Sit and Stay

Just over 11 years ago I moved to Oregon from NY to be with Ricky my then boyfriend, now husband. The day after I arrived we adopted Niko from the Oregon Humane Society. Several days later we brought him home and though we had a few hiccups early on: he ate our house the first time we left him alone; he jumped our six-foot fence on a regular basis; etc., Niko completed our family and has been a perfect fit ever since.

 I’ve posted about him a few times–his age, arthritic condition and his Wisdom Panel test and results from earlier this year. This post is likely the last item I’ll write about him during his lifetime. It is almost certain that we’ll put Niko to sleep this coming weekend if not before. About six weeks ago he was diagnosed with bone cancer in his back left leg. Though the lesion was hardly noticeable on the x-rays, he was in tremendous pain at the time. With the help of several caring veterinarians we were able to find an appropriate and successful short-term pain management regimen that bought us some time to process the devastating news but more importantly allowed Niko to live more of the life he seemed so happy to have. Given that Niko is 12, arthritic and weighs 95 pounds, amputation is not an option. Three-time weekly radiation treatments also were not a viable option for us given the difficulty of getting him in and out of the car in addition to the necessary sedation with each treatment.

 A couple of weeks ago the pain worsened and Niko’s condition has deteriorated rapidly since. I won’t go into details, but the days are difficult and his nights are even harder. There doesn’t seem to be anything else we can do for him except make the final decision that will forever remove him from the pain he’s in but also from our daily lives. The first part of that I feel okay about–at least it’s something we can do for him–the latter is something I have yet to comprehend.

 Niko is as interwoven into my life as my husband and children. With the exception of that first week in Oregon, I’ve not lived in our house without him. His was the first face I saw when I received the news from my doctor that I had breast cancer. He was the ring bearer at our wedding and the image of him basking in the sun sprawled out, belly-up in the middle of the aisle as we recited our vows, remains one of my most vivid and cherished memories. Niko was sleeping sandwiched in between Rick and me when I received the call in the middle of the night that my sister had died and I specifically remember how before anything else, in that most unbearable of moments I reached for Niko–to feel the comfort his presence has always provided. And, of course, albeit reluctantly at times, Niko is a loyal protector of our two young sons.

I’ve had dogs most of my life–Max and Indy were my other beloved dogs and losing them both was incredibly difficult. Making the decision to end the life of a loved one is agonizing. Niko’s on a lot of medication now so it’s harder for us to guess how much he understands what’s happening. While I believe Niko’s spirit is struggling to survive, his body is failing him.  And so my head is telling me that Niko’s time has come. Rick has also recently arrived at that conclusion as well. So now it seems the last things to do are to convince my heart that it’s okay to remove from this world our own piece of perfection and then to say goodbye.  

On a side note I want to say goodbye, too, to Norton, Winnnie, Biji, Kodai, Ruby, Zeus, Pearl and Meggie—good kitties and doggies (well most of them anyway—you know who you are) from my Banfield family who are loved & missed and deserve to have their names in the archive.

Niko, December 2008