Saying Goodbye to Peanut
TW: loss of a dog
Two days ago I had to say goodbye to my buddy of 12,5 years: my dog Peanut. My Peanie. My heart has been shattered ever since and I can’t stop crying. He truly was my boy, our souls connected; I don’t think anyone ever understood me as well as Peanut did. He just got me. He always knew when I felt off, when something wasn’t right. He would be there. Staring at me, directly into my eyes, felt like a stare into my soul. He’d do that. And he’d sit near me. We didn’t need words, we felt each other.
It was not entirely unexpected that a goodbye was likely going to happen this year, at some point, as he had developed severe heart disease, but I did not expect it would be this soon. What started as a visit to the emergency for, hopefully, ‘just’ an increase in his medication, ended with me walking home, alone. By my choice, in a way, but what a choice to make. I would have preferred to run out of the room instead, clutching Peanut under my arm. But what good would that have been, especially for him?
And so I made the impossible decision. I keep replaying those mere 10 minutes over in my mind, and heart. From the ‘conclusion’ of the cardiologist, to calling my husband and daughter. My daughter, 2.5 years old, not getting it, of course, and happily saying “BYE PEANUT!”. My husband’s eyes filling with tears. Then calling my mother, telling her what was about to happen. More tears. (For some reason I wanted them to come up with an alternative solution, a way out of this, with Peanut, alive. But, no.) And then to it actually being over. Just like that. From hoping that a few extra pills will “fix” him, at least for a bit longer, to him being gone. GONE. In 10 minutes, tops. I still feel the sensation on my lap, as I held him while it was happening. I didn’t want to, I did consider leaving the room. But how could I do that to my boy, especially after making this horrible decision for him. So he got comfy, was put to sleep, and then he left. Just like that. My lively boy - lifeless. The sensation that I keep feeling on my lap was from that exact moment. The moment he was gone. His body right there, but his soul departed. I raised my arms and felt so extremely uncomfortable, having his body on my lap, I nearly started hyper-ventilating. I can’t describe what it felt like. Life leaving his body. But I felt it.
It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make and honestly, I don’t know whether I can ever ‘get over’ having had to make this choice. To end his life. I thought if it’d ever come to this, Peanut would already be at the stage of not engaging, not playing, not eating, not walking. Then it would have been easier, maybe. But he did all that. To me, he was still himself, except for his cough.
Besides the immense heartbreak and grief, I feel a lot of guilt. Guilt that has been building up for 2,5 years - since I became a mom. Always my number one, he suddenly was ‘dethroned’. Our life changed, our routine changed, our home changed, our quality time together changed. My attention for him changed. It decreased. I lost myself in new motherhood and I worry he felt abandoned. That worry has stayed with me ever since then, and probably will forever. Nobody ever warned me about the guilt I’d might feel.
While my body keeps reliving the last seconds of Peanut’s life, my mind keeps replaying all the beautiful times we’ve had in those 12,5 years. And also the beautiful times we missed out on. There are many “I wish we had…” thoughts. I wish I had picked him up more to hang out on the couch together (this also changed once we had a baby). I wish we had done another walk in Berlin Mitte like we had done for so many years. I wish I had pet him more. Cuddled him more. Included him more. I wish I’d had the chance to give him some nice treats, for the last time. I wish I had taken family portraits together with him. More photos. I wish I had kept up with his Instagram account, so I could now look back at all the moments, without a gap from the last 3 years of not posting. I wish we would have had more time. And that I would have not taken the time that we had for granted. It went so fast.
My daughter has said a few times now that “Peanut is happy”, “Peanut no more coughing”. Who knows, she’d might know. Regardless, I take solace in her words. And I hope she can, at some point, relay the same to Peanut about me. When I am not so shattered in sorrow anymore, but can think about the 12,5 years together with a smile on my face.
Peanut was a truly special dog, sensitive, caring, knowing. He had a big heart and a good soul, and many people loved him. All across the world!
He was born in Langley, near Vancouver, BC, Canada, on June 1, 2012. His father a Chihuahua, his mother a Pomeranian. Peanut was the only ‘Pomchi’ in the litter that actually looked like one, his brothers and sisters had all inherited their dad’s looks. I wish I had kept the very first photo of him, with his brothers and sisters. You could already tell he had (and was) a character. Peanut was the only one still available when I visited. Because he was waiting for me, I am sure. He immediately fell asleep on my arm, the first time I held him. Instant love and comfort.
We lived together in Canada until 2015, then moved to the Netherlands for a couple of months, before settling in Berlin where we’ve lived ever since.
Peanut was there for all the big and small moments, the ups and downs, in my life. Always by my side, comforting me. I am so happy he got to know my daughter, and vice versa, but I also wish he had stayed around longer. Until I had found my way back to myself more, and to him. So that we could kind of pick up where we had left of, where our relationship had paused for the last couple of years. To have some more moments, just the two of us, like before. But all we will have now are memories. Good ones, I hope he would agree.
The last photo taken of Peanut, two days ago.