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Last night, we had to put our family dog, Eva, down.

She had been dealing with stomach issues for the past few months now, if not her entire life. And yesterday, it seems her unknown ailment hit peak. Just as I had left for school, my mom and brother noticed Eva, who had been seeming rather sick, found her getting worse fast. They took her to the vet,a d by the time I came home, the prognosis was practically shut and close. Mom accosted me and told me everything; Eva's stomach was bloated, she was panting and gasping for air and she was drooling profusely. We had two options: spend thousands of dollars we did not have on exploratory surgery, with the risk of Eva dying on the table, or finding the cause too far gone to even help. Or two, put her down.

I felt numb and incredibly tired, my whole body felt heavy and leaden. But my decision was quicker than I felt. I've worked in vet offices, and I knew Eva herself had probably the worst health for her breed. She had hip and joint problems as it was, and now her stomach and organs were compromised. And if I am honest, from what mom described, I suspect Eva had ruptured an organ or two, possibly her colon and stomach, resulting in severe internal bleeding and fluid buildup. They couldn't even find her skeleton on an X-ray.

Apparently I was the last one to make the call, and I voted to have her put down that evening. My brother was shaken horribly, and even my dad after he called to ask what I had decided. I forced myself to eat something on account of feeling faint, and afterwards, the three of us (dad was working a train at this time) drove to the vet's to give out final decision and say goodbye.
We told the vet what we decided, and she reassured my mom (who was feeling guilty and doubting her decision) that there really is not anything anyone can do. Eva had gotten worse over the past few hours she’s been there, the IV fluids only helping so much. They had given her some drugs for pain too, so that was a small comfort. They took us to the larger examination room so we could all be there, and Eva would have room to lay down on the floor. I wish we had brought her bed for her to lay on, something familiar, even if she would be too drugged to care.
I had never, ever seen Eva so sick and miserable. Her stomach was bloated and obviously filled with fluids. She was panting and gasping for air, drooling excessively. I felt bad for my brother; he had never seen an animal so sick and hurting, and about to be put down too. I only had experience in taking a neighbor’s cat to the vet to be put down when they were out of town. I contemplated warning him of what could happen, but I think I was too focused on Eva. Mom called dad and got him on speaker phone so he could say goodbye.
The vet came back in with thee syringes; one was an anesthetic to put her into a deep sleep, and its catalyst. The last we assumed to be what would put Eva out of her misery. We took some comfort in knowing she was just going to go to sleep, and her experience would not be traumatizing. Just sleep.
Her breathing had slowed and calmed after she went to sleep, clearly stating just how much of it was caused from internal pain. Then the finals syringe came. We all held onto her, just petting her. Eight seconds. The vet checked her heart. She was gone.
I was oddly prepared for the muscle spasms that squeezed Eva’s lungs, making it seem like she was gasping for air, before she stilled entirely. My poor brother said that that was the absolute worst thing he had ever seen in his entire life. I hadn’t cried outwardly, but the tears were steadily coming. I felt even more drained, more empty then before. The vet was kind though, and had a clay disk imprinted with Eva’s name, as well as an imprint of her paw made for us to take home.
She was just...gone. It wasn’t even really a dog anymore; just a body. It wasn’t Eva anymore. I was reminded of my days at the morgue, how easy it was to work with corpses. I had realized quickly at the time that my definition of death was probably very different from most. Death wasn’t a body. A dead body was just an amalgamation of biology, and the face it wore can and will become a total stranger once the life leaves it. A body is not a person; the person itself leaves the body when they die, and so any attachment I may have just...goes with it. She even felt different. Her last seconds, she felt like Eva. But after...I didn’t really understand what I was touching. It wasn’t Eva anymore.
We paid the bill for her stay and left for home. It felt strange, because for a second time, I was riding home from a vet’s office, at sunset, in winter, and leaving behind a body that was no longer a familiar entity. The cat I mentioned, Sunflower, had also been put down in the evening, at dusk in winter of 2016. And now Eva had been put down at the same time. I think they even passed around the same time; around 6:30.

It felt weird coming in with no Eva to greet us. Mom and I put the clay paw in the oven to bake (it was still soft so the impression could be taken, and we had to bake it ourselves), and after that, I just went to my room to try and read. I was still drained, but I suppose I felt a bit lighter. She wasn’t in our world anymore, and it felt like I had just let go unconsciously. Maybe to protect myself, maybe as a means of how I cope, or maybe that is just how I am. I’m not entirely sure; maybe it’s a bit of everything. Regardless, I was tired, and there was a huge snowstorm over us now. Eva loved the snow; eating it, playing in it, laying in it and just watching her yard. Jade, she was oddly affectionate and kept wanting to sit on my lap or on my desk in front of my computer. I let her; she was oddly subdued, but I couldn’t blame her. She just lost her best friend. Max gave us space; I don’t think he was sad, but I think he understood.
I went to bed around midnight, and Jade stayed in my bed all night; unusual, but under the circumstances, unsurprising. And now here I am. I’m honestly glad the snow cancelled school today; I wasn't sure if I would be able to work with clay at such an unreasonable hour (8:30am) for two and a half hours.
But that’s what happened. We still don’t know what made Eva so sick and bloated. The vet said they could do a necropsy, but it was too expensive, and we felt it was best t just let well enough alone. I still suspect a ruptured organ - perhaps her colon or stomach since she has been having diet issues. We’ll never know, and we’re dubious of our vet now because of their lack of finding anything wrong despite numerous vet visits. I plan to ask mom if we can switch to another vet.
And if I may, I would like to give you some advice. If any of your pets have to be presented with the option of being put down, I have to suggest you take it. And if you feel strong enough, ask to be there for it. It’s going to be terrifying. You’ll probably cry. And it will be horrifying too, seeing them flinch or gasp one last time. But I think if I had backed out with Eva, I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life. It will be the hardest time you will ever let go of someone.
I'm not sure how I feel now. I think it's still sinking in, but I certainly feel a bit better than I did the night prior.

I'm just glad she's not suffering anymore, and I can only be sorry that we did not find anything sooner.

RIP Eva
Best Friend to a Cat
Best Watchdog and Companion
Best Hand-shaker
Best Girl
~S~

Description
Last night, we had to put our family dog, Eva, down.

She had been dealing with stomach issues for the past few months now, if not her entire life. And yesterday, it seems her unknown ailment hit peak. Just as I had left for school, my mom and brother noticed Eva, who had been seeming rather sick, found her getting worse fast. They took her to the vet,a d by the time I came home, the prognosis was practically shut and close. Mom accosted me and told me everything; Eva's stomach was bloated, she was panting and gasping for air and she was drooling profusely. We had two options: spend thousands of dollars we did not have on exploratory surgery, with the risk of Eva dying on the table, or finding the cause too far gone to even help. Or two, put her down.

I felt numb and incredibly tired, my whole body felt heavy and leaden. But my decision was quicker than I felt. I've worked in vet offices, and I knew Eva herself had probably the worst health for her breed. She had hip and joint problems as it was, and now her stomach and organs were compromised. And if I am honest, from what mom described, I suspect Eva had ruptured an organ or two, possibly her colon and stomach, resulting in severe internal bleeding and fluid buildup. They couldn't even find her skeleton on an X-ray.

Apparently I was the last one to make the call, and I voted to have her put down that evening. My brother was shaken horribly, and even my dad after he called to ask what I had decided. I forced myself to eat something on account of feeling faint, and afterwards, the three of us (dad was working a train at this time) drove to the vet's to give out final decision and say goodbye.
We told the vet what we decided, and she reassured my mom (who was feeling guilty and doubting her decision) that there really is not anything anyone can do. Eva had gotten worse over the past few hours she’s been there, the IV fluids only helping so much. They had given her some drugs for pain too, so that was a small comfort. They took us to the larger examination room so we could all be there, and Eva would have room to lay down on the floor. I wish we had brought her bed for her to lay on, something familiar, even if she would be too drugged to care.
I had never, ever seen Eva so sick and miserable. Her stomach was bloated and obviously filled with fluids. She was panting and gasping for air, drooling excessively. I felt bad for my brother; he had never seen an animal so sick and hurting, and about to be put down too. I only had experience in taking a neighbor’s cat to the vet to be put down when they were out of town. I contemplated warning him of what could happen, but I think I was too focused on Eva. Mom called dad and got him on speaker phone so he could say goodbye.
The vet came back in with thee syringes; one was an anesthetic to put her into a deep sleep, and its catalyst. The last we assumed to be what would put Eva out of her misery. We took some comfort in knowing she was just going to go to sleep, and her experience would not be traumatizing. Just sleep.
Her breathing had slowed and calmed after she went to sleep, clearly stating just how much of it was caused from internal pain. Then the finals syringe came. We all held onto her, just petting her. Eight seconds. The vet checked her heart. She was gone.
I was oddly prepared for the muscle spasms that squeezed Eva’s lungs, making it seem like she was gasping for air, before she stilled entirely. My poor brother said that that was the absolute worst thing he had ever seen in his entire life. I hadn’t cried outwardly, but the tears were steadily coming. I felt even more drained, more empty then before. The vet was kind though, and had a clay disk imprinted with Eva’s name, as well as an imprint of her paw made for us to take home.
She was just...gone. It wasn’t even really a dog anymore; just a body. It wasn’t Eva anymore. I was reminded of my days at the morgue, how easy it was to work with corpses. I had realized quickly at the time that my definition of death was probably very different from most. Death wasn’t a body. A dead body was just an amalgamation of biology, and the face it wore can and will become a total stranger once the life leaves it. A body is not a person; the person itself leaves the body when they die, and so any attachment I may have just...goes with it. She even felt different. Her last seconds, she felt like Eva. But after...I didn’t really understand what I was touching. It wasn’t Eva anymore.
We paid the bill for her stay and left for home. It felt strange, because for a second time, I was riding home from a vet’s office, at sunset, in winter, and leaving behind a body that was no longer a familiar entity. The cat I mentioned, Sunflower, had also been put down in the evening, at dusk in winter of 2016. And now Eva had been put down at the same time. I think they even passed around the same time; around 6:30.

It felt weird coming in with no Eva to greet us. Mom and I put the clay paw in the oven to bake (it was still soft so the impression could be taken, and we had to bake it ourselves), and after that, I just went to my room to try and read. I was still drained, but I suppose I felt a bit lighter. She wasn’t in our world anymore, and it felt like I had just let go unconsciously. Maybe to protect myself, maybe as a means of how I cope, or maybe that is just how I am. I’m not entirely sure; maybe it’s a bit of everything. Regardless, I was tired, and there was a huge snowstorm over us now. Eva loved the snow; eating it, playing in it, laying in it and just watching her yard. Jade, she was oddly affectionate and kept wanting to sit on my lap or on my desk in front of my computer. I let her; she was oddly subdued, but I couldn’t blame her. She just lost her best friend. Max gave us space; I don’t think he was sad, but I think he understood.
I went to bed around midnight, and Jade stayed in my bed all night; unusual, but under the circumstances, unsurprising. And now here I am. I’m honestly glad the snow cancelled school today; I wasn't sure if I would be able to work with clay at such an unreasonable hour (8:30am) for two and a half hours.
But that’s what happened. We still don’t know what made Eva so sick and bloated. The vet said they could do a necropsy, but it was too expensive, and we felt it was best t just let well enough alone. I still suspect a ruptured organ - perhaps her colon or stomach since she has been having diet issues. We’ll never know, and we’re dubious of our vet now because of their lack of finding anything wrong despite numerous vet visits. I plan to ask mom if we can switch to another vet.
And if I may, I would like to give you some advice. If any of your pets have to be presented with the option of being put down, I have to suggest you take it. And if you feel strong enough, ask to be there for it. It’s going to be terrifying. You’ll probably cry. And it will be horrifying too, seeing them flinch or gasp one last time. But I think if I had backed out with Eva, I would live with the guilt for the rest of my life. It will be the hardest time you will ever let go of someone.
I'm not sure how I feel now. I think it's still sinking in, but I certainly feel a bit better than I did the night prior.

I'm just glad she's not suffering anymore, and I can only be sorry that we did not find anything sooner.

RIP Eva
Best Friend to a Cat
Best Watchdog and Companion
Best Hand-shaker
Best Girl
~S~