Farewell to pal who enriched our lives

Decisions are curious things. We make them every day and about all manner of things. The great majority are almost done subconsciously but others are more weighty and require much greater consideration.

The really big issues, ones that deal with an emotional investment, can be draining, exhausting even.

And so it was that last weekend, rather than recharging the batteries after a busy week, I felt myself emotionally more tired on Sunday night than on Friday.

The cause of this mental fatigue was a tough call that had to be made: to put down our beloved family pet dog. In many eyes, Spike probably didn't look that special, although most who met him thought he looked pretty lovely. Time had caught up on him and, deaf, partly blind and often stiff and sore, but he still seemed to be living a life largely of contentment.

That was until last week. There had been, of course, the occasional health issues and scares. But he unexpectedly developed an illness and was drinking a lot of water. Saturday morning came and we found him huddling, hidden away under a tree, clearly in pain.

An appointment with the vet was arranged and, fearing the worst, we made our way into town. Tests would be needed, we were told from a sympathetic vet, so we left our companion of the past 15 years and prepared to go to a birthday party, anticipating the inevitable phone call that when it came led to the most difficult decision: his liver was shot and the prognosis was not promising.

Facing possible treatment with no guarantees of an outcome, aware of the age and general health of our friendly pet, we did what we felt was right and put an end to his suffering.

That is in stark contrast to the nearly 500 dogs euthanased by our animal control officers last year. In those cases, many were unclaimed, couldn't be re-homed and were generally unwanted and unloved.

That is a far cry from our situation which induced tears and much angst over whether we were doing the right thing.

Emotionally wrought, we continued on with our weekend, conscious of the void in our lives. The children, it's fair to say, haven't really become aware of the reality. There were tears at dinner time when one of our brood asked cheerily: "Can I feed Spike?"

The week and activity around heading back to school has kept everyone occupied but every day there are constant reminders. From broken routines to bedding and toys, photographs, they are all around but will no doubt fade and disappear.

But the memories will linger. Of Spike, with the broken leg he suffered as a pup, or the excitement at going to the beach or park and how we came to be unable to say the words as he learned to recognise them, developing instead codes so he would not know we were contemplating such an activity.

There were the freezing mornings with frost making the grass crunchy - a habit that could not be missed regardless of the weather; his love for chasing the tennis ball wouldn't allow it. Strangely he never took much to sticks, no balls were more his thing.

It all reinforces the oft-espoused view of the added value companion pets bring to our lives. And really, if I am honest I wouldn't have had it any other way. He was a constant companion who went everywhere with us. And that was our choice but the best one we made was in our choice of companion.

Farewell Spike, you may be gone but you will never be forgotten.

May you rest in peace.