Strokes from Other Pens

Doc Tempel,

It’s been four months without our beloved German Shepherd, Blade, and as we wind down for bed in our household — we continue to experience the oppressive grief of losing our pack leader. Most people would say that losing a dog is like losing a member of your family but I’d akin it to losing a limb. When Blade died, I told my family in full virtue that I didn’t love anyone like I loved that dog and they bore witness to my grief and knew I meant it.

Reflecting on the experience of losing Blade, it dawned on me that a veterinarian’s job is a complex one. As I thought about what I learned or what Blade’s purpose was here, for what I considered, too short a time, it dawned on me that our vets carry a steep burden.

Death is the great equalizer, there is nothing more truer than death. It is violent, abhorrent and at times silent and fast but there is peace in knowing it is the truth.

But the burden falls on those trained to delay the truth as long as possible. We look to you with desperation and fear, we want to be told it’s going to be fine, we expect you to do the impossible and exact miracles.

The vet’s burden is a steep burden, you not only shepherd these animals from puppyhood to illness to illness to adulthood, but you sometimes guide them into the great beyond. And who’s left behind to tell the heartbreaking truth? But you.

I wanted to say I’m sorry for all the times you’ve had to tell the truth and express how grateful I am for the care and compassion you show our animals. Thank you for caring for Blade throughout his life, for trimming his nails, for coping with his anxiety, for dealing with yet another gastrointestinal incident (because we sure never had a shortage of those).

Thank you for delaying the truth as long as possible, whether that be through preventative care or acute care. Thank you doc, for making him comfortable enough in your care that he felt it was okay to go because my anxious spirit would not let him rest.

Above all, thank you for believing in me when I said I wanted 15 years, when I only got 10. Thank you for being a steward to our animals, for sharing in the heartbreak, for always telling the truth.

I think about Blade and it crushes my spirit. I can’t tolerate that he is no longer here and I feel selfish because, how could I be changed so deeply, become a better person because of Blade and he only got a short period of time on this Earth.

Then I remember, it doesn’t matter, because dogs are able to be here and be whole in the now. They teach us exactly how to do that and so it could be 10 years or 100, but with that sort of fulfillment, just having the opportunity to hear us say “treat” — there’s eternity in there. Time is not linear or functional, it just is for dogs. And not only that, but these dogs teach us that when the most dreaded timeline of all, the end, is near — we can greet it with dread and impending doom or we can just be dog and welcome it as another delightful adventure.

They say that all dogs go to heaven, I sincerely feel that’s true — and I have to add that I’m certain that all vets, the hardened or the soft, they all go to heaven too.

In gratitude,

Paulina Fix,

Sterling

Editor’s note: A portion of this letter is a paid advertisement.