He’s just a dog.
But…
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.” Luke 12:6
Yesterday, we had to put Sunny dog to sleep. Oh, my heart. He’s not the first pet we’ve lost, but he’s the most special. If you’ve had pets, then you know. There’s always one that breaks you.
Sunny came to us a sad wreck, surrendered to rescue at age nine after years of neglect. He weighed 150 pounds and the rescue actually thought he was a female at first because his, um, boy parts were hidden by fat. He hadn’t seen a vet or had his nails trimmed in years, and he lived outside in a pasture. That was probably the worst part for him, because we all know that golden retrievers LIVE for their people. And obviously food:
| Sunny at 150 pounds |
If he was inclined to worry, which he certainly wasn’t, he would probably have thought that he’d lost his last chance at happiness when he was surrendered. But my daughter had other plans for him and he came to live with us just before Christmas, three years ago {read more about his story here}.
We got him down to somewhere around 80-90 pounds, but we don’t know for sure because he didn’t ride in the car–he couldn’t. So he hasn’t hopped on a scale for years.
We bought a nice car ramp and tried all kinds of enticements, but he just couldn’t do it. There was just too much damage from being so heavy for so long…he couldn’t jump and he could barely walk. We found a new housecall vet every time we moved, and tried every pain medication and supplement out there, with minimal improvement. His pain was controlled but his mobility was shot. (When we moved from Georgia to North Carolina, my biggest worry was Sunny. His transportation involved sedatives–for all of us–plus a muzzle, a blanket, and several dead lifts. Good times.)
My husband and son built him a ramp when even two steps down to the front yard became too much. Sometimes love is plywood and gripper strips.
But please don’t think that Sunny let any of that slow him down. He was quite literally the happiest, most content dog I’ve ever met. We wouldn’t have kept him going for three years unless he showed us that he wanted us to fight alongside of him.
He had mad skills. He was a fabulous babysitter.
He never batted an eye when babies pulled handfuls of hair out of his side; plus babies are messy, and they needed to be licked clean. He was all over that.
Until he got tired. So toddlers weren’t his forte since they run off.
As for resting, he had it DOWN.
With the cat:
With the kids:
Snuggling was his favorite. Next to bacon.
He was the original pillow pet.
| When a long walk is out of the question, sitting on the deck sniffing is almost as good. |
Water of all forms was great fun; he always loved to swim because it felt good on his joints. And a bath was equally enticing; he loved being blow dried with the leaf blower.
When he came to live with us, he was obsessed with stuffed animals, and would even swallow small ones whole. I’m still not sure how we avoided a bowel resection, but what went in always came out. Sorry, TMI.
After we broke him of the stuffed animal addiction, he transferred his affection to tennis balls. Especially the Penn 4 that was his woobie.
But a bagful of Penn 4s was even better.
| It’s a Christmas miracle! |
And he continued his love affair with food and treats, even though he was on prescription weight loss kibble that required a home equity loan to afford.
| That’s nice gelato you’ve got there. It would be a shame if something happened to it. |
He really was “Sunny.” I’ve never known a happier, more grateful dog.
About a week ago, he just couldn’t get up anymore. He tried SO hard, but he couldn’t will his legs to work. We tried different things, lifting him, dragging him on a blanket, and tweaking his medications, but it was hurting him too much.
It was time.
His last morning was as good as we could make it:
We knew when we adopted him that we probably wouldn’t have too many years together, but we wanted to be sure that the end of his life was happier than the beginning. And as much love as we poured into Sunny, he gave it back a thousandfold.
It’s amazing how the absence of one shaggy, stinky dog makes the house feel so empty. Harley has had to work double duty to provide comfort.
Fortunately, he’s up to the task.
I think we’ll be a one-dog household for awhile, but when the time comes to adopt a rescue pup again, I can pretty much guarantee that I’m going to go straight for the oldest, most broken, decrepit, sad, train wreck of a dog they have.
For Sunny.
