Summary

The author reflects on the life and intentional living and dying with their dog, Ala, who suffered from dilated cardiomyopathy (DCM), and the lessons learned from this experience.

Abstract

The author shares a personal story about their journey with Ala, their first puppy diagnosed with a terminal heart condition called dilated cardiomyopathy (DCM). Despite the initial hope for a simple fix, the author comes to terms with the inevitability of Ala's death. Over six months, the author focuses on living intentionally with Ala, teaching and learning from her, and ensuring her final days are filled with joy and love. The experience teaches the author about empathy, the importance of non-verbal communication, and the impact of one's actions on another living being. The author expresses gratitude for the lessons learned from Ala about intentionality in both life and death, and is now prepared to apply these lessons to raising a new puppy.

Opinions

The author believes that raising a dog requires more intention than people typically realize, emphasizing the importance of shaping their experiences for long-term success and happiness.
The vet's perspective is presented that a swift death for Ala would be preferable to a slow decline and suffering, indicating a shared belief in the value of a dignified end for pets.
The author values the process of learning to be intentional through the challenges of caring for a terminally ill pet, acknowledging the necessity of difficult experiences for personal growth.
There is an appreciation for the joy that comes from successful teaching and the bond it creates between a pet and its owner.
The author holds a strong belief in the importance of non-verbal communication, as evidenced by their experiences with Ala.
Despite the sadness of Ala's decline and eventual death, the author maintains a positive outlook, focusing on the life they shared and the lessons learned, rather than the loss.

Anecdote | Perspective

It’s a Dog’s Life (and Death)

How to live and die with intention

I knew it was coming. I had six months to prepare. When she was initially diagnosed I thought she’d take some pills and that would be the end of it. Mildly annoying, since I had to give them to her three times a day, but fixable. She certainly enjoyed the extra peanut butter.

It took a month of internet research and a forced conversation with the vet for me to learn that the pills would only make her more comfortable. She’d likely die anyway, and no one knew when or how. “The best case scenario is that she has a heart attack one day and just falls over,” the vet told me. “We don’t want her to have a slow decline and suffer.”

Ala was my first puppy and only a year old. Year old dogs’ hearts don’t fail, right? It was dilated cardiomyopathy (DCM). A long, important sounding name for something shitty.

I brought Ala into my life for a few reasons:

I had been obsessed with dogs before I could talk. One of my first words was “woofs” and I would eagerly say it as I pointed at any dog I saw. I knew I wanted one of my own one day.
I wanted to practice being intentional with another living being.

The first reason doesn’t require an explanation (dogs are awesome, we all know that) but the second one maybe does.

Raising a well-rounded and confident animal so it can live its best life takes more intention than a lot of people realize. You have to set out crafting their days and learning experiences in a way that will set them up for success both in the short and long term. You have to decide early on how you want them to think and behave, what you want your relationship to be like, and how you want them to interact with different people and situations. You want to make it so they have every opportunity to live their happiest existence. It’s a ton of work, but well worth the effort and something I wanted to learn to do well.

For these reasons, I needed Ala.

I needed to learn how to empathize with something outside of myself.

I needed to learn how to craft situations with an end goal in mind.

I needed things to be difficult sometimes.

I needed to learn how my actions affected someone else.

I needed the joy of teaching successfully.

I needed to know the importance of non-verbal communication.

I needed her.

She did fall over one day, but it wasn’t as quick as the vet and I wanted. It was slow, and hard, and there were days when I cried when Ala wasn’t around, because I could see what was coming and how confusing it was for her.

But, I was determined to be intentional, even in this. I knew I wanted whatever time we had together to be about life, not death. So even though she could tell something was wrong, I made sure not to act like she was dead already when we were together. No crying. Instead, I told her every day how much I loved her and showed her she could enjoy herself even if we did have to stop and take a rest on our beach walks every now and then. We hiked together and chased geese together and watched the sun come up and go down together while we could. Together and intentionally joyful.

When she finally fell over, I stroked her fur and thanked her for it all.

I’m now ready to get my second puppy, and I’m finding myself wanting to thank Ala all over again. She gave me so much that I will carry with me in raising my next dog. I’m grateful for what she taught me about being intentional, in both life and death. There are a million more things to learn, but Ala brought me one step closer to the important ones. She gave me what I needed and then some.

So one last time: Thank you, Little One.

If you’d like to read more about Ala, I wrote another article about her before I knew the end of her story.