Rest in peace Terry Dog in Age 35

My Jack Russell Terrier died on 7/27/2023. He was born on 02/07/2007. He was alive for 16.5 years. I know he lived a good life. He was spoiled, had a loving home, and we gave him a sister dog a year after we got him. They played together very well. She was more dependent on him because she was socially anxious. He was her security blanket.

We got him 11 years ago when we first bought hour house. I worked night shift at the time and my husband felt weird being in a house alone at night. (It was our first time moving out of our parents home. He was 23 and I was 24. ) He was usually brining his parents pet to stay with us during my stretch of work days. We went to a no kill shelter and met with about 3 dogs before I finally saw Terry through a window. He was laying on one of those dog beds made of PVC piping and fabric. He was chill, kinda sad, but cute AF. He looked like the dog from the Wishbone show.

He was a gigantic pain in the ass for being only 11 pounds. He was energetic, loved to cling around people. He was a social slut. He loved people in all forms. He was the dog that kids easily went up to because he was so friendly. He stupid stubby tail would wag so fast. I swear he would fly from propelling....He would escape our backyard. When he would be found and we were contacted, again because he so damn cute and loveable, he would be returned bathed, fed, and spoiled. He was an interesting dog.

Giving context, I am Hispanic, Mexican American, and commonly in our households pets are pets and not family. We don’t go overboard on things like other people do like bougie dog spa days, dog birthdays, and strollers....I still think that’s weird. But what I’ve noticed after having Terry is that they are a part of your family. Maybe not exactly family per se, but they are an permanent piece of the puzzle. At least for awhile. You get used to them. The way they whine, their click clacks against the floor, the way they breathe, sneeze, eat, groan, even how smelly their farts are. Ew.

Now with him gone I notice these things more. We knew he was close, but with it being my first dog, and my husband’s first dog that was not euthanized, Terry was both our first that passed naturally. He was no longer eating, he was incontinent, and when he did eat he would not put on weight. He was emaciated. We were making preparations to euthanize him on Sunday 7/30. And its almost like he knew.

On Thursday my husband noticed that he was slower than usual, but he was still walking around and alive. Again, he was my first dog and I didn’t recognize the signs of a dog dying. By the time I came home, I had to pick him up to put him on his favorite pillow bed. That’s when I noticed how truly weak he was. I began our usual end of the day routine with bathing the kids and putting them down.

My family is used to a pretty strict routine so Terry knew exactly how the evening would go. I think he knew, because I had put my daughter down to sleep. Then as I was walking out of my son’s room after he feel asleep around 915 pm, I saw my husband in our room cleaning something up around where Terry was laying. I thought nothing of it. He was having accidents more and more around the house, so I figured it was just that. I had last checked on Terry laying on our bedroom floor around 820 pm maybe. So within that last our....our first little life together had passed. Peacefully, in his home, in his favorite spot of the house, after he knew that the kids would be asleep.

He knew that it was time. We didn’t.

Though we had been making arrangements, I don’t fully believe my husband and I were ready. And I didn’t know how hard I would take it. I am a nurse with background in the ICU. I’m used to seeing people, adults, pass. I built up a thick skin. I see death as merciful in most cases. But I never felt it painful. This is painful. This hurts. I am grieving a dog. And again, because of how I grew up, I don’t get it. How could a pet, an animal passing hurt so much? I didn’t cry this much when the humans, again adults, passed in my life. I was contrite, solemn, but not crying sad.

I had to work in the ER the morning after he died. I was very solemn that day. Melancholy. But work was a welcome distraction. When I got home my eyes immediately scanned the room to see where he was. Its a habit. I do it every time I walk through the door. I didn’t see him and I remembered. I then looked at the closet that was left open and I saw his harness and leash. I took them in hand and fresh pain washed over me again. I came into my bedroom, where usually by the time I got home he would have assumed his position by the bed, but he wasn’t there. There were no breathing noises throughout the night from him.

Here I am on my third day. I feel bereft. Trying to find a new routine without him, but constantly being reminded that he was here. And I read the saying, “Don’t cry because its over, smile because it happened,” and I do, but man does it still suck.

I miss you Jerry Dog, more than I ever realized I would. You definitely wormed your way into my heart. You passed where you wanted to, with family, with peace. I hope you’re playing with your cousins in some awesome field somewhere. (My in laws had two Germans that passed within the last 5 years.) I will remember you always. I love you, you ODB, El Matador, The Great Goobini, the Fecking Guy, the Old Man, Larry hound…Goober. You had so many nick names.

Hopefully you don’t take your sister too soon. I need her for a bit. I really did love you goober dog. Rest in peace.