The toughest decision in my life

Iknew when I finished the 6,000mile flight home that I was going to have decide whether it was time to end my best friend’s life.

The veterinarian had told me that Flynn, our 12- year- old Australian shepherd, was in grave condition, that he wasn’t walking and probably wouldn’t walk again, that he wasn’t responding well to treatment, that he had nasty bedsores, that he could neither go to the bathroom nor eat on his own, that the prospect of him ever returning to his beloved home were dim, that it might be beyond time to end his suffering by the time I got back to California. This came from the same vet who always was optimistic about Flynn’s potential for recovery, even when he was in the most punishing and exhausting epileptic seizure clusters.

Flying home from Europe is always grueling, but this time it was unbearable. I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t sleep, I physically ached, all because I knew Flynn was suffering and the person he loved most wasn’t there to either help or make the decision that would end his pain.

After getting home shortly before midnight, I went to the vet’s office to see my best buddy first thing in the morning. I was hoping beyond hope that despite nine- plus years of epilepsy combined with the usual aging of a large 12- year- old dog, that Flynn would be miraculously better by the time I saw him. I was hoping beyond hope that when he saw me he would remarkably rise and walk out the door with me.

None of that happened. The dog I talked to, hugged and loved that morning was a tired and terribly sick old guy. He didn’t rise. He hardly moved.

I think he recognized me and I believe a couple times he even cuddled into me, but maybe I was just being optimistic. The doctor and one of his assistants said he also was now suffering from fevers and had made only minimal improvements, if any at all, in his week in the hospital, despite all of the intravenous feedings and medications.

This was just too hard on him. I knew it was time.

I told him I loved him and always would and hugged him hard and long. The doctor administered the dose and Flynn died in my arms, the arms of true and deep love.

I have never been so sad. Both of my parents died, but at least they knew what was coming. I don’t know what Flynn knew. I just wanted his suffering to end. And I believe he did, too.

I still ache in my soul and body as I write this. Flynn was the most loyal friend I’ve ever had. He lived for me. He lived to be with me and make me happy from the time we brought him home as a 7-week old puppy.

I always was flattered by his love and devotion. Along with being the smartest dog I’ve ever been around, he was a truly pure and good soul.

Flynn made me a better person. In his opinion I was the greatest being to ever walk the planet, and I tried hard to not disappoint him.

It really is remarkable that Flynn lived for nine years with such virulent, violent form of epilepsy. Much credit goes to Dr. Craig Satow and his staff at Desert Veterinary Group in Imperial, who treated Flynn and rooted for him through the many tough times he had. Credit also has to go to my wife, Sandra, who cared for and deeply loved Flynn and was the one other person Flynn truly loved.

When we brought Flynn home for the first time, I remember saying to his adorable little puppy self: “You and I, my new best friend, are going to become old men together.”

We made it, Big Boy.