What dogs can teach us about life and death

What can the end of a dog's life tell us about ourselves? I am trying to extract meaning from this painful moment, but the question might seem mundane or absurd.

I had thought I was very fortunate.

My dog is 11 years old. If dog year calculations are accurate, we are both in our 70s.

The best life is now. He lives until he can no longer be bitter or self-pitying.

We have had pains and problems despite our differences. Don't get me wrong, he is still young at heart and can be as playful as a dog.

The long beach walks are longer, we step a bit more gingerly down the stairs, and can't seem to sit down or stand up without some sort of sound. After embarrassing ourselves, we learn what we can do.

I no longer take those boot camp classes because they would make me immobile the next day. It is losing his legs during a squirrel chase or stumbling while hopping onto the back seat of the car that is what it is for Ernie.

I have not handled his infirmities with as much grace as he has. He enthusiastically takes his pills in the morning and night, because he likes the smell of bacon, chicken and cheese. He doesn't want to miss his medication.

I went searching for the perfect place to live in retirement and got lost along the way.

A diagnosis for Ernie

The horizon that marks the place where Ernie's life ends is no longer hazy. A lump inside of him was found to be a sign of cancer. Six months is most.

I will ignore the enormous expense, but any attempt at saving a dog's life would be a very long shot.

I know that he doesn't have a clue that his time on earth will be shorter than mine. His knowledge may be a blessing for him, but it presents a lot of emotions for me. I don't know how I can save him and keep a part of my life. He can't tell me what he wants me to do.

Or can he? Wisdom can be learned from the unknowing. Ernie is free from fear. He doesn't worry about what to do with the rest of his life because he's too busy with the moment. He doesn't have a bucket list, the only thing he cares about is the one that holds his food.

The best life is now. Without bitterness or self-pity, he lives until he can.

After telling me the news and running down the many bad options, our vet advised me to put him in the car and have a good cry as I take him for a romp on the beach. Through her tears, my wife agreed we should do what she wanted for herself.

It's difficult to decide whether to pursue punishing, life-extending treatment in the shadow of terminal illness.

If we are lucky, we have built a web of connections with family and friends. We value a life with dreams that are yet to be fulfilled, and we have an awareness of ourselves. Our fear of losing love is also a factor. What are we willing to do to keep it all?

See how they differ.

Lessons from our pets

We have the power to decide when our life is no longer worth the pain or suffering when we have a pet. We aren't legally given that power over our lives yet.

I have heard from friends who have recently lost a dog or cat that they faced the same choices that we are now. They're also deciding to regain freedom from daily responsibility and the heart-breaking grief that accompanies the sickness and death of a beloved pet.

I think there may be more to it than just getting back some time. End-of-life decisions will be faced by those in our 70s, 80s or 90s. Maybe two or one decade. It is an occasional and uncomfortable topic of conversation for us all.

A friend of mine who was ravaged by cancer and only days away from death asked to be carried to the seashore, where he laid by the surf and under the sun.

He asked his friends if this was a beautiful day.

I want to make each of his remaining days beautiful for him. When the time comes, I wonder if that is the best we could ever do for ourselves and for those we love. The days are in the hundreds or dozens.

I will struggle and try to keep that close to my heart as I face death and eventually mine.

I have always been haunted by the lines in Mr. Bojangles.

He spoke about how his dog and he traveled.

The dog up and died.

He grieves after 20 years.

I will grieve for that long, and that will be for the rest of my life.

I might be around long enough to be granted another dog, an example of how difficult it is to live the day one at a time. I hope so.

A former executive producer of NPR's All Things Considered and a former producer for 60 Minutes.

NextAvenue.org and Twin Cities Public Television, Inc. granted permission to reuse the article.

More from Next Avenue.

• Dementia in Pets: What You Need to Know
• How to Make Plans to Provide Care for Your Pet If You Can’t
• What Extending the Lifespan of Dogs Could Mean for Human Aging