Posted on 2024-07-03
Our family dog, Shanti, died 4 days ago. It happened quickly. On Wednesday, she had a clean bill of health after visiting a cardiologist for a suspected heart problem and we all expected we would have a few more years with her. On Thursday she suddenly got ill and my brother rushed her to the emergency vet. On Friday we learned that she had a tumor on her heart that was causing her chest to fill with fluid. It could be drained, but there was no treatment and it would just keep happening every few hours or days. On Saturday she died resting in my brother's arms with him, his girlfriend, my aunt, my uncle, my grandma's caregiver, my parents, my sisters, and me telling her how much we loved her.
Most of us weren't there. My parents were with one sister for her graduation the same day. My other sister was in Ontario doing her field research. I had just arrived in France for a conference, jetlagged and running off of trail mix. We joined a video call and spent an hour talking to Shanti and making sure she knew we were there and that we said everything we needed. She seemed to understand what we meant, like she always had. My brother had given her all her favorite foods, various meats, tomatoes, and popcorn, and made sure she was surrounded by her favorite toys and blankets. It was the best we would've hoped for under the circumstances.
I went right to bed after, and spent the next few days running around at the conference, not able to process what had happened.
I was around 15 when we got Shanti. I was opposed to getting a dog at first since I was both too immature to take care of a living creature and mature enough to recognize that limitation in myself. My siblings, thankfully, won out with empty promises about how they would do everything to take care of her. I was never her favorite person, but she loved to play with me and would stick by me when others were busy. By that point I was certain I was trans and was wracked with dysphoria, but too afraid to come out to anyone in my life other than her. She didn't care what I thought about myself or who I was, I was just the person who would chase her with a toy or play tug of war even when I had other things to do. In the months and years after I finally came out and things were strained with my human family members, my relationship with her didn't change. I was the same person through it all, and she showed the same love and attention.
In the years since I've become more self confident and developed a new, better relationship with the rest of my family. Shanti continued to be there as my friend whenever I visited home. A constant presence in the house, a beloved part of the family for every dinner, or movie, or party, or birthday. She helped us all deal with my grandma's stroke, my siblings and parents deal with the isolation of the pandemic. She was everything you could want in a dog. I wish she could somehow comfort us now.
I know she lived a good life. I know none of us live forever. I know I'll be lucky to be half as comforted and loved as she was when I reach my final days. I know I and my family will be grieving her for a long while too. She got me through such a difficult portion of my life, and I know she did the same for others in my immediate family as well. She deserves this reaction from us. She earned it. Through this, I can only try to focus on the gratitude I have for getting to have such a good dog in my family.
Thank you for everything, Shanti. You were the best girl.