Simba, 9/95-7/07
July 15th, 2007
Yesterday was a bummer.
I received a phone call from my sister-in-law Friday afternoon informing me that my Golden Retriever, Simba, had taken a turn for the worse. In early April, I noticed a large (lemon sized) bump on his back. After bringing him in to see a vet, he was unfortunately diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. The vet informed me that it would be foolish to try to battle such an aggressive strain of cancer for a dog in the twilight of life.
So for the last few months, we had watched Simba transform from a strong, energetic dog into a shell of his former self. The tumor on his back grew to the size of a small watermelon, and Thursday night actually broke through his skin. Friday morning he woke with a fever, and could barely move. So after a long conversation, my wife and I decided that it was time to euthanize him. His condition was only worsening, and we couldn’t bear to have him suffer.
So I woke early Saturday morning, and made the 110 mile trip to San Francisco (Simba had been staying with my sister-in-law for the last week) to put my dog down. Most of the drive I spent in contemplation, remembering the times we spent together, and how I could have been a better owner, and provided him with a better life.
I picked him up shortly before 10AM at my sister-in-law’s, and after lifting him up and putting him in the back of my pick-up, we made the journey to the vet’s, just 10 blocks away, though it seemed an eternity to get there.
Upon arrival at the vet, we waited in the reception area until they were ready for us. Simba wanted to mingle with the other dogs in the office, completely oblivious to his imminent demise. After waiting for approximately 15 minutes, we were ushered into a small examination area, equipped with little more than a x-ray machine and an examination table.
After speaking briefly with the vet, I gently picked Simba up and placed him on the examination table. The vet told us what to expect (it’s basically an overdose of anesthesia), and assured us that he would experience no pain whatsoever during the process. So we spent the next couple of minutes saying our goodbyes while the doctor prepared the solution.
And then came one of the most difficult and powerful moments I have yet to experience. As the doctor administered the lethal injection, I held Simba’s head in my arms, and whispered “I love you” over and over again into his ear. I placed his nose against my mine, and felt the warm, salty tears begin to flow freely down my cheeks and onto my lips. I squeezed tightly and assured him that everything was going to be OK. And then, he was gone. His eyes, though still open, were completely unresponsive, and his body was limp. I peered into his eyes, only to see a small refection of myself staring back at me (I wish I hadn’t done that - that image will haunt me). I couldn’t get his eyes to stay shut, so in an attempt to avoid that death stare, I folded his left ear over his eye. I then held him for another minute or two until my sobbing had subsided.
Once the ordeal was completed, I hopped into my truck and sped home as fast as I could. My in-laws wanted to take me out to lunch, but all I could think of was returning home to sulk on my couch. So I drove home - silently the entire way. When I got back, I held Simba’s collar in my hand, and took one last trip where we used to take our daily walks. When I got home, I couldn’t contain the emotion, and stood bawling in my kitchen for a few minutes - it felt great to let it out, alone and unfettered.
Simba, you were truly a great dog, and you will be missed. Thank you for all the great times we had. Thanks for letting my kids pull your ears, ride on you, and treat you as their own amusement park. I could not have asked for a better dog - I love you Simba.
July 15th, 2007 at 2:22 pm
Greg:
Even though we just talked on the phone, reading your message just now made me cry like a baby. Simba was an absolute sweetheart of a dog. Just like our kids that doesn’t happen by accident; it’s the result of being in a nurturing, loving home. You and Lily provided just that for Simba and consequently he turned out to be the lovable joy that he was. It’s easy when our loved ones are slipping away or have already left us to question ourselves and wonder if we did all we could for them. I know – when we had to put down Sheba 3 years ago I went through the same emotions. And I’ve certainly experienced similar feelings with the human loved ones that I’ve lost as well. You and Lily were ideal guardians and I hope you will both find comfort in knowing you made his 12 years on this planet such a happy experience. Rejoice in his memory.
My heartfelt condolences to you, Lily and my grandkids.
Love
Dad
July 15th, 2007 at 5:01 pm
Man I am sorry for your loss.
July 15th, 2007 at 5:46 pm
What an emotional and extremely touching post. Although I have met him briefly on our walks around that big old park, he seemed like a dog that had lived an extraordinary good life. And I am sure Simba was all too happy to play the role of an amusement park for your kids.
July 16th, 2007 at 8:12 am
So very, very sorry to hear this Greg. I can’t even imagine what its like to lose a buddy like that.
July 17th, 2007 at 8:39 am
I am sorry to hear about your loss man. I know your pets and family mean the world to you so i can only imagine the pain you are feeling.
If you need anything just let me know brother.
B
July 17th, 2007 at 9:44 pm
Dear Greg,
It’s been 3 days since the ordeal and I still cry everyday over him especially when I drive through Golden Gate Park. I will probably always associate that park as being the place where I spent my alone and quality time with Simba. Unfortunately, that will include the dreadful morning of July 14th when AJ and I walked with him as he left his final marks in our world.
Simba- I miss you dearly. I miss your greetings everytime I come home from work. Thank you for being a beautiful dog. Thank you for all the walks in the park…and oh, the things we saw! Good-night and sleep well. I love you.
July 17th, 2007 at 10:35 pm
Sorry to learn of your loss… I can hardly see the keyboard because my of the tears in my eyes. Dogs are family to most people. My Dad is about 80. All of his childhood possessions have come an gone over the years but he still has the collar of his dog from childhood. For him, it was like loosing a brother.
July 20th, 2007 at 8:51 am
My condolences Greg. I’ve also had to do this about five years ago now to a wonderful dog, but he was suffering too much and it was the humane decision. It did not make it any easier to see, and my wife did precisely as you describe, hold on to him tightly all the way. I do remember the moment and it was quite sad. All the best to you and your family. Your dad’s post here is very touching, take comfort in all that love.
I’m very glad I found your blog. Came after finding an entry on the Canon S3 (which I own), and found this entry about Simba (which I have experienced), and the one about Thich Nhat Hanh (I practice in that tradition).
Thanks and all the best,
N
July 21st, 2007 at 1:48 pm
Greg
It has been one week since you have had to say goodby to Simba. I know that it has been a difficult week for you. When the pain eases, and it will, celebrate the 12 years you spent together. You, Lil and the kids will always have great memories of your time individually and as a family with Simba.
As always Greg, you are in my heart and my thoughts.
Love,
Mom
August 2nd, 2007 at 1:21 pm
Greg, you did the most compassionate and loving thing you could for your dog rather than see him go in in pain. Some people cannot face feeling that they “killed” their dog - it is a totally different thing to bring an animal gently and lovingly to the end of what might otherwise be a very painful and ugly death.
It may take a long time for you to get over being sad. Don’t rush yourself, Simba would have had to have been one of your closest friends (I’m assuming since I don’t know you). Cry, remember and don’t feel you have to ‘put it behind you’ (something people have suggested to me on the death of both pets and partner). Nature takes its course.
I admire you for sharing your heartache. You are obviously a caring and sharing person as I see that both your folks have put really nice, supporting comments on board.
Best wishes
Shelley
September 5th, 2007 at 2:44 pm
SORRY TO HEAR OF YOUR LOSS, I’M SURE HE APPRECIATED A GOOD HOME AND LIFE WITH YOU!! MY DOG WAS NAMED HAMMER. WE SPENT YEARS TOGETHER TRAVELING THE COUNTRY, PANNING FOR GOLD! HE LOVED SWIMMING IN THE RIVERS & CREEKS! I’M CURRENTLY SAVEING FOR A TATTO OF HIM IN HIS RED BANDANA, & SUNGLASSES (THE WAY HE TRAVELED WITH ME ON THE PASSENGER SEAT) PEOPLE IN TULSA, WOULD SHOUT HELLO TO HIM BY NAME, FROM THEIR CARS. WHEN READY, SHARE LOVE AGAIN!!! SINCERELY, TOM HAMILTON
September 10th, 2007 at 10:09 pm
Feel Sorry for your loss. I too have a dog, and I’m afraid of the day he leaves me.
September 24th, 2007 at 5:13 am
Absolutely, touching post, and i just happened to have dropped by your blog.
I am sorry about Simba..
February 23rd, 2008 at 9:56 pm
I can empathize on so many levels. I did a google search because I had to put my Golden- Simba down three days ago. He was 14 years old and I’d been told by every vet that examined him that he would die young because he had a bad heart. He was the most loyal and charismatic dog I had ever had. I finally had to bring him to the vet for the final time because his back legs and hips were shot. What was so painful was the puppy like face and disposition that never left him. I too looked into his eyes once he was gone and could’nt close his eyes. In the movies (at least with humans) this always works. I miss him terribly and expect to see himeverytime I come home. I’m also thankful to have had him for as long as I did.
April 29th, 2008 at 6:32 am
Hey, Greg, I just stumbled upon this website accidentally and five minutes later i was in tears. I have a golden retriever myself, his name is jacob and he is such a lovely pet, though we treat him more as a family member than a pet(he eats at the dinner table with us)
but just imagining what i’d feel like if this were to happen to him reduced me to tears, which is no easy feat seeing as i snapped my wrist yesterday and didn’t even complain. I just figured I’d message you to express how truly sorry i am to hear that this happened to simba and to thank you for not letting him live in pain
Yours Sincerely,
Gav