Ten things I won’t miss when my dog dies

Sam’s 14 years and 8 months old now, and I doubt very much he’ll make it to 15. The increased dosage of Clomicalm (the anti-anxiety drug) does not appear to be keeping up with his escalating dementia. He’s having a lot of rough evenings and nights, although he’s still pretty good during the day.

I’ve been preparing myself for the inevitable for quite some time now. I know it’s morbid and not very nice, but one of the ways I prepare myself is by thinking about what I WON’T miss about him when he’s dead.

Things I won’t miss:

• Having to take him outside in brutal weather
• Trying to find a dogsitter when I go out of town
• Clouds of fur and muddy pawprints everywhere
• That doggy smell
• Cleaning his tumour
• Picking up dogshit (especially in the house)
• His anxiety attacks
• Shovelling money at the vet
• Cleaning his blood off the walls and floors
• Watching him deteriorate

On the other hand, there are things I will miss about him when he’s gone:

• Being greeted with pure enthusiasm when I get home
• Watching him run like a puppy at the park
• Pulling out clumps of his undercoat during shedding season (I know that’s weird, but I do like doing it)
• His facial expression when he’s happy
• His love of cheese
• The way he insists on having his paw on top when we shake paws
• The way he tilts his head and furrows his brow when he’s trying to figure me out
• Watching him roll in the snow
• The way his face looks after he plunges it into fresh snow
• Waking up to find him curled up in a cozy ball on his duvet
• His zen-like delight in life’s simple pleasures

There are other things too, but I already miss them because they’ve been gone for awhile.

For example:

• His absolute responsiveness to me
• His keen sense of hearing
• His intelligence
• His communication skills
• His powers of observation
• His phenomenal speed and agility
• His watchdog instincts
• His sense of humour
• His cheese ESP
• His easy-going nature
• His house-brokenness

Update: While I was writing this, he was sleeping on the floor beside me. I had an urge to pull clumps of fur out of his undercoat, so I sat down on the floor and busied myself with that for awhile. He gazed adoringly at me for a few minutes, then dozed off again while I continued. I pulled enough clumps of fur out of his undercoat to furnish a whole other dog. It was so peaceful and pleasant, and I was gently pulling out the clumps and thinking how much I was going to miss our quiet clump-pulling times. And then he shit. Right then and there. In his sleep. It’s the first time he’s ever done that; I hope it’s not the start of something new. If it is, I am not going to miss that when he dies.