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I would especially like to thank Madame Danièle Mirat, Caniconsultante specializing in human/dog behavior, for this vibrant testimonial. |
| I once knew a dog and her owner who couldn't part, and this is my testimony to the help I tried to give them at the final door. This is the story of a dog's unbelievable courage in responding to his owner's request not to die. | |
| Her Alise was getting old, and the old lady was suffering. Alise, the Gordon Setter, and her mistress, the old lady, had enjoyed a close-knit relationship for many years, and one could hardly live without the other. The old lady was well aware that her dog wouldn't last forever; she knew that one day she'd have to lose her, but she couldn't accept it, it was beyond her strength. Alise was becoming more and more like a dog. Alise was becoming more and more the object of all her attention. All the care the old lady took of her would certainly guarantee her dog a longer and better old age. So life revolved around the old animal, and schedules and journeys were arranged for her comfort. Alise came to exert a kind of authority over her. Alise came to exercise a kind of passive tyranny over the old lady. How could one even think of refusing anything to such a sweet old dog, so close to the end of her life? The old lady didn't lack a heart, and a weak one at that. From visit to visit, to the doctor for one and to the vet for the other, the list of her medications grew longer and longer. Every time Alise felt unwell, the distraught old lady responded with anxious, redoubled attention; she watched for every hiccup, every shortness of breath, every loss of appetite as a threatening sign of a dreaded, hated, unbearable end. This went on for years, for a Gordon's life expectancy had long since been exceeded, but Alise, diminished, tired, never left her mistress's side. The old lady fell ill, gravely ill, and was unable to look after her. The old lady fell seriously ill and had to be hospitalized. It was a tragedy for her to have to leave her dog in her husband's care; not that he was a bad man, far from it, but Alise would surely miss him so much. Things were going pretty well between the two of them. Things were going rather well between Alise and her master, and the old dog seemed to be waiting valiantly for her mistress. But one hospitalization followed another. But one hospitalization followed another, the old lady was not recovering and her condition required extensive and delicate open-heart surgery. Separated from her beloved old dog, did she wonder if she would ever see her alive again? She didn't talk much about this painful separation, she just wanted to get home to Alise as soon as possible, but her state of health wouldn't allow it. Alise was now fifteen years old. Alise was now 15 ½ years old, more and more tired, wobbly, losing weight, but still holding on. The old lady was finally able to return home for good, after several hospitalizations of several weeks each, where separations had become increasingly distressing for her. Extremely weakened, undermined by all the hardships of illness and surgery, the old lady still had to face Alise's slow decline. The dog was now 16 years old, and only walked with difficulty. She slept for long hours at a time, and when she struggled to her feet and went out into the garden, skeletal and unassisted, she still sometimes hopped about awkwardly, as if shaken by a strange joy. From that time on, we never knew what happened to Alise. From that moment on, it was no longer clear which one was keeping the other alive. Up until then, it had seemed as if the old lady had wanted so much to keep her dog, that the latter had found the strength to carry on living. Now, however, it was as if Alise wouldn't allow herself to die, so as not to plunge her mistress, far too diminished by illness, into death with her. Those around them feared that they would fall over together. The old lady exhausted herself caring for her increasingly dependent, incontinent old dog, who was now sometimes so confused that she lost her way in the garden. But what ancient torment made her fear the same? But what ancient torment made the sick old lady fear so much the death of her old dog? What ancient pain, what ancient unhealed wound made it impossible for her to think of Alise leaving her? After all, the poor beast, exhausted, deaf, stiffened by the years, increasingly disdainful of all the ever-changing dishes she was so fond of, clearly couldn't bear to go on any longer. The old lady seemed to be blind to this idea of Alise's death. The old lady seemed blind to the animal's great suffering, which should have aroused her compassion; it was too much for her not to see, not to hear, not to think that Alise could be suffering. Closing herself off to this unbearable reality, she gave herself a lying speech that left those around her aghast at such denial, helpless, unable to better defend the old dog's right to die, in the eyes of her mistress. Alise began to be unable to bear the pain any longer. For two days, Alise couldn't drink and then wouldn't eat at all. The old lady called me to help her. When I arrived, I found the old dog exhausted after a morning spent wandering nervously around the house and garden, forcing her mistress to support her as best she could, picking her up every time she fell. As I approached, Alise calmed down, collapsed, and I thought she was finally too exhausted to die. Gently I stood close to her, then even closer, and soon I could caress her, then hold her in my arms, speak softly to her... Taking the emaciated animal close to me was difficult at first, I had to tame my own fear of death, to come close, then finally contain that of the Two who could not leave each other. Alise seemed to be letting herself go, I don't know if she could hear me telling her that she had earned the right to leave, the right to go and join the peace, the light... . My head against hers, how long did we stay? I watched for her breathing, sometimes thinking I could no longer hear it. I longed for an end like this for Alise, a quiet departure, in a breath that would stop... A gentle end that would stop the violence that the old lady and her dog were putting into not being able to separate. The old lady and her husband were a little too close to me. The old lady and her husband had left me alone with Alise for a long time. Were they madly hoping for a miracle, or secretly wishing that their dog would simply die in my arms, when they themselves couldn't bear it? A little bewildered, I saw the old animal seem to wake up, then straighten up, making an effort to get up again; I thought his last breath had come... . Now plagued by an increasingly swollen headache, I could only accompany Alise on what was to become a mad wander around the garden. In the bright mid-day sunshine, I followed the old dog as she rambled more than she went, with her more than uncertain gait. Several times she stumbled and collapsed. Each time, I thought she'd never get up again, that it was the end. Yet she managed to stand up again, and I continued to follow her, anxious, a little bewildered by this behavior I was trying to explain to myself. Then I agreed only to accompany her, without wanting anything or even understanding, as I had done earlier in the afternoon when, leaning over her, I had done nothing but be there, nothing but be there with her. Then I was suddenly sure that one could not die under such light, in such clarity. The bright sun that brought life to life, that prevented death. At last I saw that Alise, in her wandering, was trying to find a shadow or penumbra to hide behind. Gently, I tried to get her back into the house; I succeeded, with difficulty, and then I asked them to close the shutters a little. It seemed to me more and more that Alise should be helped to die. It wasn't my decision to make, but I had to offer these Three, who didn't know what to do, the strength they didn't have to face legitimate death. Who was I to decide that this animal should die? Who was I to decide that this animal should die now and not later? What did I know of its suffering? Which was greater, that of its poor old body, or that of its immensely loyal dog soul, which could not betray its old mistress who demanded that it not leave her alone? Nevertheless, I decided to try and convince her masters, to relieve Alise of the burden of this life of pain. In fact, Alise was becoming more and more agitated, and seemed to be struggling, not knowing where to put herself, or what to do with her skin of misery. The distressed old lady seemed to have no choice. The afflicted old lady seemed to give in, admitting the indignity of her desire to hold on to her Alise. Then the next moment, distraught at the thought of this irremediable, blinded by pain, she approached with a dish of I don't know what, put it under the poor dying animal's nose, in the mad hope that it would arouse his appetite. Put in the middle of this surreal scene, I decided, not without difficulty, to support the animal more than the mistress. They needed my strength and reassurance that the vet would provide relief and a gentle end for their pet, whose life would only be shortened by a few hours, so close was his end now. I accompanied the three of them to the hospital. I accompanied the three of them to the end; I held the old lady close to her dog as the vet slipped the liquid that puts people to sleep and makes them die without suffering into their veins. Alise let it happen without defending herself, as if she'd almost already gone. The old lady let it happen too, she had surrendered; her husband, for his part, stayed away, unable to face up to the death of one and the immense pain of the other. Alise was 16 ½ years old. I still had to finish my job, which was to help them both accept the unbearable. It seemed to me that they should not be brutally separated from the old animal. They both wanted Alise cremated. I suggested that they could keep the old dog close to them for the night, to see her dead but soothed at last, freed from her cloak of painful old age. So that they could begin a real relationship. If they were to begin genuine mourning, I had to help them face the end of life. The strength of my presence could enable them to accompany their Alise to the act of cremation. The old lady didn't shy away from it. I supported her in this final, painful act of immense respect for her old dog. This ultimate ordeal of cremation will leave her forever with the irreplaceable comfort of not having turned away, of never having abandoned her beloved pet, accompanying it even after the body's death. Alise's memory remains with me to this day. I have fond memories of Alise, a pathetic dog who never wanted to fail. |
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Alise or the dog who wasn't supposed to die
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