Saying goodbye to Lily

Today brought a reminder that rescuing dogs is not always a happy experience. This morning I made the decision to euthanize a foster dog because she was suffering and was not going to get better. No one who rescues dogs wants that kind of outcome. We rescue dogs to save their lives, not end them. But part of rescue is making the difficult decision when it has to be made, and Lily was one of those decisions.

I had Lily, age roughly 7, for only three days, but she was in our rescue for nearly three months, having battled several other health issues, including kennel cough and a serious infection, in the interim. A volunteer from the Tampa area pulled her from a shelter where she had been left. She had a microchip, but when the shelter called the listed owner, she claimed she had given the dog away to someone. When pressed for details about the someone, she said she couldn't remember.

When the folks in Tampa got Lily, she had a distorted skull, or a "large, hard, bony protuberance," as I later read in her medical records. The first I heard about her was last week, when I was asked to keep her at my house for a couple of days while she underwent tests at the nearby University of Florida vet school. At that point all I had heard was that Lily had "a lump on her head." So I wasn't prepared for what I saw. Lily's head was grossly misshapen, as though her skull had been implanted with a rock the size of a potato. One side of her head was higher than the other, and the growth was so large that it had pulled her skin unnaturally tight, making her eyes wide and turned up at the corners, like a woman with a bad brow lift.

At my house, it was evident that Lily wasn't feeling well. She stared blankly and her eyes were lifeless. She shook her head, was wobbly on her feet, and seemed exhausted and defeated much of the time. I was looking forward to hearing what the doctor would say so we could make a decision right away. Our super-volunteer Bob came by to get her Monday morning, then called half an hour later to say he had gotten the appointment date wrong; it was next Monday. My heart sank because I didn't know whether she could -- or should -- stay alive until then.

The UF specialist had seen Lily's ultrasound and had made a preliminary diagnosis of multilobular osteochondrosarcoma, or MLO. It is a benign tumor that apparently has a pretty good cure rate if caught early enough. But Lily was not an early catch. This tumor was huge, and she was symptomatic. Surgery is the only option for these tumors, and I'm not a big believer in putting dogs through huge surgeries where the benefits are questionable. I discussed her situation with others in rescue, and we agreed. So in a way, the appointment snafu was a blessing in disguise. The plan had been to have her tumor biopsied, but why? No matter what we found, surgery was unlikely to be a good option for Lily.

So the goal became to try to keep Lily comfortable enough to make it to her appointment, just to hear what the specialist had to say. We tried to be encouraging with each wag of the tail, and she did eat and drink and pee and poop until the end. But she was existing, not living. On Monday night I came back from an errand and found her in a heap on the floor, not moving and unresponsive. I didn't know what was wrong but I rummaged around and found one Rimadyl, a pain medication, and gave it to her at around 9 p.m. She woke up the next morning almost bouncy, which confirmed that she had been in pain the night before.

I decided to get a supply of pain meds from the vet, hoping they would carry her through to the appointment. But subsequent Rimadyls did not have the same miraculous effect. She was just out of it.

On Tuesday night, my husband let her outside in the dark to go to the bathroom, and she didn't come back in right away as usual. He said she was just standing there in the dark. I went to look and that was exactly what she was doing. I had to call her several times before she came in. "This isn't good," he said, and at that point I decided to make an appointment with our Lab Rescue vet.

I decided to keep an open mind and listen to what our vet, Dr. Shores, had to say. I explained Lily's situation, ending by saying that I was asking myself whether it was in her best interest to keep her alive at this point. He was unequivocal: No. "If you had something like that in your head," he said, "how do you think you would feel?" That was all I needed to hear.

I stayed with her throughout, petting her and telling her how sorry I was. I thought of my two dogs, whom I've had since puppyhood, and how lucky they've been to have lives unscathed by disease and abandonment. Life is just unfair sometimes, to people and to animals. Lily was one of the unlucky ones. We take some comfort in knowing she was loved by her foster families during her final days. But this was not the outcome anyone wanted.

Rest in peace, sweet girl.