When it’s time to say goodbye

On December 29th, I took my little dog, Mimi to the vet.



It wasn’t a regular visit. It was one that I dreaded taking for months.

Mimi was already old when she came to live with us after my mother got sick, but as most poodles live long, she still had quite a lot of life in her. She was fun and energetic and loved to walk and follow me around. You could always find her at my feet. I can’t tell how many times I almost tripped over her!

Then, a few months ago, she took a turn.

It was subtle at first but I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. She seemed confused, started walking aimlessly looking for something that wasn’t there, walk in circles to the point of wobbling. Then she would find a wall and lean her forehead on it for hours.

My little dog was becoming senile.

She started to refuse going outside and only went inside, not because of incontinence but preference. In the later days, not only would she do her business inside but she would walk in it, dragging it everywhere. I had to confine her to a single room to limit the mess.

It was becoming unmanageable so I looked at rehoming her. Thing is, at that age, nobody would take her. Not the OSPCA, not the shelters, not even that place for senior dogs.

I briefly considered euthanasia in passing, but felt so guilty even thinking about it that I immediately deleted that option from even entering my thoughts.

But then, over Christmas, my good friend Louise was over and saw my little dog. She was such a mess. By that point, she was refusing to eat much and had lost a lot of weight. Her fur was matted and her nails too long. The last time I had tried to groom her, she had bit me, so I was apprehensive at the thought of doing it again. She was neglected, not intentionally, but because I couldn’t bring myself to do the right thing, because I felt I had no right to do it. I was waiting for her to pass away naturally at home. But then, Louise said four words to me that flipped a switch. She said:

“I give you permission“.

It’s like a ton of bricks instantly was lifted from my shoulders. I had known for a while that the humane thing to do for my dog was to put her to sleep, but my own selfish thoughts of not wanting to be responsible for ending a life got in the way. It’s weird how we value some lives more than others. I set mouse traps all the time and have no issues with that. I guess the difference is in the relationship we have with the animal. In my case, it was also the last link to my mother, who since passed away.

My son and I drove to Valleyfield. We wrapped her in a cozy blanket and carried her inside. The vet took one look at her and said “I have no issue going ahead with the procedure,” which reassured me I was making the right decision. The vet would have said if there was anyway to reverse what had been going on.

We were lead to the mourning room, a comfortable zen area for owners to sit with their pets and say their goodbyes. After a while, we rang the bell and they came in to do the first injection, the one that just makes them sleep but don’t make the heart stop. We stayed with her as she fell asleep, hugging her.

Ten minutes later, they came back and asked if we wanted to be there for the second injections. I didn’t have the strength, so they took her. I kissed her goodbye.

They brought me back the body. “Why is it still warm?!” I don’t know why I was expecting her remains to be cold and stiff. Even when I picked her up from the back seat after the drive back home, she was still somewhat warm.



The kids and I gathered in the backyard and held a funeral. We took some of her favourite toys and put them in the hole besides her. I guess the ground not being frozen this time of year was a blessing in disguise.

The staff gave us a commemorative a paw print, nose print and a lock of hair that now rests next to my mom’s urn, reunited.

After a beautiful happy long 15 years, Mimi is finally back home. RIP Mimi.