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The call from the veterinarian came the day before Thanksgiving while I was prepping my cranberry sauce and sweet potato casserole. "Your pup's test results show a mast cell tumor in his chest," the vet said. "He needs surgery as soon as possible, and you might need to see an oncologist, depending on the mitotic index and margins once we get the pathology report after surgery ..."
The rest of the conversation was a blur, with words like "chemotherapy" standing out, triggering my darkest fears after losing my other two beloved pugs to cancer in recent years.
I turned off the stove, all interest in the holiday gone, and sat on the couch. My stomach felt like a bag of rocks turning in a tumbler as I tried to process everything the vet had said. The tears came, followed by deep sobs that made my eight-year-old pug Yoda hop onto my lap and stare up at me with concern.
Not again, I thought. I cannot do this again.
Three years ago, my first pug, Savi, died after cancer ravaged her body, slowly shutting down all her vital organs despite the heroic measures we took to save her. It was months of chemo, multiple surgeries and extended stays in a doggy ICU at a canine cancer center. She was given an 85 percent recovery rate, so we were hopeful, diving into our retirement savings and maxing out credit cards to save her life. Sadly, she took a turn for the worse, and the final two weeks of palliative care before she passed were brutal.
Saying goodbye to Savi was the hardest thing I'd ever done. The look of trust she gave me as I held her one last time before closing her eyes ripped apart my soul, throwing me into a bleak state of inconsolable grief from which I feared I'd never recover.
My husband asked if I wanted to get another dog, but the thought of trying to fill the emotional hole that Savi left behind was inconceivable. Thankfully, I still had my other two pugs at home, who were a large part of my recovery from the grieving process.
Less than two years after losing Savi, my oldest pug died unexpectedly at 13. He'd always been a healthy, active dog with a big appetite, but one morning he was lethargic and refused to eat. We rushed him to the vet, where ultrasounds showed a body riddled with cancer. Like Savi, his organs were shutting down.
The quiet room at the vet hospital where the euthanasia was to take place was the same room where we'd last held Savi. In that space again, I was suddenly light-headed, nauseous and struggling to breathe. It was a suffocating panic attack that felt like a heart attack, but I couldn't let my beloved pup go without saying goodbye.
I clung to my last and only pug, Yoda, throughout the weeks of mind-numbing grief, standing firm in my decision to never get another dog. My husband still argued that a new puppy might heal my pain, but the lingering trauma of watching two pets die was more than I could handle. Yoda would have to be the last family pet.
Aside from the emotional pain, getting another dog at our age would mean more vet expenses, which would dent our ability to retire comfortably. At our ages (mid-to-late 60s), it would also be challenging to raise an energetic puppy, especially one that requires frequent exercise.
Instead, I will focus on Yoda, who recovered well from his surgery. But we know his life has been shortened by cancer. We have no idea how much time we have left with him, and worrying about him daily is exhausting. I'm constantly checking his body for new tumors. My never-ending fear is a reminder of why I cannot repeat this cycle of loss and pain with a new pet.
While several of my friends adopted new dogs after losing their first ones and claim it has been healing, I don’t feel capable of opening my heart to that kind of vulnerability. I'm already bracing myself for the inevitable loss of Yoda.
Dogs have always been a big part of my life, fulfilling my nurturing needs — especially after my adult children moved out. However, even though I love dogs, I'm also aware of my emotional limitations. I'm still grieving the fur babies who are gone. While Yoda will be my last dog, that love for canines will continue through the "grand dogs" belonging to my grown children.
For now, my heart belongs to Yoda, and I'll cherish whatever time we have left.
How many of you have decided not to adopt another pet? Why or why not? Let us know in the comments below.
