It’s July 3, 2012. Our thirteenth grandbaby is a day old. Our thirteen-year-old Pit Bull is spending her last day with family. At 2:00, my daughter and her husband gently lifted the sixty pound “Old Lady” into the back seat of their Civic for her last car ride. I went ahead of them to start the necessary paperwork. Through half of the twelve-minute drive I repeated, “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this,” each declaration more anguished than the last.

In 1999, my son Steve and his wife welcomed a new baby. A month later, the new dad started a job splicing cable in the Bay Area, an eight-hour drive from his San Diego home. Steve didn’t like leaving Nett and Chris alone through the workweek, so they decided to get a puppy as companion, protector, and future playmate for their little boy.
On a bright September morning, the family visited the local animal shelter. Steve led them into the kennels, stopping at an enclosure with his favorite breed—Pit Bulls. In a corner at the back wall, a black and white pup stretched her head high over the pile of her sleeping littermates. She climbed over the heap and, in her an awkward puppy gait, scampered to greet this new guy standing at the fence.
“That’s my dog. That’s the one we’re taking home,” Steve told Nett.
There was no doubt in his nor Nett’s mind that this dog was already a member of their family.
Three years later, Steve died (from complications of diabetes). When Nett and their son, Chris, moved in with her parents, whose home already had more dogs than their small yard could support, Splicer became a member of our household. Taking care of Splicer felt like something I could do especially for Steve. I hoped, too, that it would help to alleviate my all-consuming grief.
It took Splicer a few weeks to get used to her new environment, but from the start, she was the family dog. She became a loyal companion to our sixteen-year-old daughter Robyn—sleeping in her bed, wrestling with her, and taking walks in the neighborhood. Splicer submitted to our grandkids as elders in our pack.
By November 2011, Splicer had several problems consistent with aging—tumors on her belly, aching joints, diminishing eyesight, and barking at random sounds (a touch of senility, maybe?). In the spring, her daily pain became obvious, I found myself starting to pray that I would come in one morning and find that Splicer had peacefully died during the night.
But I still wasn’t ready to have her put to sleep. Instead, the vet prescribed pain meds. Soon, the meds couldn’t hide her pain. It was difficult for her to stand, to move, or go outside to relieve herself. The tumors bled every day and became infected. Although Splicer was miserable, every time she saw one of us, she smiled and wagged her tail.
After counseling with the vet’s office and copious research on the internet, we made the impossible decision. The day after our little granddaughter was born, we took Splicer for her last vet visit.
Nett took the afternoon off from work to meet us there. She took the “Old Lady” for a short walk in the parking lot until the room was ready for us…and we were ready for the room. When they came back in, two assistants took Splicer to an exam room to insert an IV and give her a little relaxation medicine, and then brought her to us again. (Even a dog in so much pain and near death can perk up, as Splicer did, when away from home.) While the assistants and Splicer were gone, the doctor explained the procedure to us. I didn’t intend to stay with her at the end. I felt guilty for what we were about to do to a valued member of our family. Surely, there was some other alternative? But, we had only two choices. Let her continue in pain, or take her away from it. Only one choice demonstrated our love for this gentle girl.
Now in “The Room”, where Splicer, Nett, and I sat on a blanket in front of the plush sofa, the doctor joined us. I told her, “I haven’t come to terms with this yet. I feel like I’m cheating her out of some of the time still due her.”
“Deb,” Dr Cary said. “After seeing her today, I think you gave Splicer extra time. She could have come in weeks ago, and it wouldn’t have been too soon. Everyone who loves their pet feels that it’s not time for this step, so most wait too long and their Baby suffers longer.”
She pulled tissues from the box on the end table and gave some to Nett and me for the tears streaming down our cheeks, keeping a few for herself. “Are you ready?”
Nett looked at me. “Mom? You ready?”
“No. But…yes.”
Dr. Cary stroked Splicer’s head and patted her side. “Ok sweetie.” She injected the anesthesia into the IV. More than she used in surgery. As we petted our friend, her muscles relaxed. She closed her eyes and rested her head on Nett’s lap. She fell asleep—and deeper asleep.
“I think she’s gone now.” Dr Cary listened for a heartbeat. There was none. Splicer wasn’t in pain anymore and her last few minutes with us were peaceful and pleasant.
I don’t ever want to have to make this decision again, but I know I will. We still have Eva—a two-year-old Pit that Splicer seemed to think was far too active a companion for an Old Lady dog. And soon we will adopt or rescue another Pit Bull as a friend for Eva. I hope that when the time comes, I think of the dog’s needs and not about how much I’ll miss her. I hope I don’t wait too long.