When A Dog Stops Eating

I read a sad story in today's paper about a family's 13-year old Lab, who clearly was moving toward death.  Writing to a pet advice columnist, the owner says "six weeks ago, she walked away from her...food for the first time."  The dog has deteriorated since then, but the family has been unable to take the painful step of putting the dog down.

It's been nearly a year since our beloved Raven died--Oct. 13, 2012.  She was about 12 and a half years old.  We're not exactly sure, because she was a stray.  She was running loose in a local park, and was taken to the animal shelter on May 1st, 2000.  The shelter estimated she was about 3 months old.  So we celebrated her birthday on Feb 1st each year.  We saw her that first day, but had to wait a week to adopt her--the policy for strays, in case the owner showed up.  She had no collar; the shelter said there was a 50-50 chance at best an owner would show up under those circumstances.

My husband said he noticed that she had been eating less for some months; I hadn't noticed that.  But ever since we left her at the vets for a week when we went to the beach in August, she was having more difficulty getting in and out of her crate.  On the Monday before she died (Columbus Day), she didn't go to her food dish at all, and we knew something was terribly wrong.  She let me hand-feed her a bit, but she didn't move from her crate.  She was always so feisty and energetic.  We managed to get her into the vet that day, and he gave her a cortisone shot.  My husband said optimistically that the last time the vet gave her a shot, she perked up right away.

But she didn't perk up right away--she didn't touch her food the next morning, and I went to work worried.  I even wondered if she'd still be alive when I got home.  I had helped her set up her own Facebook page, and I deleted it that morning.  So I wouldn't have to do that after she died.  I also researched what to do if your dog dies at home.  And I left work early, because I couldn't concentrate.

When I got home, her bowl was still filled with food; she hadn't left the crate.  I burst into tears; I somehow knew she was nearing the end; that this time she wouldn't bounce back.  On Wednesday, she was a bit better; by that afternoon she even wanted to go for a walk.  So we briefly thought she was on the mend.  I even ordered an especially long ramp for her to use to go outside without having to use the steps.  But then she declined again, and by Friday turned her head away when I tried to hand-feed her.   Somehow she knew she was nearing the end, and would no longer need the nutrition.

We were planning to take her to the vet the next day, Saturday, if she wasn't doing better.  The one time she perked up on Friday was when the mailman came--she rallied for her customary run to the door with terrorizing bark.  She never did get used to that guy coming to our door.  But after that, she never moved.  Later that evening, my husband carried her outside so she could "go".  She sat on the grass and stared straight ahead.  She loved to sit on our lawn.  We would stay with her, because our yard isn't fenced in.  So she spent her last evening with her beloved family, on her beloved lawn.

She spared us the difficult decision the Lab owner may have to make.  Some time after my husband and I went to bed, Raven drew her last breath.  I truly think she waited until after we had left; she didn't want us to see her die.  But she knew she was loved.