Saying goodbye to a Miniature Pinscher is never easy
By Sunday Pearson
Sacramento District
I never thought I’d become one of those silly adults who fawn over a little dog. Nope, not me! I’m much too mature for that kind of behavior.
Yeah, right!
As my children grew up and began pulling away to begin lives of their own, little Buffy-Marie came along. I used to refer to her as my "midlife crisis dog"…a bug-eyed five-pound Miniature Pinscher (Min Pin) who thought she was a person, and I never had the heart to tell her otherwise.
Each night for about 11 years, Buffy-Marie snuggled up and slept next to me in bed, inside my gown no less. (Don’t let that get around, okay?) She licked tears from my face when I was sad or happy, and remained faithfully by my side when I was ill.
What a character! When I came home from work each evening, she was always vociferously indignant about my having been away from her much too long! She was pretty ferocious from the safety of my lap. Heaven forbid you should walk past the car if she and I were in it! And I’ve lost count of the times Buffy-Marie protected me from the vacuum cleaner. I used to tell her how brave she was as she warned me with her incessant barking and snarling.
And comical? Buffy-Marie was so funny when she’d grab her toys and run through the house growling and carrying on. Last year our youngest daughter, Kelly, gave her a squeaky toy shaped like a bust of Saddam Hussein. All we had to say was "Get Saddam!" and she’d take off with him in her mouth. Poor Saddam never had a chance.
Buffy-Marie became a huge part of my life and I always let her know it. In return, she gave me unconditional love.
Yes, I became what I vowed I would not.
Min Pins can live 15-plus years, but it wasn’t to be for Buffy-Marie. Last Wednesday, I called the Loomis Basin Veterinary Clinic to make the dreaded appointment to have her put to sleep. Her body was shutting down – a combination of old age and the steroid medication she had to be on all of her life.
I was so choked up I could hardly speak. I asked for Dr. Nick Young, since he had treated Buffy-Marie before. Nick is one of several compassionate and caring veterinarians who work at the clinic.
As I held my beloved little pet, my husband held me. My right hand was cupped around her chest; I could feel her heart beating wildly. I knew she was scared. She buried her head in my neck and whimpered a little as I bent over to hold her. Warm tears ran down my cheeks and onto her furry coat. I whispered in her ear, reassuring her that I was with her and that I loved her.
Even when the doctor said Buffy-Marie was gone, I couldn’t let go of her. Nick was patient and let me take my time. I tried to leave the room, only to return one more time to kiss her and say good-bye. As I left Buffy-Marie for the last time, I watched Nick gently place the blanket around her shoulders as if to tuck her in for a nap.
The decision to terminate my beloved friend’s suffering and discomfort was heart wrenching. Our house is so empty now. I cried for two days, and wrestled with self-doubt and "Did I do the right thing?" But I’m grateful that I was able to let Buffy-Marie go, and not let her suffer. As hard as it was, it was the last gift I could give my little companion.
But I hope our house won’t be empty much longer; I’m already looking for a good Min Pin breeder. And this time, I’m more mature. I’m over my empty nest syndrome, and I gained a lot of experience while raising and living with Buffy-Marie. I know I’ll be more sensible, and I’ll no longer be one of those silly adults who fawn over a little dog.
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