Note: There may be sadness below
My big boy is gone. The cadence of his paws trampling across the floor has been silenced and his large body resting against mine on the couch is no more. The house is too quiet and uncrowded without him here.
I sat up in the middle of the night when I heard his bark outside the bedroom door. He wanted me to open the door so he could come in and sleep in his bed like always, but there was no bark, because there was no LT. I laid back down and wished his loud snoring emanating from the bench at the edge of the bed still existed. I miss him.
LT had cancer. I’m not sure when the lumps began to grow, but by the time I’d met him, the cancer had spread over multiple areas of his body. Two big lumps on his back had already been surgically removed the day I picked him up at the vet, but another large one under his paw remained as it was too dangerous to treat. A big, black, pit bull in a giant cone trotted over and gave me kisses at our meet and greet. He was bigger than I expected, but after owning and fostering only small dogs, a seventy-pound pup was a huge change.
He barked the entire drive home. I can only assume he was ecstatic to be free from the concrete floors of Animal Control and the surgery room of the vet. There was some trepidation on my part on how he would get along with my three small dogs, but he never showed any aggression or dominance when he arrived. Instead, my youngest pup, Squeakers, took an instant liking to him. A year and a half later, his temperament never changed. LT had a deep bark, but never any bite.
A few weeks prior to LT and I meeting, I saw a posting of him on a local app asking for an adoption or promises for a future donation to a rescue that would sponsor him and his treatment. LT was running out of time. Although he had no behavioral problems and no immediate medical issues, he was scheduled to be euthanized the following Tuesday because Animal Control won’t treat dogs (short of medical emergencies) and there was overcrowding and space needed to be made.
I didn’t know it at the time but behind the scenes a volunteer with Animal Control was trying to work a miracle to save LT. This volunteer, who I’ll call Mary, sent an email to the rescue I work with asking them to adopt LT. After reading the email, I understand why the rescue stepped up to give him a second chance. I’ve posted some of that email below.
“There are some dogs that you can just tell were loved members of a family. LT has the sweetest disposition and he truly aims to please. Sadly, he was surrendered because his owner went into hospice care. My heart breaks knowing that the person who loved and cared for LT is dying, and their beloved boy might as well be too.
LT does well with other dogs. I personally witnessed him seeing another male bully mix through the fence and he was so excited and wanted to play. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this dog behaviorally. The only issue is that his body is full of tumors. I have no idea if they are benign or cancerous. He is only 6 years old. But I do know that this dog deserves a chance at a life. He deserves someone that will fight for him until the end. He needs someone who will overlook those bumps on his body and know that he is a dog worth saving.
I placed a bandana on him last week in hopes it would make him stand out to people. He is already a volunteer favorite, but being a black bully mix is already hard enough as it is, much harder that he is in the back kennels and a lumpy boy.
My heart will break if he is walked into the euthanasia room. He is such a happy dog and will probably think he is going outside to get treats in exchange for tricks. Will the bandana I placed on him stay on for the procedure? Will he be scared? These are questions I can’t help but think of, but I just pray that there is a miracle out there for this sweet boy. I promise he is worth saving.”
The last paragraph breaks my heart.
With all thanks to Mary and the rescue, a miracle did arrive. After I had read his posting and learned the rescue I work with was the one sponsoring him, I asked to be his foster mom. A short time later, LT was taken out of Animal Control, treated, and cuddling on my couch.
A biopsy was performed on his removed lumps and cancer was confirmed- mass cell tumors. With this diagnosis, LT would be not be adopted out and would instead stay as a permanent resident within the rescue group and I offered to stay as his foster mom indefinitely. I already loved him and he fit in well with our little family and home. At the time I expected he’d stay with me three to six months until he passed, but a year and a half later with no medical change in sight, I would joke that “LT will die of old age before the cancer gets him,” because he seemed just as happy and healthy as the rest of my pups. It was as if the cancer didn’t exist.
Unfortunately, that sentiment changed when three small bumps on his back formed with one eventually opening. I took him to the vet and he was prescribed an antibiotic and bandages. Weeks of treatment later, the wound refused to heal and continually bled. The wound never seemed to bother him as he’d let me bandage it while I told him how good of a boy he was.
Then another lump began to open. Then he couldn’t ever seem to drink enough water and instead of trotting down the stairs, he took each step more slowly. What I finally couldn’t ignore was instead of him running to the door to greet my husband, he’d barked his hello from where he laid. Although he continued to follow me around the house when he could, I’d often look down expecting LT at my feet or next to me but he’d be lying in the same spot as before. He was slowing down.
By this time, he had earned a little gray around the face so I assumed some of it was him getting older, but when he could no longer continue on his same walking path without resting in the grass, I got him back to the vet. I was worried one of the wounds was infected.
The vet looked him over and minutes later recommended euthanasia. I knew this was a possibility. LT had cancer, lumps, and wounds on his body that wouldn’t heal. I tried to mentally prepare for the word euthanasia before the appointment but it didn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face as it was uttered. He offered to euthanize him that day but there was no way I was going to make that decision right then. LT was still walking, eating, kissing, and his normal self (albeit much slower) and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Although LT was technically the rescue’s dog, they let me make the decision since he was in my direct care so I took him home.
I got way more time with LT than I ever expected, but that also gave him more time to extract a piece of my heart that will always be his. I’d like to think that he was too happy to leave us, and that may have been true for a while, but eventually the cancer caught up and we were running out of time together. Days later, I agreed to the euthanasia.
Then came the guilt. The guilt of knowing if I was or wasn’t making the right decision for LT, not what I wanted, but what was best for him. It enveloped me. He can’t express his physical pain to me so am I doing the right thing for him? What if I was taking away an extra week or possibly months that he could have enjoyed. When is it the “right” time to say goodbye forever? The answer is never, but that wasn’t a possibility.
On his last day I took him on a walk, let him sniff to his hearts content, and let him rest in the grass when he needed. I also let him sit outside as a light rain fell upon him. He didn’t want to come inside just yet. Maybe the rain felt nice on his sickly body. I let him choose how he wanted to spend his day.
Before euthanasia was decided, his snoring would sometimes wake me up at night or his big body would follow me around, nearly tripping me over when I turned around, and I’d sometimes get a little annoyed, but nothing he did once the final decision was made could annoy me. I wish I treated everyone I loved every day with the same patience and understanding I treated LT on his last. I doubt I’d ever say a wrong word to anyone again.
I stayed with him while took his final breaths. He looked at me one last time, with those eyes that always expressed his love and innocence, then departed from our world. I don’t understand how a sentient being can be here one moment and gone the next. I know that’s how life works, but it just doesn’t feel right. I can only hope there’s something on the other side of the rainbow bridge…that what’s now gone still exists somewhere else. It may be wishful thinking, but it’s all I have.
I’ve tried to put into words how sweet, loving, and wonderful LT was and how he only ever wanted to be a good boy, but I know I’ve fallen short. For LT’s memory, I’m ashamed I couldn’t express it better. He gave pit bull’s a good name.
I still see him in his usual spots. He rolls on his back in the grass letting me know he’s not yet ready to come inside, “There’s still more sunning to do, mom”. His paws thump down each stair and his bark echoes in the night. His ghost remains.
I hope the memory of LT never fades. He was always a good boy, up until and including his last breath. I love him and I miss him.
LT peacefully passed away on July 26th 2023 and the words above were written shortly after. It took until today though to finally find the courage to read them again. I no longer wake up to his ghostly bark, but he’s always loved and will always be remembered.