Goodbye to you, my trusted friend…

The busy summer ended last month at our dog boarding facility. Almost all went well, except that we lost a dear friend, whom I very fondly nicknamed “Queen Elizabeth”. I always thought it was a fitting nickname for a vivacious 12-year-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel from England. Small statue, easy going, vibrant and energetic despite her age, and so loving of everyone. I really miss her. We all miss her.

It was raining that evening, when one of my staff, with her body and head intentionally turned away, asked me, “Red, is she still alive?”. My heard dropped.

“No.”

“Did she get to see her family one last time?”

My heart sank further. I tried to keep my voice stable.

“No.”

My staff said, “I knew it.” She still didn’t look at me. “I didn’t ask until now because I didn’t want to know the answer”. I didn’t have to see her face to know tears were rolling down. She didn’t want me to see her crying. I’m the pack leader at my little dog boarding place. I need to stay strong and stable for everyone, all of our humans and dogs. I didn’t say anything further. I kept a nonchalant face at the time of the conversation, but my tears are streaming now as I’m typing this in my own home. I, too, need a closure for the event that happened.

It is always, always hard to lose a beloved pet, a much cherished friend. As a caretaker of dogs, I’ve met and said goodbye to many, many dogs. Some moved away, to another city, to another country, to another family. And then, there are the ones that crossed the rainbow bridge. No matter the cause, old age, accident, illnesses, it is always heartbreaking to know that a beloved friend is gone. I am always reminded of how short a dog’s life is, that TODAY could be the last day, the last time we see each other. TODAY could be the last time we laughed together, gave a belly rub, gave a treat, ran after water from the sprinkler, pulled a tennis ball out of unthinkable places, licked my face, went on a walk together, during which you went bonker seeing that cat in the bush and ran yourself into a tree.

Because next week or tomorrow, I could receive message from the dog parents that their dogs – my friends – have died.

Red was with us for about a year, spending all the holidays at our place and always a pleasure to have as a companion. She was 11 when she first came. I freaked out, of course. I asked about her medical history, diet, activity level, home routine, everything. I asked for vet clearance for boarding and emergency contacts. She came in for her first stay, lively, energetic – and hilarious. The little lady had a distinctive nasal bark, which she reserved for anyone and anything she met for the first time, us included. On her first day, she barked at everyone in the team – her way of greeting. It wasn’t loud or aggressive, but it was very distinctive, like someone almost lost their voice after the cold but just couldn’t stop talking. The greeting didn’t stop there. When we took her out for the first walk… well, the whole street stared at us, because… she barked the whole way out and back at all of my neighbors. Thankfully, it happened only once to people and things she met for the first time. (when we had new staff a few months later, the new staff was also treated to an earful of her greeting on their first meet – fair enough from Red :))

Christmas and New Year passed. Lunar New Year came and went. Easter, spring break. We’d have Red at the holidays. She was always super energetic, leading the group walk, even going ahead of the younger dogs. Rest of the day was spent napping. It was like a Jekyll and Hyde thing – Red was a racing car when walking outside, and then in “park” mode once inside (except for meal times, of course. You’d never see a dog running to the dining area faster than her).

Summer came. We noticed she was walking slower and started panting earlier. We informed the parents. She came home for a couple of weeks, then came again for a second summer stay. This time she was licking dry ground nonstop when on a walk. We were alarmed. Parents were informed and would take her to the vet when they returned. Two weeks into the 2nd stay, one time past midnight she suddenly woke up, walking around and gasping for air. It was less than a minute, then she was back to normal and fell asleep again. In the morning she was all energetic again and eager to greet the day time staff. 3pm she suddenly started gasping again and coughed up blood. We took her to her vet. The You-Know-Who – Notoriously Overpriced And Comparably Incompetent VET in Thao Dien That Shall Not Be Named, As They Have A Long Record of Threatening Everyone Who Ever Left A Negative Review or Opinion of Them Online. Clue: they’re the most expensive vet around here.

4.30pm that day in the vet office was the last time I ever saw Red alive. To this day, I still wonder if I shouldn’t have taken her there, or if I did the right thing by taking her there. I had called Red’s parents before going to the vet, and at the vet office, they video-called Red’s parents again. “Heart murmur” and “her breed” (Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) were mentioned by the vet, followed with “I can’t promise anything but we will try our best.”

“We will need to keep her at the vet overnight for monitoring.”

And then I was escorted out of there.

I was supposedly an unrelated third party who shouldn’t have any business being in their vet office, nor worthy of being informed of what was going on, notwithstanding that I (and my entire team) care for and love her very much. When I called a couple of hours later (during their working hours) to ask about Red, the receptionist said the vet would let me know later. I never get any calls later, so I called again. This time, the receptionist coolly informed me, per their privacy policy, they were not allowed to disclose any information to third party. I was worried sick and almost yelled into the phone “Is she still alive?” They finally answered, yes.

I messaged the parents, asking them to keep me updated. The next day as my panic subsided, I remembered Red was on a gastrointestinal diet and her kibble was still at my place. I called to ask if I could bring her food in. Receptionist said yes. When I brought the food in, I asked how Red was doing again. They didn’t want to answer. When I pressed for information, the person said she was in intensive care but they were not allowed to let me know anything else. I asked if she ate anything and drank any water. They said no, she hadn’t eaten or taken water since arrival yesterday. That heavy-hearted feeling you got when someone you know and love was diagnosed with terminal illness washed over me. I walked out, drove back to my place, and did my work as normal as I could. I asked Red’s parents if the vet updated them. They were on a different time zone so communication was always delayed. They said the vet asked them to make a decision within 24 hours. I asked if they’d tell the vet to allow me and my team to visit Red one last time. We wanted to let her know we care and love her a lot before she goes. The next day the parents got back to me, vet said no visit allowed. And just like that, Red was gone. We never saw her again. Vanished. No visit allowed, no communication allowed, per their “privacy policy”.

This particular vet has a long history of threatening people who leave them negative reviews. You’d see or hear from aggrieved pet parents from time to time, but when you look again, can’t find them any more. Their gross negligence, incompetence and callousness always go together, hand in hand, in every one of those grief-stricken stories. Of course, I know, that there are probably many satisfied clients whose stories I never hear about.

Perhaps I am biased because I’ve had a bad experience, or my grief, stranded in anger, is still clouding me.

It all came back to me today when a similar clinical case was discussed by practicing vets at a veterinary course that I audit for. When details of the case were being analyzed and remedies and treatments were being discussed, this thought struck me “They could have tried so many other things, so she could have met her parents one last time – to know that she is well loved before she goes.” “Why didn’t they allow any visits? Do they not care about how the pet feels dying alone in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers?” I’m sure they’d bring up “quality of life” and “humane treatments” as a reason or excuse. In Vietnam, incompetent officials covering up and concealing information are rampant. Was that a factor in this case? Did they have something to hide? Why were they so shady?

Anecdotally, my (expat) dog trainer friend had a similar experience and agreed with me about how coldly this vet treat people who are not the pet owners. Also anecdotally, when I mentioned my case, the other vets immediately told me, that particular vet has a reputation for recommending euthanasia whenever they don’t know what to do.

My takeaway from this whole ordeal is: one, spend every day with your dogs as if it’s your last, and two, invest time and money into finding and building a good relationship with a competent and reliable vet whom you can trust before your dogs ever need serious treatments for anything. As for grief, it will never get any easier when you lose a friend, ever. But you need to learn to live with it and honor their memories going forward. In my case, I always donate to the shelter whenever one of my friends passes. Food, toy, bedding, cleaning detergents, harness, leash, money, anything that can go forward – so that the world is a better place because my friends have been around on this Earth.