Saying bye to Bear: Decision to euthanize terminally ill pet is a wrenching one

In the beginning

Bear entered our lives with a purpose. We already had one dog, our spoiled “first child,” Bailey. I was newly pregnant with our first real child. Life was going to drastically change for Bailey, and Kevin and I wanted him to have a companion.

The puppy that we brought home and named Bear for his voluminous fur had other ideas about his place in the family. He promptly terrorized Bailey into submission and built a connection with his humans that left no question as to whose dog he was. He and Bailey became great buddies, but he was not Bailey’s dog.

When we brought Belle home from the hospital, Bear was captivated. Whenever she cried, he hovered near her while Bailey hid. Whenever she spit up, he’d come running to perform cleanup duty. And when she started using the potty seat — well, let’s just say there was an incident after which no one kissed him for days.

He slept next to her crib whenever we let him. As she got older and moved to a big bed, Bear would settle down in her room in the evening like clockwork, without having to be asked.

We added to our family again when Bear was 4. From birth Wes was louder and wilder than Belle, but none of it fazed Bear. In photos of the kids, Bear can usually be spotted in the background. He wanted to be part of the action, and it often drove us crazy. His big paws would scatter pieces on a game board, his tail knocked over carefully built towers. He would stand too close to Belle when she swung outside, and inevitably get thwacked.

But Bear was incredibly careful around my mother, who has multiple sclerosis and is unsteady on her feet. When she would descend the stairs in our house, he’d patiently walk behind her, instead of blowing by like he did with everyone else. He saved his best smiles for her. He would have been a great therapy dog.

Getting the bad news

A couple of weeks after his 7th birthday this past November, Bear developed an occasional cough. Consulting by phone, our veterinarian said it sounded like allergies.

Two weeks later, he stopped eating. A visit to the vet ended in the worst possible diagnosis: his body was riddled with cancer, and he had less than a week to live. There was nothing we could do.

How, I agonized, had he gotten so sick without us knowing? Our vet, who’s known Bear since he was a puppy, said simply: “He’s tough. And he wants to please you. He hid it until he could hide it no longer.”

It was a Thursday. We had two options: schedule him to be euthanized the next day, or wait. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever faced in my life. It felt premature since he was still mobile. I had always imagined our dogs would be on their deathbeds when we put them down.

But we didn’t want him to suffer, and we didn’t want him to crash over the weekend and end up in an unfamiliar animal hospital. We wanted this to happen in his doctor’s office, with his doctor. We also worried that seeing him deteriorate would scare the kids. So we decided to go ahead.

We broke the news to Belle. “Bear is very, very sick, and he’s going to die.” She unraveled.

“Is the doctor going to help him die?” she asked between sobs. I don’t know how she knew about that, but I wasn’t going to lie. “Yes,” I said.

Our family spent that night and the next day alternately crying, spoiling Bear, and going on with life. Our 5 p.m. appointment loomed. I was to take him while Kevin stayed home with the kids. When the time came, I felt panicky. I wanted to call and cancel. I didn’t think I could do it.

I still don’t know where I got the strength to gather him up and walk out the door. To drive him to the vet’s office. To walk him in, stumbling over him because I was so blinded by tears.

And then we got to the quiet exam room, where a blanket had been spread on the floor for him. Our doctor was sympathetic and reassuring. And he went peacefully, his head cradled in my lap, me whispering in his ear.

Attempting to adjust

It’s been eight weeks since that day, and we’re adjusting to being a one-dog household again. It’s quieter and less hectic, and I don’t like it, so I’m training Bailey to be properly underfoot. I block him in with us so he can’t go hide, and I feed him scraps while I’m cooking.

In the evening when the kids head for bed, he goes into Belle’s room, without having to be asked. He has assumed Bear’s role of night protector, with one big difference: instead of sleeping on the floor, he sleeps muzzle-to-nose in the bed with her.

Belle, Kevin and I still have bouts of sadness, and Wes still asks when Bear is coming home. But I've made peace with our decision to put him down when we did. As hard as it was, it was the right thing to do for the kids, and most importantly, for him.

Jen Eyer can be reached at 734-623-2577 or jeneyer@annarbor.com.