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This past week I had to face what most pet owners dread the most...the decision and execution (if you'll pardon the term) of euthanizing a family pet.

Backstory: Shortly after I got married in '93, my new wife started badgering me to get a cat. I was very reluctant, as we just moved in to a newly-constructed house and wasn't too keen on the thought of bringing in an animal that would require using part of the house as a bathroom. On top of that, I was always a dog person, and only knew how to raise and care for dogs. I acknowledged the fact that as both of us commuted to work and kept changeable hours, it would have been cruel and unfair to bring a dog in.

Enter Rodney.

I resigned myself to getting a cat, and got one for her that Xmas. My deal was that if I had to get a cat, I was going to pick it out and name it, and it wouldn't be some stupid cat-like name like "TIger" or "Boots" (he was named after Rodney Dangerfield). Like I said, I didn't know how to raise a cat, so I raised him like a dog. We took him out on walks, and I taught him to fetch. I also began to appreciate him for being a cat, as I discovered that he was very good at killing things. We lived on the cusp of a vacant field, and field mice would invariably find their way into the basement of the place. He would wait patiently for hours until they made their way to the basement floor and then execute them with extreme prejudice. In his time with us, we moved to another home, had two kids, and adjusted accordingly. This past November, I found out that he had developed liver cancer. As a 15 year old cat, we decided that we'd let it run it's course. Recently, he cut back on eating and lost a considerable amount of weight. Eventually, he stopped eating altogether and we'd find him hiding in out-of-the-way places in our house.

He was dying, and I knew what had to be done. I decided to take him in last Thursday AM. I also made the decision to be with him when the medication was administered. I guess I figured that I was there for the beginning, and I wanted to be there for him in the end. It was an incredibly tough thing to do, and an even tougher thing to explain to our kids.

For those of you that have had this experience, what did you do? For those that haven't yet had to face this moment with your pets, what do you plan on doing? It's something you may not think of at first, but in the back of my mind, I always had a plan for. Although, I'm not happy to have done it, I'm satisfied that we made the right decision at the right time, and I feel "good" about being there for him under the circumstances.

For those of you that have had this experience, what did you do?

I shed a tear or two, and still to this day keep pictures and remember the good times.

My best memory was when I was a little kid, we had an Airdale, and I used to ride on her back like a horse. What cool dogs they are.

My sympathies go out to you- pets ARE part of the family.



Unless they are chickens and it's time to eat them

As George Carlin says, "Buying a pet is just buying a future tragedy". You know going in that your going to become attached to the animal and it will break your heart when outlive it.

It's especially tough on kids. My 1st dog (and Irish Setter) lived to be 17 and had to be put down the week before I went to college. For the next few months I would get melancholy when I found a red hair on a sweater or something that I hadn't worn in a while.

But it's also a good primer for kids. Rodney dieing will help you teach & prepare your kids for when Grandma or Uncle Charlie dies. Don't sugar-coat it, explain it in a way they can understand and make sure they don't feel abandoned.

I feel for you, lad. This is a tough time for a family and especially for you, since your the the head of that family.

Not to hijack the thread, but one quick story about my first dog;

His name was Kilpatrick, Kil for short. I grew up a block or so from a park in Germantown and we used to take Kil out for runs most days.

One Saturday afternoon, I was walking him on the leash and a couple of the neighborhood kids came over and were teasing my dog. Not mean stuff, just playing with him, touching him and jumping back out of range. They eventually went back to their families and I took Kil to the lower part of the park to give him a run off the lead.

In about 2 minutes he sees the kids and takes off to play with them. Since he also had a tendency to run away, I yelled for him to come back. "Kil! Kil!". Now everyone within earshot sees this crazy white boy chasing a big red dog screaming "Kill! Kill!" and runs like Hell. Now the dog thinks they're part of the game and chases anyone who moves.

And boy, did they. Climbing up trees, onto tables, into cars. Anything to get away from this "murderous" Irish Setter and his master.

I finally get control of Kil and walk him home. About an hour later, I hear a knock on the door and see a Cop out front. He asks me why I sicced my dog on the folks at the park. At first I didn't understand, then it dawned on me.

From that day on, Kilpatrick was always called by his full name outside the house.

End thread-jack.

Hook,

Sorry fo your loss my friend.

I've had to do it three times and it never gets any easier.

My German Sheppard, who I raised from a pup and now lives with my father in-law, just hit 11 years old and I worry about it and she hasn't lived with us for 8 years.

Hooky, I had to do the same thing 2 summers ago with my dog of 16 years (found her on the median strip of route 301 on the eastern shore of maryland in 1990). I did 2 things on the day of the procedure...first, I pre-paid so that I could get the hell out of there as soon as it was over. second, I too made sure I was there with her when they administered the shot. Not fun at all. I feel your pain.

Sorry to hear about your pet. I know some people don't understand how someone can get all mushy over loosing a pet, but my old dog, was one of the family.

Every time I left my folks house to come back to NC, I always said good bye to my Golden Retriever as I knew there was only so many trips home, where he would still be there.

It got so bad he could lift himself up, and just laid down in the grass and pee-ed on himself. My Dad, not a pet kind of a guy, called me and said it was time to end his suffering. I was in NC, so my folks took him to the vet and put him down. My Dad won't admit it, but my mom said he cried his eyes out. He was a great dog! I still get a big smile every time I see his old picture on my book shelf.