I haven't had too many bad days in my life, but today was certainly one of the worst. I had to put my dog to sleep today. Mattingly came into our lives more than 11 years ago; the secretary at an old job found him walking down the street, flea-bitten and dirty, but in good spirits. An animal lover, she opened her car door and he happily jumped inside. Whether lost or purposely let free, he obviously had not been neglected or abused, but somehow he was without an owner. An ad was placed in the paper and a few fliers posted, but no one called to claim him. She asked me to consider taking him in. I had never had a dog and was hesitant, but figured I'd agree for a week and see how it went. I wanted to name him after my favorite Yankee, and luckily his name sounded regal enough for my wife to agree.
The first night we kept him in our bathroom, with newspapers laid out for him to use when he had to go. We were woken up in the morning by his scratching on the bathroom door. When we opened the door he ran out and to the patio door, where he scratched again. Surprisingly, he had not gone to the bathroom during the night; instead, he went when we took him outside. I can count on one hand the times he had an accident in the house during the past 11 years; that is, up until the past six weeks.
We adopted a puppy about six months ago, and we thought she was potty trained but we were finding stains on our carpets almost daily. Of course, we blamed her. We started to notice that Mattingly was drinking a lot more water, and was losing weight rapidly. My wife guessed that he had developed diabetes, and her diagnosis turned out to be correct. The accidents were his. The diabetes had dehydrated him severely, forcing him to drink much higher quantities of water, and making him unable to hold it in for as long as he had in the past.
We took him first to his regular vet, and then to a specialist, where we learned that he had become a very high maintenance dog. Twice-daily insulin shots became the requirement, along with a change in diet and the prospect of biweekly blood sugar testwork. His quality of life had deteriorated very rapidly; he stopped playing with the kids and did little but sleep during the day. He ate less and less and drank more and more, as the insulin failed to help, even as the dosage was increased. We had some difficult discussions, and made the tough decision this week, so that he could die peacefully before he really started to suffer.
I took him to the vet this afternoon, and sat in the office with my sunglasses on, trying to keep from crying, as I am trying now. He looked so tired, and I felt both like I was doing the right thing, and like his executioner. As the nurse called me in to the room, and the vet came in, I said my final goodbyes and told him how great of a dog he had been for us. One final kiss, and I had to leave.
We'll never have a dog like him again. After the children were born, he never got the attention he deserved, but he was always friendly, well-behaved, and grateful. I've never been a person who attributes a slew of human qualities to animals, but he was a fantastic pet (and even wrote the last handful of our family Christmas letters *grin*) and was the first animal I actually can say that I loved.
I'll miss him. Rest in peace, Mattingly.
