When I See You Again
“Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in. In my head, in my heart, in my soul.” - Ocean Breathes Salty - Modest Mouse
Over the course of the last few months, the dogs had been doing great. Captain had been the most alert and active that she’d been in nearly half a year and Zilla was his usual cantankerous self. I was doing good as well, minus having put on a few extra pounds over the winter but I was looking forward to dropping them as the riding season progressed. The only medical issue we had with the team was Captain’s 4 bacterial infections in her nose. She’d been prescribed several powerful antibiotics for those and after a week or so, they appeared to be working quite well.
March 18 started like most days, I was working from home with the dogs and all was well. That’s when I first noticed Captain having a little trouble walking. Within minutes, it went from trouble walking, to trouble sitting up, to her collapsing. I immediately picked her up, got her in the car, and raced to the emergency vet 20 minutes away. During the ride, Captain lost consciousness. I called the vet to alert them to our arrival and they stated they had no room for her at the clinic and we would have to divert to the much larger emergency vet over an hour away. I pleaded with them because of the seriousness of the situation but they said there was nothing they could do, so we raced on towards the next vet.
There was no obvious cause for the collapse, though I had my suspicions. One of the medications Captain had been prescribed was contraindicated for dogs that have kidney issues and Captain had previously had one of her kidneys removed because of cancer. I had alerted the prescribing vet to this potential conflict, but they assured me it was ok to use.
A few minutes after we had passed the smaller emergency vet with no room, they called me back and said that they would be able to see Captain, so I turned around and rushed her inside. The staff quickly took her into the backroom, her life in the balance. A short while later, I met with the doctor and he informed me that Captain’s situation was dire. They had stabilized her enough that they believed she would be able to make the journey to the larger emergency vet an hour away, but that they had done everything they could at their facility. Captain’s blood sugar levels had crashed to near fatal levels. Had we not turned around to come back to the first vet, Captain would have died as her blood sugar levels had been so low, another hour in the car would have been lethal.
With the grim reality that we were almost out of time, I numbly brought Captain out to the car and raced to the larger vet in Tacoma. When we arrived, Captain had recovered enough to lift her head, but that was about it. The vet met us in the parking lot and wheeled her in on a stretcher. Everything from then on is a bit of a blur. Captain was admitted to the ICU to try and figure out what might be wrong with her. The guesses were a head injury, septic shock, liver cancer, or pancreatic cancer. Not once did anyone consider poisoning even though I’d again mentioned her contraindicated prescription. I was told to go home.
March 19 was more of the same, lots of questions, no answers, though they ruled out the head injury and sepsis. Captain had recovered to the point that she could go outside with assistance but she was still very weak and hadn’t eaten in nearly 2 days. She also hadn’t had her new prescription in 2 days as it was required to be taken with food. I was told to stay home and not come visit because of Covid restrictions.
March 20 was similar to the 19th, she still wasn’t eating, hadn’t had her pills in 3 days, and was having difficulty standing and going outside. I still couldn’t see her.
On March 21, the vet finally allowed me to come visit her. I decided to bring her all of her favorite foods in hopes of coaxing her to eat something. I brought her a Double Baconator, fries, salmon, various types of cheese, you name it. When the vet wheeled Captain into the room, she was freezing cold and shivering as she hadn’t eaten now in nearly 4 days. I quickly removed as much of my clothes as was acceptable and wrapped her up to keep her warm. I then lay next to her on the floor trying to use my body heat to help warm her. When the doctor came in, we discussed the situation and while grim, there was still hope. They said if I couldn’t get her to eat, they’d put her on a feeding tube finally and then resume giving her her medications. The doctor then left and I spent the next 30 minutes to an hour snuggling Captain, kissing her, singing to her, petting her, rubbing her, and trying to feed her, but without success. I was however somewhat successful at getting her to drink water so it was a small victory. Eventually, I wore out my welcome and the vet politely let me know my visit was over and I had to leave. I left with the hope that the feeding tube would help Captain have the energy to stand on her own the next day.
The next day, I received a call that Captain had gotten worse over night and that the vet was now recommending that I put her down. It was as if I’d been punched in the stomach and all the air had been sucked from my lungs. I didn’t want Captain to die alone and in unfamiliar surroundings, so I told the them that I was coming down to get her. After I arrived, they wheeled her out on gurney and she was sleeping, completely unresponsive to my voice or touch.
That’s when it really hit my, my sweet girl was at the end of journey and it was now up to me to do the impossible and put her down.
Wanting to make it as comfortable as possible, I called a mobile vet service that would come out to the house so that Captain’s last moments would be in our bed, surrounded by those who loved her. We set a time for the next day as I still needed a few more hours with her before I let her go and I really wanted one last night to sleep next to her and to give her a chance to pull off one final miraculous recovery.
On the ride home, I decided to make a very short detour to Captain’s regular vet office as I was hoping Captain’s favorite doctor, Dr. Meghan, was in and could see her one last time. Unfortunately, Dr. Meghan was not there that day, but I was told that some of the staff members who had gotten to know and love Captain over the last 2 years wanted to get to say their goodbyes. When we pulled in Captain received a sendoff fit for a dignitary as at least 10 staff members came outside to visit her in the parking lot and say their individual goodbyes.
I was blown away by the outpouring of love and grief as most of the staff were in tears and many even took off their Covid masks to kiss her goodbye or take a photo of her. It was again apparent that Captain was a once in a lifetime, special, charismatic soul who has touched the hearts of nearly everyone she had crossed paths with. I had no idea so many virtual strangers had developed such strong feelings for her. After everyone had their chance to say goodbye, it was time for Captain’s final ride home. The world was about to become a much darker place as this most brilliant of flames was about to dissipate.
On March 23, there were no miracles, Captain Fantastic left this world at approximately 1:30pm while snuggled in my arms on the bed that her brother and I had shared for more than 12 years; a large piece of me went with her.
The average lifespan for a dog diagnosed with a bleeding nasal carcinoma is just 88 days. Incredibly, Captain had made it to day 788. Her will to live and the bond that we shared were immeasurable.
As we carried Captain’s body out to the vet’s truck, I wanted to share one last act of love with her and asked the vet to wait a moment. I then ran to the backyard and began picking wildflowers and quickly fashioned her a floral tiara of purple hyacinth and white daisies so that those few who would still see in this world would know how special Captain was, as would those who met her in the next phase of existence (whatever that may be).
A final, desperate gesture of love from a grieving father.
Six years prior, Captain Fantastic, Dogzilla and I found ourselves at "The Dog Chapel" in Vermont. The Dog Chapel is a chapel dedicated entirely to dogs who have left this world behind. It is one of the saddest and most powerful places I have ever visited. While there, I left a message behind for the dogs I had previously lost and one for Captain and Zilla as I knew I would outlive them. That realization was too much for me to handle and I was overcome with grief. As you can see, I'm a wreck, cuddling Zilla while Captain jumps up on me to do her best to console me by using her paw to get my attention.
This photo at “The Dog Chapel” perfectly encapsulates the love that our little family shared. We may no longer exist together physically, but our bond transcends space and time as the best parts of me were shaped by the all too brief time we spent as family.
If you would like to help fight canine cancer in Captain’s honor, please consider helping us donate to the American Kennel Club Canine Health Foundation - Oncology General Research fund. I will personally match the first $1,000 donated in Captain’s honor.
(click below for video)
“No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.” - Terry Pratchett
