In 2014, we lost our chocolate lab, Cody unexpectedly and it was devastating. Losing anyone we love always is. Shortly after that loss we bought a new home and were settling in with our black lab rescue, Juny, when our dog walker, Krista, reached out and asked if we’d be interested in a 7-year-old (almost 8) female silver chocolate. The irony is the owners of Jen lived on the road we’d just moved from, but we’d never met Jen or even seen her. Unfortunately, their family had suffered a loss, the wife got cancer and died quickly. She raised and trained labs and they had 6 labs – Jen was her special girl. The husband worked too far away to give the dogs the exercise and quality time they needed, so decided to rehome them. We agreed to meet Jen.
We’ve always had dogs. I never grew up with a dog, but two months after I got married my husband brought me home our first black lab – we named him Shadow because he never left your side. I was in love and remain in love with labs. Anyone who knows us, knows we are lab-lovers. We love all dogs, but labs have a special place. After Shadow, we always said we’d never raise a dog alone again, and we never did.
It was a nice Fall Day when the 85lb girl arrived all happy, tail wagging, a typical lab in a million places all at once and making sure she got all the attention by doing the ole lab lean. We agreed to give it a try for a few days just to make sure she was ok with us as well. We knew however, she was a keeper.
Jen easily settled into our routine and became part of the family right away. She ran, played, barked at the school bus and UPS trucks, played a little fetch, ate her poop (YUCK – that habit was hard fought to get rid of that she always won), took walks like a champ, loved her food, loved her toys, loved car rides, loved everyone she met and loved us.
Almost a year into her life with us, at almost 9 years old she was diagnosed with diabetes. We had no idea what this meant for her, but we quickly came up to speed. She required two shots of insulin a day, a controlled diet and her glucose measured constantly. To keep her healthy and safe, it had to be a strict regimen. Our vet said the best way to ensure you keep track is to journal it … and we did for the last 5 years. During the first year after her diagnosis, she went blind, but she never let it slow her down. She just amazed us!
Prior to her going blind we had a pool put in. It had a bond beam wall due to where it had to be placed in our yard, Jen used to walk on the narrow path of stone on the high wall when she could see, like it was nothing. We of course did not let her when she went blind, but the point is heights never scared Jen, she probably should have been a cadaver/rescue dog. She never let blindness get in her way.
Jen never wanted to stay upstairs with us at night, but she always came up if she had to go outside and being blind did not stop her from coming to get us. She could have just barked, but nope – she would come up stairs. The first time she did, it scared the hell out of us, but watching her go up and down the stairs, you’d never have known she was blind. She knew her way around the house, and we were always on the lookout for making sure she didn’t have obstacles etc. When we’d go back downstairs with her, we taught her the word ‘step,’ so wherever we were if there were steps, she’d know how to navigate when we said that word. Such a SMART girl.
From the very first shot she received and the very first ‘clumsy’ times we had to measure her glucose she was a trooper and all in! She was always calm, never fidgeted and somehow just knew this was part of what had to happen when it was time to eat – she was very patient with us. For five years our girl has had to have insulin shots 2x a day.
Overtime, we also learned that she had adrenal tumors, though there didn’t appear to be any issues that manifested due to those, which stumped the vets. The diabetes, however, took its toll over time. First, she went blind, then her hind legs lost muscle quickly (there’s a name for that too that is super long and unpronounceable), which made her very wobbly and unable to get up without help, not to mention some arthritis just from age, then her fur became less silky and more course and all because the immune system can’t maintain it all when combatting disease so something has to give.
Jen never complained throughout it all. Her vet used the word “stoic” but in a good way, meaning Jen just took all that life threw at her, all the issues, all the disease and just dealt with it even though through the five years her world got smaller and smaller regarding what she could tolerate. She AMAZED us on a daily basis!
We were so very blessed as well. When Jen’s needs became more than we could handle on our own with working fulltime and long commutes, we reached out to our community for help and as people do — they did not disappoint and out of that outreach came several new and very close friends that we will cherish forever. Jen crawled into their hearts just as she did ours and will remain there always.
When we had a recent discussion with the vet about Jen, I learned that the word ‘euthanize’ means ‘good death’. Having to decide about taking a life because their life is so minimized that quality is nonexistent still doesn’t make the decision easy. I listened to a vet podcast that day who discussed making a list of all the affects the illness has inflicted and how it’s reduced quality of life (for the dog and the humans) and then make a second list of all that is still viable for the dog. Her point was that seeing it in writing can help with the decision. So, I did…
After writing it all down and seeing it all on paper and seeing the overall impacts it only made sense that Jen deserves a ‘good death’ not one where we wait for her to quit eating or drinking or some sign that she’s supposed to give us. We do not resent ONE SECOND of how her needs were necessary, and like Jen when something new came along we just dealt with it with her and readjusted, we never thought twice about it. In the same discussion with our vet she point out that, “Jen will not get better, she’ll just age more and decline more…” and because too, there is no way to know exactly what she’s been dealing with and how she really feels, we can only lean toward a kind, peaceful and stress free release from this life. Jen would turn 14 on December 7, 2021. She survived longer than most labs do with normal disease-free lives, all while combatting one of the hardest diseases for a dog to have (as the vets tell us). This was a consideration as well and impacted our path forward.
In the end we made a decision to have our vet let her go with us at our home, where we could spoil her, love her and keep her at peace. There is no easy way to let those we love go, but sometimes we just have to. Jen had a beautiful spirit, a beautiful heart and will forever live in ours.
My Two Cents of Sense 