The Last Gift You Give Your Dog

Saying goodbye to your best friend

On Wednesday, June 18th, I had to say goodbye to my dog, Gemma—something not made easier by the fact that this was a long time coming.

Last year, when I worked with a professional dog trainer, Pete Campione, to publish his first book, it was one of the few times when a client gave me just as much advice as I gave him.

Gemma had already been suffering from mobility problems for years due to a spinal malformation, and had also had surgery on her cruciate ligament (dog’s ACL) to give her just a little more time with us. Part of the reason he hired me over other writers was that he could tell I loved Gemma the same way he loved his dogs.

Pete has a lot to say about dogs and our relationship with them that differs from what the tv dog trainers have to say, and it was a pleasure to work with him. The last chapter of Canine Conversations, in particular, was revelatory. I recommend the whole book; it’s an entertaining and educational read (Pete is a New York Italian and it comes through in the book).

But for now, I’d like to share his thoughts on saying goodbye.

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The Final Conversation

from Canine Conversations by Pete Campione

The final conversation you have with your dog will always start with a lie, and that lie is “Everything’s going to be okay.”

It's not. Not for you, anyway.

It’s your job to make sure everything is okay for your dog, that they are allowed to do what comes naturally to them, to leave when they know it’s time.

It’s your job to lie to your dog and tell him, “It's okay, you can go. It's okay, thank you.”

I have a doctor friend who once confided in me, “I have seen hundreds of people pass away in front of me. But I could never be in the room when my dog died. I can watch my patients go. I have watched family members go. I could not watch my dogs go.”

Hard as it is, easing them out of this world is part of an unwritten contract that you have with your dog. “I will be there in the beginning and I promise you, I will be there when you're passing into this next part of your existence. It will be peaceful and I will help you go there.”

That is part of your job. It's not your job to be there and be hysterical and frighten the dog. That's what some people will do. They'll stand there screaming, crying, and panicking the poor dog and upsetting them. The dog will think they are doing something wrong, when they know it’s their time.

Dogs aren’t like us. They’re not afraid of death. They know when it’s time to go. That's why dogs stop eating. Because in their mind, a switch goes off. “Okay, there's something wrong; it's time for me to move on. So I don't eat and I go curl up and die.”

Part of that final conversation has to be you lying when you're saying, “It's okay, I'm okay. And you can go.”

No, it's not okay for you, but you need to convince your dog that it is. Humans try to stop this process. We don’t let the dog do what’s natural to them. An old dog stops eating and what do we do? We pull out the steak or the burgers. We pull out whatever it takes to keep them eating.

I knew somebody whose dog was diagnosed with cancer. The dog supposedly had six months to live. So they fed this dog everything, pizza, sausage, whatever it wanted. Well, two years later, they had the fattest dog in the world who was miserable, fat, and still cancer ridden (although in temporary remission). They didn’t do this to help their dog. They did it to ease their own pain at being without him. I get that this is devastatingly hard for people, but this can be our final GIFT to them. A peaceful passing…

They're telling us something and we don't listen. We ignore it because we put ourselves in front of them. So when I see my dog start to stop eating, I take that as a sign. It's like, I'm not going to make you go any further than you want to go.

You should never add YOUR grief to your dog’s passing; it’s not necessary. Grief is our emotion. So our final conversation with them shouldn’t include grief. Save that for when they’re gone. While they’re still here, your conversation should be a celebration. “Thank you. You did a great job. You are a good boy. You are a good girl.” AGAIN…not easy!

Dogs don't grieve on their own. A lot of people in multi-dog households think their other dogs are grieving when one of the dogs passes. They're not. The dog is unsettled by pack change, which can be hard on the dog. Pack dynamics have completely changed and if there's not a strong leader, it’s a mess for a while. My dogs never mourn the passing of another dog. As close as Shelby and Frankie were, Shelby did not miss a beat. Because I was in charge. As long as daddy is here, everything is okay.

Dogs come from a structure-based society. So the structure changes when there's a missing member, if there isn't a strong leader. As long as there's a strong leader, the leader will stabilize structure in pack dynamics. But if the dogs are left in a pack by themselves most of the time, when one of them leaves, yeah, like, oh, somebody's missing. What do we do? But if there's a strong leader, they don't do that.

If we're going to lose our minds when the dogs die, we need to do it before we see them for the final time. And after they leave, scream as much as you need to. When Frankie died, during the final stages of writing this book, I screamed. He was only seven, and I can’t bring myself to write about it yet.

When Kiefer died, I screamed into the void until there was nothing left. But I didn’t do it until I saw the life go out of their eyes. Only then, could I indulge my own grief. But I wasn't going let them hear it.

Why would you send them to another world with a sense of panic or disappointment?

And some dogs are so anxious to please you that you actually have to give them permission. They are duty-bound to you. You have to show them it’s okay to go. It's almost like a release from a command. When you give a dog a job to do, you tell them what to do, they do it, and then you tell them what a good boy they were for doing it correctly.

So that's why in the end you say, “Thank you, good boy, good girl.” Because now they know they're doing something right, and they don't have to fear it, and they don't have to be afraid of it.

That's what your final conversation needs to embrace. We always thank them, and you also prepare the final environment for them. If you've got people in the room who are going to be screaming and crying, get them out.

That's your main job. So, that conversation is important. Just as important as when you bring them in. The first conversation you have with puppies has to be nurturing and has to be invigorating and has to be encouraging. It's the same thing when they leave.

When you bring a puppy home, understand that the goodbye is already written. Ideally, it will be at the end of the dog’s natural life. They will stay with you until they have their little grey face and they’re a grumpy old man or grumpy old lady, and they go peacefully in their sleep one night. We all hope for that.

But sometimes that isn’t the case. Maybe they’ll get cancer and die in middle age. Maybe they’ll have a terrible accident. Whatever it is, you need to be with your dog and trust them to know when it’s time. Dogs are aware of their bodies and their survival. So when something happens, even if it's an accident, the dog is aware that when their body is compromised. That's part of pack dynamics.

When a dog's body is compromised, he's compromising the pack's survival. So they almost have an inner voice that says, “Oh, okay, you have to go, you're not functioning.” The dogs don't fear it. It's just a part of life. Don’t feel guilty if your dog tells you it’s time and you need to help them go. It’s a hard part of a vet’s job, but an important one.

Love your dog more than you love your own emotional comfort. Be strong for them.

Like I said earlier, I believe in psychics. Maybe you do too. Some of the better known ones have seen dogs on the other side, and I firmly believe that. I believe our friends will be there when we cross over ourselves.

So let them go in peace and in love. They deserve nothing less.

Gemma, my very best girl. From her first day to her last.