On Losing Sami

As many of you know, Sami (aka Gustus Play It Again Sam), spent only a brief time on this Earth. He was a little over 7 and a half months old when he made his journey over the Rainbow Bridge.

He’d had a tough life—for reasons unknown, his liver was severely scarred, and we knew early on that his time would be short. Nonetheless, after recovering from his diagnostic procedures in early December, he was able to enjoy a few months of just being a puppy. It was a rollercoaster ride for sure. There’s no sugar-coating that fact. Every few weeks he’d crash…have an episode when you knew he was feeling just awful. I’d nurse him through it, rack up another vet bill, and he’d bounce back.

His good days far outweighed his bad ones. He went on long trail walks with his Silky brother and sister and all the other dogs, big and small, in our merry band of friends (both two-footed and four-footed). He got to experience snow—an uncommon occurrence in Victoria to be sure, but he was in the right place at the right time to get familiar with the white stuff. Not his favourite weather by any stretch of the imagination, but an adventure nonetheless.

The week before he died, he even ventured out onto the agility equipment at the end of a club session that his siblings had been practicing at. He’d do anything for a Cheerio! He certainly never lacked for confidence. He was even learning some freestyle dance moves over the past few weeks.

But his very best trick of all was stealing hearts. He had one of those cute-as-a-button puppy faces. He had a laid-back personality. He wasn’t intimidated by anyone, and would just walk right up to them and demand a snuggle. His “ahhhh” quotient was huge (as in “ahhhh, what a cute puppy!!).

Last Tuesday, he started not wanting to eat—something that had never happened before. By the end of the day, other symptoms appeared. By the next morning, he was obviously so ill and in pain that we were off to the vet as soon as her office opened. I left him there for the morning, and came back at lunchtime to see how he was doing. The vet brought him in to me in the treatment room and I sat alone with him cradled in my lap for quite a while. He was still in pain, despite the painkillers he had been given. He snuggled in the crook of my arm but you could feel his distress.

There comes to all of us that make-or-break decision time…the heart-wrenching moment when you know that the best thing for your beloved pet is to let them go, to set them free from pain and suffering. You know it’s the right thing to do, but it cuts down so deep into your soul and your heart that you practically can’t breathe. It’s especially tough when your friend is still a puppy—there was still so much life to be lived.

The tears flow as you ask the vet to please put him down. There’s an understanding nod. There’s paperwork. There’s a sedative to ease your friend along on his journey. You watch him relax as the sedative kicks in. Pain loses its grip on him. He settles down in your arms, his breathing eases. He looks at you with his soft puppy eyes. The vet slowly administers that final shot. Everything is quiet. You whisper “Good-bye.” Tears are falling from everyone’s eyes. The stethoscope held to his chest is finally withdrawn and the words, “he’s gone” are spoken.

The autopsy verified that the decision was the right one. Even had we nursed him through this attack, it would have happened again every few weeks. There was nothing corrective we could have done for him. Knowing this dulls the pain of the decision a little bit, but the sorrow remains sharp.

Sami was a sweet little fellow. I wouldn’t have missed having him in my life for anything. The memory of him will remain deeply etched in my heart. In that respect, he will have a very long life indeed.