An end to a beautiful journey
I woke up Friday, March 15th feeling so much sadness and despair, being that it was finally the day I had dreaded for so long. I had to let go of my best friend and companion.
Finnegan - A Newfoundland, My hero of 11 years underwent euthanasia at home at 1:30pm.
I wouldn’t let cancer take any more away from him, and I wouldn’t allow him to suffer any more. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my entire life.
Just having him there with me, even after the cancer had left him a shadow of the physical specimen he used to be - he gave me so much more than enough. But wasn’t enough for him, and I promised him the day I got him that I would always make sure he was taken care of and that I would not let him suffer, no matter what.
The Last Summer
In December 2022, Finnegan was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma after I had spotted a mass on his toe while clipping his nails. I was devastated but held it together to get him the right treatment and best possible outcome. He had his toe amputated and lymph node in his hind leg removed. 6 weeks of carboplatin followed which he tolerated well. He bounced back and after a followup staging he was declared cancer free in June 2023.
His favorite thing in the world is swimming and I promised him that if he could make it through the surgery, I would take him to the ocean. I prayed for just one more summer with him. Following his chemo I took my remaining vacation for the year and booked a house on the beach. We drove for 13 hours to stay there for 12 days. It was the happiest I had ever seen him and I will cherish that trip with him as long as I live. I had kept my promise to him.
After the greatest summer ever, taking him swimming almost every day, I had booked a precautionary staging appointment with Oncology in October so we could detect any further signs of cancer. I don’t even remember how I felt or what I was doing or what day it was when the Oncologist called me to let me know that he has a 6cm tumor in his lungs, and two nodules in the other. I was heartbroken.
Fighting the Cancer
The prognosis was very poor. It the cancer was metastatic osteosarcoma, having spread from what was addressed in his toe 9 months earlier, he would have a month to live. If it was a primary cancer, 5 months to live with chemotherapy. There was an option to remove the large lung tumor and the surrounding area of his lung but I couldn’t do this to him as a 10 year old Newfie. I didn’t want the last of his days to be spent in recovery from major surgery. To determine the exact nature of the cancer required a biopsy in what the oncologist said was a high risky and difficult area to sample.
I elected for chemotherapy since his first treatment with carboplatin didn’t really affect him too much until the 5th or 6th week. Maybe he could tolerate it as well and there was a chance that it could stop the tumors growing or even shrink them. They started him on Palladia a few days after the initial discovery of the tumor.
This time he could not tolerate the chemotherapy, after the first week he could no longer eat, would barely drink, started to lose his balance and started to breathe extremely rapidly. After he walked outside on day 5 and directly into a fence I rushed him to emergency who were able to stabilize him overnight. They could not find a medical issue that would cause his sudden decline but they suspected that it was a reaction to the Palladia. I stopped the chemo immediately, and within the next week, my old boy was back with me. I told him I was sorry and that I would never put him through that again, even if that meant that I had fewer days with him left.
The Last Months
Giving up on fighting his cancer was extremely difficult. I’m naturally a worrier / overthinker and I questioned and continue to question myself about his toe and his lung cancer. Did I detect his osteosarcoma too late? It was just a bump on his toe, hidden in the fur, which had ulcerated so the blood brought my attention to it, but on the xray, I could see that a large portion of the bone of his toe had been already replaced by the cancer, and he must have been in pain for some time without me noticing. Was my failure to detect early enough the reason it was now all over his lungs?
My Oncologist left me with some comforting words which I try to hold on to, and that is that by the time a cancer has grown so many cells as to represent a visible tumor, there are already billions of cancer cells all over the body. A saddening fact absolutely, but at least one that made me feel less culpable for the horrible disease he was suffering.
I left my pool open until mid fall and gave him his last swim in November. I knew in my heart that it would be his last. One of his favorite things was when I would hold him in my warms or hold his paws over my back and run around the shallow end of the pool pretending I was a ship. I got in the freezing cold water to do that with him one last time, and cried like a baby while I whirled him around in the water, his joy turned to concern as he spotted the tears running down my face, which he promptly wiped away with his giant tongue.
By December, he had started to exhibit signs of pain. He had increased lameness in his hind legs and he had started to cough/retch. No doubt due to the growing tumors in his lungs. I could hear him groaning and struggling at night, unable to get comfortable. The nights that really ruined me were where I could hear him crying quietly. I would leave my bed to sleep with him on the floor, which brought him immediate relief. He would finally drift off in my arms as I cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t let him endure this any more. I scheduled in home euthanasia for December 20th, and I cant even remember those weeks prior. I had a photographer take his photographs, and planned out his last week/day so we could do everything he loved.
Two nights before his scheduled euthanasia, I got an appointment at my vet to take an xray of his chest. I just needed some closure that I was doing the right thing. Generally they enforced that dogs were sedated in order to perform chest and lung xrays but I informed them that as long as I was in the room, he wouldn’t need sedation. They agreed, and at the appointment he hopped onto the xray table and into any position they wanted - obeying my every command. I was so so proud of this amazing creature that I had raised.
To my astonishment, the xray showed that the tumor had not grown very much since October (.5cm) and she thought the signs of osteoarthritis in his back could likely be the cause of his acute pain. I started him on cartrophen and librela again which he had taken in he past for elbow injuries, daily deramaxx and continued daily with his CBD oil dose and Turkey Tail Mushroom supplement.
Finnegan Fights On
Whether it was the osteoarthritis or not, I’m so thankful to my vet for giving me this extra time with him. While I expected to be facing the darkest winter without him, we continued to do the things we always loved, although he still continued to slow down. We had now made it to late February, when his hacking/coughing had started to increase again and his crying at night worsened.
At this time I also noticed the odd smell of chlorine / urea on his breath which made me think for sure it was an issue with his liver or kidneys. I had his full blood panel performed which showed that they were normal. I have some reservations here, I cannot believe his blood work was normal in spite of his worsening breath and the chemical smell I was getting. Maybe I should have got a second opinion.. I just don’t know.
I took him for another xray - the cancer in his lungs had still not grown, but something was clearly hurting him - a lot. He could no longer get comfortable at night and it was breaking my heart. I could no longer sleep because I would wake up every time he would groan or cry. I felt that his lymph node in his hind leg had swollen and I just knew the cancer had spread. His breath had really started to smell bad and he was producing fluid from his lungs.
Goodbye Had to Wait
I scheduled his Euthanasia for March 8th, and I took two days off work so that we could do all of his favorite activities. The vet arrived at my house at 4pm, and for the sedative they struggled to find a vein for 45 minutes which caused Finnegan to lost his patience and become quite annoyed. After our long day together and I had given him Gabapentin, he was so relaxed for most of it that I believed he had gone several times already. After 90 minutes of trying and having once got in the catheter which dislodged again. I called it off, because I didn’t want his last moments to be in such a state of alarm.
I was shaking for 2 days after the experience. I couldn’t really make sense of it, I should be happy that he was still with me but I still had the trauma of letting him go, and also what scared me is that I was willing to go through with it.
We had a great last week again, and I cried so much. I saw with him every day and told him how much I would miss him, and how much he meant to me. How I was sorry that I couldn’t fix his pain, how sorry I was that I didn’t detect his cancer sooner, how sorry I was about the times I yelled at him. I begged him to watch over me and wait for me if there is an afterlife.
I took more time off work, and Thursday arrived quickly. I took him to the river the day before to swim, and in his weakened state he was still able to dig around in the water (a trick we called ‘scuba’) and he watched a little girl splashing around the riverbank very keenly. He was wobbling and unsteady, but I assisted him to and from the water with the handles on his life vest. I gave him all of his favorite treats that day - which he enjoyed most of even with his diminished appetite.
Finnegan’s Last Day
On Friday, I woke up and started to write this post. I was having a panic attack. There was some sense of finality, since they had tried last time and the fact that two vets were coming today to ensure the catheter insertion. I leashed fin up to take him on a walk but he grabbed the leash and stood still. He didn’t have the energy to go on a walk or he just didn’t feel like it. This had become a frequent occurrence over the past month, but that was Okay today. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want.
So I took a fire axe and smashed the top layer of ice off my pool. I grabbed his life jacket and clipped it on. He looked up at me so proudly and with so much gratitude. I told him ‘Fin, let’s go swimming!’ and he bounded into the icy water that looked like an ice flow with all the broken ice across its surface. I threw one of his water toys in the shallow end, not expecting him to do too much, which he took off after, swimming with the beautiful form he always had. I helped him out of the water by his life vest and overjoyed, he ran onto the lawn and threw himself over into a roll, rolling side to side on his back kicking his arms and legs into the air in absolute bliss.
We did a couple more swims until he was utterly exhausted, I helped him out of the water and he was very unsteady on his feet. I told him we were going to dry off, and helped him to the garage where his dryer is mounted to the wall. We had a routine where I would tell him “blow blow” and he would run to his spot in the garage to get dried, which he did for one last time.
I sat in silence this time as I brushed him out and dried him. The moment utterly surreal. I didn’t want to believe this was happening. He just looked at me lovingly while I dried him completely and brushed out his matts.
I brought him inside with 15 minutes to spare and gave him some water and some treats. I sat with him on the living room floor until they arrived, cradling his head in my lap.
From the Stars - My Best Friend Forever
This time they struggled to insert the catheter also, he only protested briefly when they tried his hind leg for the third time, but this time it had worked. Fin was already asleep in my arms when they asked if I was ready for the sedative. Fin was dreaming now, before the sedative was administered. He was snoring deeply with his head in my lap and I was telling him about how much swimming we would do tomorrow. His paws were twitching as if he was running in his dreams. I gave the vet the go ahead to put the sedative into his catheter.
I told him how much I love him, I kept telling him hoping he could hear me, and he stopped snoring. He went totally silent. I held him for a minute until he started snoring again. The vet offered us the next step. I don’t think I had cried so hard in my life when I said yes and just held onto his head, tickling his ear. I knew he was gone when I felt a sudden temperature change in his ear. I looked up at the vet who whispered ‘his heart has stopped’. My boy was gone. They left my house to give me some time alone with him and I just wailed. I wrapped him in his favorite blanket and assisted them with taking him away.
Finnegan went so peacefully and with so much dignity, the same that he was afforded in life. From the stars, my best friend forever. Finnegan - I love you so much.
An Epitaph to a Dog
*When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth, Unknown to Glory but upheld by Birth, The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below. When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen Not what he was, but what he should have been. But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his Masters own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour’d falls, unnotic’d all his worth, Deny’d in heaven the Soul he held on earth. While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debas’d by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit, By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who behold perchance this simple urn, Pass on, it honours none you wish to mourn. To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise; I never knew but one — and here he lies.