A letter to the dog I adopted 6 years ago and lost to behavioral euthanasia.
Dear Gus,
I adopted you 6 years ago today. Although, we knew each other a long time before I became your mom. I may have just been an employee at the vet that essentially became your second home but a piece of me always felt like you were mine. I wish I could talk to you and ask you if you felt it too. I think you did, you trusted me from the beginning. Probably because we were both neglected by the people who were supposed to love us unconditionally.
When I saw you for the first time in months, my heart broke. You were so skinny, covered in pee stains, and there was no life left behind those eyes. I could see the pain and god I was so angry. I had been fighting for you for so long, advocating for you, and doing everything I could to help you. It never was enough though. Until the day came that I could officially take you home and be your person.
That day changed both of our lives in ways I never could have predicted.
It was kind of weird at first having you in our home after spending multiple years worried about you. But you were home. You were safe. And you were loved. God I loved you so much. I still do. Even if it didn’t feel like it for a little while, I have always and will always love you.
You know, a few months before I adopted you I went no contact with my family. It was one of the most painful things I have ever gone through and the universe sent you to me at the right time. We needed each other. You needed someone who would take the time to understand you and meet you where you were at so I did just that.
Do you remember all the adventures we took together out in nature? You got to sniff, dig, run, jump on things, and just be a dog, probably for the first time in your life. I watched your confidence grow so much!
You went from being terrified of water to sticking your entire head into the creek to fish for leaves. You went from being a frail little guy to a strong and smart boy. Honestly, in so many ways you were thriving! You learned how to wear a muzzle, do silly tricks, and shred cardboard boxes. You learned the joys of snuffling for kibble in the grass, doing nose work games, and fun enrichment parties. You even started taking naps in my office which I never thought was going to happen! You were so goofy, so silly, and you tried so hard.
You also were unpredictable and unsafe. You hated strangers so much and if I wasn’t home, you hated your dad. You wouldn’t let anyone other than me touch you and often times you didn’t even want me to touch you. You struggled to sleep, you struggled to exist most days, and the only time I think you truly felt at peace was when we were alone together out in nature with no one else around.
And Gus, I know through all of that you were in pain. I wish I knew more then about the impacts that pain have on behavior and I also know that whatever you had going on was not an easy fix because of your extreme aggression at the vet. I felt stuck and like a shell of a human.
I gave you my all. Our lives revolved around you and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to give you everything that you deserved. I wanted you to have a life that was worth living. But is life worth living when you’re suffering inside of your brain and body? When every minute of your day has to be micromanaged to prevent a catastrophe from happening?
I wanted to save you Gus. I truly did. And in many ways, I think I did. Even in the end. I saved you from having to continue living in fear and discomfort.
We may not be celebrating 6 years of life together today, however I am celebrating the life that we had together and all that you taught me. You helped shape me into the trainer (and person) I am today and I carry a piece of you in everything that I do. I will forever be honored that I was the person you chose to cling onto for safety and that I was the one that got to hold you in your final moments. You will always be my hardest goodbye and the one who changed me in ways no other dog could.
I love you forever Gus. One day we will meet again. Until then, I’ll keep telling your story for the dogs out there that are just like you.
Love, Emily
P.S. Want to learn more about Gus?
Check out this blog post all about Gus’ story: The Story of Gus: Why I chose behavioral euthanasia for my soul dog.
