Loving the Sh*t Out of an Aging Pet ❤️

P.S. Friendship post-kids, unpreppy monograms, the perfect hair claw, and more

Dear Kate,

For a while now I’ve been dreading asking you about how you navigated having an aging pet.

Well, we’re here.

Last week Ty woke up early to find Molly, our nearly 16-year-old lab, lying listlessly under the media cabinet next to her dog bed. She had had a messy accident in the middle of night—a regular occurrence these days and common for a dog her age—so that didn’t concern him like the fact that she wouldn’t budge or lift her head. He thought she had had a stroke. I got up and we lay there on the floor with her, telling her how much we love her and stroking her velvet ears.

But she was breathing fine, and her nose was cold as it should be. I could still see my girl in her eyes. So in a last ditch effort to rally her, I brought one of her favorite treats up to her mouth—and she ate it. She eventually got up when she heard breakfast hitting the bowl, took her morning walk like a champ, and has been herself ever since. Upon further reflection, we think she had gotten stuck after trying to escape the mess and was too exhausted and sad to move.

This isn’t the first time in the last year or so when I’ve thought she was nearing the end. In addition to incontinence, the back legs that used to carry her up mountains, down beaches and across city parks like a prized racehorse are now sometimes too weak to stand. She sleeps more. Eats less voraciously. And while her smile and spark are still there, I can tell she’s frustrated by her age-related limitations—and that Mom and Dad thought white rugs were a good idea. I don’t blame her one bit; there are days when I tell her it’s okay to go if she’s had enough of this nonsense. We’ve gotten more time with her than we deserve, and I have a hunch she’s sticking around to take care of us, just like she always has. My gratitude that Molly chose our little family moves me to tears on a regular basis. But I also miss the younger her sometimes, and that makes me feel a little guilty.

I guess my question is: how do I make the most of this time when there’s no way to bottle it? And, knowing that you’ve lost a beloved pet, is there any way to prepare for the end? –Elizabeth

Oh Elizabeth,

I am so very sorry you and Ty are going through this. I’ve known Molly as long as I’ve known you, which is to say I’ve never known you without her. There’s nothing easy about any of it. There just isn’t. The timing of your question is uncanny—this past weekend I saw Kumail Nanjiani’s stand-up show in Minneapolis. He had a very funny and poignant bit about how much he loves his cat, Bagel. Bagel, or “Everything Bagel,” as he calls her, is also aging and suffering health issues. He shared the agony of not being able to accept that her declining health means she won’t be his playful, aloof kitty forever. He also described the pure hell and occasional absurdity of trying to care for a geriatric animal. Apparently cats notoriously resist swallowing pills, so much so that Nanjiani had to resort to some off-market apparatus to make it happen. He likened the experience to us humans eating a bowl of spaghetti in a restaurant and finding five Tylenol in the middle of the dish. Why do we think our pets will stand for this?!

Barnes, our English cocker spaniel, never did. He’d conveniently eat around whatever peanut butter or soft white bread I’d try to bury a pill in. This month marks three years since Barnes passed away. It happened more suddenly than what you’re experiencing with Molly, but it was no less painful. I had to meet him in the hospital after he’d already passed. Upon seeing him on his wheeled bed, wrapped in a blanket, I doubled over on to him for a final hug and succumbed to the deepest, most uncontrollable sobs of my adult life. If I’m honest I’ll tell you that the intensity of my emotion surprised me. My relationship with Barnes was … complicated. I never felt like I was a good enough dog parent to him. He irritated my neighbors (running through their yards, even into their homes) and constantly kept my guests on edge (never missing an opportunity to swipe food from plates and tables). Yet he was charming, lovable and hilarious. He was an absolutely vital member of our family for 13 memorable years. It took me months after he died to quit feeling the sensation of him sleeping in the nook of my knees.

This is a long way to say I don’t have the first clue how to bottle time while you have it, Elizabeth. Molly’s comfort is everything, though I know a moment doesn’t go by when you aren’t seeing to it. I think that’s the thing about pets—they demand an everydayness and a presence that somehow reaches the deepest chambers of our hearts. You have a hunch Molly is caring for you as she’s winding down. This means there’s wisdom in her final moments. Knowing Molly and knowing you, that will bring peace to you both. –Kate

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P.S.

Elizabeth goes BTS of The White Lotus in Thailand—and lives to tell about it. She would, however, have been hot and bothered without a claw clip. A nail-biter of a movie worth downloading the Fandango app for. Suddenly looking for reasons to wear more socks. Also here for the less preppy monogram. Current food crush. The Gap giving Gen X in the best way. Saw this illuminator in action and dang it is dewy perfection. Rejoice, fellow My So Called Life fans! Reflections on friendship after kids rings true. Because this is the point.