I am very sad to report that my husband and I had to make the heart wrenching decision to put Molly, our Cheapeake Bay Retriever, who became a tripawd in August of 2008, to sleep on Sunday. It has been Heidi, Doug and Molly Dog for 13 years and 8 months… our little family unit was pretty much inseparable for all these years and we have so many memories together. There are no words to describe the depth of love we felt for her, nor our feelings of loss now that she has passed on. The past days have been filled with many tears and many smiles as we look over photos and think of our time together. 

Since April, Molly’s health had been steadily declining. She began to have trouble walking and even short distances fully exhausted her. There were no signs of obvious pain like whimpering or breathing problems, and our vet found no clear evidence that any type of cancer had returned. Still, her hindquarters became very wobbly and she couldn’t stand for more than a minute or two. She stopped drinking on her own and we could only get water into her by adding it to her food or snacks (she never lost her appetite, and the vet said she probably wouldn’t since she had always been a bit of a chow hound). She also developed bowel incontinence. Though this was manageable and sporadic at first, it worsened significantly as the summer progressed. She just didn’t want to get up to go and was often having accidents shortly after we would take her out. On top of all of that, it seemed like she wasn’t herself anymore. She rarely wagged her tail, would sleep most of the time, didn’t lift her head to greet us, and lost interest in most things she loved doing such as retrieving or looking out the car window. Molly always loved to go camping. On recent trips, however, she would constantly want to get into the car or tent to sleep instead of hanging out with us. We tried different pain medications and then Prozac to see if they helped, but the meds just made Molly really, really sick or took away her appetite so we had to stop them. We began to realize that the time might be close to let Molly go.

Still we agonized over the decision. There was no clear-cut this-is-the-day event such as difficulty breathing, a ruptured tumor or internal bleeding: justquality of life issues that were very hard to quantify. What made it even harder was that every once in a while she would surprise us with a really good day. Once in late July we took her to the dog park to swim and she just about burst out of her Doggy Ride stroller because she was so exited to get to the water. We went on a picnic and she wanted to retrieve horseshoes while we were playing a game. We went on a camping trip to Telluride for Molly’s two-year ampuversary on August 15^th and she surprised us by going swimming, retrieving sticks, and wanting to trot up a short ridge by our campsite. Unfortunately, these times were always followed by really bad days and our small glimmers of hope faded. We spoke to our vet who had worked with us all summer to continually assess Molly’s condition. She felt Molly’s quality of life had finally slipped enough to consider euthanasia. As she put it, “this just isn’t the Molly we know.” Last Friday we made the decision to put her to sleep, and scheduled an appointment for Sunday, August 29^th.

The timing of our appointment gave us one full day to spend with Molly and love her as much as possible. We spoiled her by giving her lots of treats, taking her for one final bike ride in her trailer and giving her endless hugs and kisses. I slept most of Saturday night with her in my arms, and I dreaded seeing daylight through the blinds when the sun finally rose because I knew I would have to let her go. I became conscious of every minute ticking by… my husband and I just tried to love her and hold her as much as possible. The car ride to the vet was the hardest moment of my life so far, but our vet was so wonderful and comforting once we got there. Molly passed very peacefully out in the courtyard at the vet office, in the soft grass with the sun shining down and Doug and I hugging and kissing her.  

Dealing with the void when we got home was horrible. The hardest thing is trying to remember what it felt like to hold and smell her and to bury my face in her furry neck… those things that one can't get from a photo. Sunday night I ran around the house like a crazy woman trying to find anything that still smelled like her. Sadly, because of her incontinence I had been washing her things frequently and couldn’t find much that still held her wonderful doggie scent. Monday morning was particularly hard too. I dreaded coming downstairs and having her not be there, and stayed in bed for two hours before I mustered the courage. I also had a meltdown Monday night because long ago we had planned another three-day camping trip with Molly and we would have returned that night. I could only think of what the weekend should have been like and what we were supposed to have been doing with Molly. But now she was just gone. I also struggled a lot yesterday, as the permanence of her passing finally began sinking in. I just couldn’t imagine life without her. I had spent so much time lately caring for all her needs that I felt that our bond was even stronger than before (if that was even possible). We had so many routines that are now broken. How I wished I could squeeze her one more time. I felt empty and lost and missed her so badly.

She was an amazing girl. After her diagnosis of a grade-three synovial cell sarcoma and resulting amputation, Molly was predicted to live only as many as seven months (or as short as a few weeks). Yet she lived another two years, blessing us with her energetic spirit and love and surprising us with her three-legged athletic ability and desire to still go on outdoor adventures such hikes and canoe trips.

We miss you Molly dog. You were our best friend and we will hold you in our hearts forever.

Thank you so much to the Tripawd community. This site was a huge source of comfort and support during Molly’s life as a Tripawd.