I Still Can't Believe Ziggaro Died
This is the very last photo ever taken of Ziggaro. We were at work, hanging out in the dark back office. I had put up blackout curtains earlier in the day because that week I noticed him crawling into spots to sleep that were dark. So of course, I turned the entire room into a cave. He was happy and loved it. At that point I didn't realize what his natural instincts were preparing for...
I am sharing the intimate details of Ziggaro's death because most stories online about the final hours and moments of a dog in congestive heart failure are horrendous. If you take nothing else away from this blog, please just know that's not always the case.
Two days after the photo, on the 28th of October as Friday night turned to Saturday morning, Ziggaro took his last breath. He died just as he lived; on his own terms, on his own time, in his happiest of places. This year "one more day" had become some what of our mantra. So, it was aptly fitting that my tiny warrior would carry on to pass midnight into the new day. "Just one more day Momma."
Friday was not terribly unlike most days in the weeks before. He spent most of it sleeping on his bed at work and refused to eat, with the exception of several small pieces of my Burger King cheeseburger and half of french fry from Mike at lunch. When we came home he didn't get out of his basket, and that wasn't normal. Typically, I would set him down and smush the side down so he'd step out. This day he didn’t and stayed put for about 10 minutes until we moved him to his bed in the living room.
Around 7:30pm, I mentioned that he hadn't gotten up or been out since early afternoon. Mike picked him up and they went out front to pee. When they came back in and rounded the corner to the kitchen, I noticed Ziggaro was perched weirdly on Mike's arms. And the way he looked at me, something didn't feel right. Mike set him down and he took a step, then flopped onto the kitchen mat in a way I'd never seen. His back legs kind of slid slowly out from under him. As I sat down on the floor he started to pant. Not a distressful or fast kind of pant, just breathing with emphasis on the exhale.
I picked him up and he continued the pant. He slumped backward against my chest and rested his beak on my upper arm like he only did when he wasn't well. I carried him upstairs and we sat on the bed with the lights off. For about a half hour he stayed in my arms while I rocked side to side and talked to him, all the while continuing the same pant. As time passed the intensity increased and I felt his discomfort.
Then he laid on his side on the bed. A sort of clicking/crackle started coming from his chest every minute or so. He still wasn't struggling about, coughing or choking, just laying what appeared to be peacefully against my leg. Mike came up to bed with us. He watched some tv while Zig and I laid down at the end of the bed. After a couple hours the panting became heavier and the crackle more frequent. Honestly, it was terrifying. I struggled not to completely meltdown & started to worry. All the awful stories I'd read online flooded my brain.
Even though he was content laying on the bed, in an effort to comfort myself, I picked him up and put him on my chest. When I did so he ended up laying on his other side. After a minute or so he started coughing and the crackling increased more. It occurred to me that by inadvertently flipping him over I'd maybe caused the pooled fluid on that side to shift around. That's when I started to panic and snapped at Mike (because I get bitchy when I'm under stress and don't know what to do). He turned off the tv and we fussed for a couple minutes trying to decide whether to flip him back over or stay put and let it settle into the other side. Ultimately, as usual, Zig made the call himself. Climbing out of my arms and flopping onto the side I had him on, then a minute later back over to the original side. The coughing and crackling slowly eased over the next couple minutes, but didn't stop and the intensified panting continued. He was not comfortable to put it mildly.
We started to question if we were doing the right thing. At that moment everything felt very wrong. The idea that he could go into massive distress and end up in a drawn out and painful death all night long was terrifying. Just before midnight we decided to call our Pet’s ER to see if they would come out to the car and euthanize him if it came to that (we're 5 minutes away). They said no, due to liability reasons (which is totally understandable) and that we would have to bring him inside.
Mike got off the phone and it was then that situation felt very real. There would be no rally this time. We had two choices and time was of the essence... 1) Stay home and give him love, comfort & space as his body continued doing what it innately knew how to do. This required having faith for a nonviolent change and faith in ourselves to support him appropriately if there was. Yikes... 2) Head to Pet’s ER in effort to avoid a possibly grueling end. If we were going it was now or never, because we agreed that chaotic death during the car ride was out of the question.
The three of us laid quietly together on the bed. In that moment the decision was easy. We would stay put. Ziggaro was right where he wanted to be; at home, in our bed, with the people he loved most. It was not pleasant for us or him. They were some of the hardest moments of my life. But I kept reminding myself that there’s a difference:
He was not suffering. He was dying.
I quietly and quickly went downstairs and mixed a tramadol into a spoonful of ice cream. Moose tracks, with the chocolate fudge. He'd always wanted chocolate, tonight he would get it. Mike tried to feed him off his finger as he'd regularly done over the the last few weeks. But he refused, so we didn't force it.
At that point we were all together on my side of the bed. Mike & I kept petting him and talking to him and telling him how much we loved him. We tried not to cry, but couldn't help it. It was so hard not to be sad and terrified. I kept reminding myself there would be a time for that and it wasn't now. Not yet.
After a few minutes his panting became more rapid and shallow, he wasn’t writhing around in pain, but his body was in distress. The ice cream had melted so I gave him one full oral syringe of it. He meekly fought me but I think it was just out of habit. He did not feel present. As I gave him another he didn't fight it at all, just looked back at me with that sweet face he always made. Mike was laying curled behind him and the two of us wondered if I should try one more. I turned my back to draw another. But again, Ziggaro knew what he needed. There would be no third. He extended his neck out straight and made a short "eeeee" sound that we'd never heard before.
And he died.
In the very last moment, he went quietly, with no grand commotion, resistance or fuss. There was not another breath or movement as his body completely relaxed onto the bed. Continuing even in death to be the polite & noble little being he'd always been, he didn't even go the bathroom.
And we cried.
And cried. And cried. And cried some more. After an hour or so we moved him into his favorite bed and wrapped him in his second favorite blanket - I'm keeping the first forever. We placed him on top of the chest at the end of our bed, where he would stay until morning. Then together Mike & I went downstairs and toasted to his beautiful life. And cried some more.
The next morning I fought off immense feelings of guilt. It was hard, much more so than we expected. Nearly incomprehensible. I had prepared for a couple tough minutes, not an entire night. We were exhausted. The world felt like it quit spinning, like time stopped, life stopped. Had we done him a disservice with that ending? No. No, we had not. We did right by him. We allowed him to die on his own terms in his own time. And he allowed us to be a part of it, for which I am forever grateful. It is a precious thing - death, as it is meant to be.
The house felt hollow. I felt empty. We needed salt air, all three of us. So we put him in the backseat & took one last trip to the beach (that post is HERE). When we got home we placed him in our living room, in the spot he loved most to lay and where we had so many happy times. Jarrin came that afternoon to say goodbye and we uncovered him one last time. He still looked and felt like himself. He remained there, undisturbed and covered in his bed, for the rest of the weekend.
Early Monday morning we sat on the floor and I read aloud "Our Chapter" of The Scroobious Pip (which you can read HERE), that I drafted over the weekend. Then we took him to the funeral home for cremation. They called shortly after noon and we went and picked him up. Much love and thanks to Holloway Pet Cremation Services, they were truly wonderful.
We miss & love you Ziggaro, so very much.
Just a side note for anyone considering not burying or cremating a deceased pet immediately: Nothing icky happened over the weekend while he remained at home. We did keep it cool, around 65 degrees, and there was no smell. When we moved him to the truck on Monday morning, part of his bed was slightly damp and starting to get a slight strange twinge, but it wasn't gross, just unfamiliar. Although he remained in his bed and covered, we did use gloves when we moved him just to be safe. I think if we'd waited much longer (beyond the 55'ish hours) things would have become less mild in a fairly rapid fashion. So anyway, it worked out and he remained home with us for what we felt was the right amount of time. For that I'll be forever thankful... As always, if you are unsure of what to do, contact your vet for guidance.