This past Monday morning, after watching her decline throughout the weekend, we brought Cricket to the vet to end her life. She was sixteen years, two months and three and a half weeks old.
So many times over the past weeks and months we had thought Cricket was nearing the end, and we told ourselves that if she was in the same state in the morning we’d take her to the vet and put her to sleep. Almost every time, Ellie would sleep in Mom’s room overnight, instead of mine, watching over her sister, but when morning came, Cricket would wake up ready to try again; demanding to try again.
Except, in the last few weeks, each time Cricket bounced back, she was a little shakier and a little more uncertain than the time before. We held onto what the vet had said, that if she didn’t eat for three days she was suffering, as our guide, because we didn’t want her to suffer, but we also didn’t want to cut short her life, even a day sooner than necessary.
She still needed the ACE (doggy valium) in order to tolerate her daily subcutaneous fluids (I still have the bite marks from the few times I tried to do it without the ACE, even in her last week), and I was able to take advantage of her time on the ACE to do some grooming that she would never have allowed otherwise: making sure she was clean, and could see as clearly as her foggy eyes would allow, and could grip the floor with her feet, even if she didn’t have perfect control of her legs.
So many people who would never think of assisted suicide for a family member, think it is the only compassionate thing to do for a pet, and I see their point, and even agree with it most of the time, but each time someone hinted to me that it was time to let Cricket go, I disagreed. Dogs can’t speak the way we can, but after sixteen years I knew Cricket, and I knew she wanted to stay as long as possible and she wouldn’t appreciate us making that decision for her, even if it was made with love and compassion and a wish to save her from further pain. But also, however much I want to believe in the Rainbow Bridge, and heaven, and the persistence of the soul beyond the body, I know that death is final. Even if there is something that persists after death, it’s not the same as the life we know.
And I kept thinking of Dina, our lab mix who died at sixteen years and two months of age. Dina couldn’t hold herself up anymore by her last day, but she was still eating, folding herself around her bowl of food. At the time, the decision to let her go was made because Mom was going away to New Zealand for a few weeks and I would be left alone to care for a dog who couldn’t see or hear and was crying in pain. But it still felt too early. If Mom hadn’t been leaving, we wouldn’t have gone to the vet on that particular day. We would have waited. It may have only been one or two more days, or a week, but I felt guilty for that decision. I still don’t know if it would have been right or wrong to wait longer. Maybe there’s no right or wrong in this.
Our goal with Cricket was to make her as comfortable as possible; to maximize her happiness and minimize her pain. The prolonged hospice period was hardest on Mom, because Cricket insisted on sleeping next to her Grandma, and if she couldn’t wake up in time to get to the floor, she’d pee on Mom’s bed (we had a special set up to protect the bedding, with a wee wee pad and towels and mats, but it wasn’t always enough). But even with all of that, Mom didn’t want to let her go either. So we waited, and we did our best. We spent a lot more time holding her, and wrapping her in towels and blankets to keep her cozy. Her bones were sharp under her warm t-shirts, but we worked hard to hear everything Cricket was saying, about what she wanted, and what she could tolerate.
At a faculty meeting for synagogue school, the week before Cricket died, we did an exercise for the holiday of Sukkot where we passed the Etrog (the citron that’s used as one of the four species for the holiday) around the room. The Etrog, this oversized, lumpy cousin of a lemon, is said to represent the heart, so each of us was asked to hold the Etrog to our chests and say what we were holding close to our hearts right then – a goal, a person, a moment of joy, a realization, etc. – and I said Cricket, I’m holding my dying dog to my heart, and then I went home and literally held her next to my heart for hours.
That night, or the next, when we carried Cricket outside to join Ellie for her evening walk, her friend Kevin, the mini-Goldendoodle, heard us and came running, and Cricket’s little tail wagged and wagged, and she pushed herself to walk faster to get to him, to follow him, to sniff him. After a little while she got worn out and came over to rest by my leg, to let me know she was ready to go back inside; but just seeing her with him, perking up and finding joy in his presence again even for a few minutes, reassured me that we were doing right by her.
And then, a few days later, she stopped eating, and then she stopped drinking. She couldn’t stand up on her own anymore, even though she desperately wanted to, and we knew it was time. Her life was so full and rich and complicated and true, and she gave us every last drop of herself and squeezed everything she could out of her one life, but it still felt too soon to let go. Maybe it always will.
When we came home from the vet, I started to clean: doing load after load of laundry, picking up the wee wee pad path, folding Cricket’s t-shirts and sweaters and putting them away in the closet. And the apartment felt so quiet without her; so big and empty. But then there was Ellie. She was confused, sniffing the places where her sister should have been, looking to us for an explanation, and then climbing up onto the couch for comfort, keeping us close to her so she wouldn’t lose anyone else.
It will take all of us some time to get used to a world without Cricket. It doesn’t seem real, or even possible, that she’s gone. I think part of me believed that Cricket would live forever, because she wanted to, and because her spirit was so indomitable. The idea that she, like all of us, was mortal, just feels impossible. Her presence is everywhere is our lives, and her absence is everywhere too. But I take great comfort in the knowledge that she knew, all her life, no matter what, that she was loved.
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my Young Adult novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
rachelmankowitz 
I think we all believe that they will live forever ❤ Hold Ellie close ❤ ❤ ❤
Thank you!!!!
I am so sorry to hear about Cricket. We’ve sent more than our share onwards over the last 40 years. You will find another.
Thank you!
I’m so sorry for your loss, what a wonderful companion and friend, cricket was
Thank you!!
So, so sorry to read this! My heart aches for you.
Thank you!
Rachel, I grieve with you in the loss of your beloved Cricket. You have shared so much about both Cricket and Ellie via your blog that I suspect many of us who follow you have come to love them just by what you share with us. The decision to put our four-legged children out of misery is difficult and one of the most courageous things that we can do. I pray that you, your mom and Ellie will find comfort with each other while you grieve her loss. She gave you many years of good memories to cherish.
Thank you so much!
A tough but right decision. It was Cricket’s time. You loved her to the end and she knew it. That’s why you could let her go. Hugs and blessings to you all.
Thank you!
It is a difficult decision. Pets become family and so loved. My sincere condolences.
Thank you!
I’m am so sorry for your loss. It’s difficult to make the decision the let a fur baby go. I’ve made the decision 5 times for my furs and it’s never easy. You want to make sure it’s the right time and not take any minutes of life away. The Rainbow Bridge gives me hope because there’s more to life for our furs just not in this realm. Hugs!
Thank you!
Rachel, let me extend my sincerest condolences to you, Ellie, and your family. Your love for Cricket shines through every word of this beautiful post. She absolutely knew she was dearly loved.
Thank you so much!
“But I take great comfort in the knowledge that she knew, all her life, no matter what, that she was loved.”
And the most important!
It is the most important!
RIP, cricket!
Thank you!
It is always too soon to say goodbye. 😪 I am so very sorry for your loss of Cricket.
Thank you!
I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet Cricket. They trust us for help at the end and as hard as it seems, it is our final act of love. I have an old beautiful dog too. While the change happens slow, there is a day that it hits you hard that the time is near. Thank you for helping her when she needed you the most 💜
Thank you!
Sorry about your loss l know it is never easy to live a pet let alone one that is part of the family. I can’t say that it will be easy but remembering and cherishing all the memories both good and bad will help you ease the pain. Best wishes to you always.
Thank you!
You’re Welcome
I’m so sorry. Our beloved pets just don’t live long enough. Cricket had a wonderful life with you.
Thank you so much!
I am so sorry, Rachel.
Thank you!
It never feels like the right time. Then, we too often feel like we didn’t wait long enough or we waited too long. I feel your pain. I understand. I’m so very sorry. Amy
Thank you so much!
I’m so sorry. It’s so hard.
Thank you!
I’m so, so sorry Rachel. Please keep the happy memories closest to you -Nancy
Thank you!
So sorry to hear about Cricket. I’ll miss just seeing her pictures on your blog posts.
Thank you!
We’re so sorry to hear about Cricket, take care.
Thank you!
It is so beautiful that you write for your love for her this way. After all, love lasts forever. May you heal as best as you can. Sending you warmth and comforting wishes.
Thank you so much!
Oh, dear Rachel, my heart breaks for you, your mom & Elie (sp.?). I know Cricket is in a much better place, a peaceful place. Our dog is not doing well either, and a friend of mine’s dog isn’t either. Maybe dogs sense the sadness of this world, too. You and your mom are great pet parents. I will say prayers for you all. ❤️
Thank you so much!
I’m sorry little Cricket has passed but Cricket will be waiting for you on the other side of that bridge.
I hope so. Thank you!
Oh, Rachel. I’m heartbroken. Not like you must be, but still…. I’m so sorry. I love your dogs as I’ve gotten to know them through your blog. Sharing in your tears.
Thank you so much!
Rachel I’m so sorry. I know her from your stories and feel like I’m losing her too.
Thank you!
Dear Rachel –
What a heartbreaking and yet loving tribute to your beloved Cricket.
My deepest condolences to you and your mom (and Ellie too!).
As I write this my 13-year-old dog, Pepsi sleeps at my feet. Like Cricket, her health has been in decline, and we’re dreading the day when we’ll have to say goodbye to her.
Take solace in knowing that you and your mom provided Cricket with a home full of love and warmth — Cricket was lucky to have you — and you were lucky to have Cricket.
Sincerely,
Geof Reilly
Thank you so much!
Hi! Sorry for your loss. Our Bichon Frise died in January of 2020. Our pets are a big part of our family. I still miss my Corey. Sue
I think we will always miss them.
Many hugs and condolences on the passing of Cricket. They bring so much joy into our lives and it is hard to have that joy end. More hugs.
Thank you!!!!
SO SORRY for your loss my fur baby. (((HUG)))
I’m so sorry Rachel…
Thank you!
I am so, so very sorry Rachel. Special hugs for Ellie who will be grieving her loss as are you and your Mom. I feel for you all, but your love for Cricket and hers for you will be with you forever.
We love our fur babies so hard and so deeply, it is devastating to let them go. Three years on, we still miss Maggie. 18 years on, we miss Barney too, and 33 years on, Kizzy, the dog I had when Hubby and I first met. They are always in our hearts, and if a new fur baby comes along, our heart expands to take them in.
The heart is an incredible organ, but those growing pains hurt like crazy.
I know Rachel. Much love to you all ❤
Thinking of you and sending love as I know the pain of loosing a loved one that lingers in your heart forever. You saw her through and gave her a good life.. xo hugs❤️🙏🏼
Thank you!!!
💗💖💓
I am so, so sorry for the loss of Cricket….
Thank you!
I’m so sorry to read this – I’m sending you much love!
Thank you!
So sorry for your loss. We had to put our Bassett Hound down back in the spring of this year too. It’s so hard to lose those animals that are a part of our families. May God bless you in your grief and be reminded of the beloved times you had together.
Thank you so much!
So sorry to read this. But also you knew you did your best & waited until the time was right (as much as it ever can be for these things). Take extra good care of yourselves.
Thank you!
Oh no! Sincere condolences, Rachel. So sorry for your loss.
j
Thank you!
No matter how long we have them, it’s always far too short. I mourn with you the loss of Cricket.❤
Thank you!
Goodbye sweet Cricket. You shall be sorely missed. Sincere condolences to Cricket’s human family for your loss.
Thank you!!!
So Sorry
Thank you!
Thank you for giving Cricket a good home, and a happy life. I’m glad you two found each other and had some wonderful years. You helped each other so much so often.
And thank you for sharing stories about it all. Condolences, Michael
Thank you!!!
Oh Rachel. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. Please take comfort in knowing that Cricket was loved by all, even those of us who only knew her from the blog. Sending you, Ellie, & grandma thoughts of healing and peace.
Thank you so much!
I’m so sorry for your loss, but in the end you gave Cricket a great gift by letting her go. And with your gift her pain and suffering were gone but her spirit will live on. God’s speed Cricket as you pass over the bridge. Free dog! Run like the puppy you are once again. 🙏
She was an amazing runner once upon a time.
So sorry to read this beautiful but sad telling of her last days and her passing. I feel your sorrow, your loss. May she rest in peace. And may you find peace in her memory.
Thank you!
This brought tears to my eyes, Rachel. I offer you the comfort of these scriptures:
“For I know that my Redeemer lives, And He shall stand at last on the earth; And after my skin is [a]destroyed, this I know, That in my flesh I shall see God, Whom I shall see for myself, And my eyes shall behold, and not another” (Job 19: 25-17).
“The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, The leopard shall lie down with the young goat, The calf and the young lion and the fatling together; And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11: 6).
Thank you!
What a beautiful life Cricket had. I am so sorry for your loss. As I read your post, I was reminded of my amazing dog, Max. It has been over two years and I still miss her.
I don’t think it ever goes away; I hope it doesn’t.
So sorry to read this. I love reading about cricket and I know what a huge hole loosing a beloved pet leaves in our lives.
Sending love x
Thank you!
I am so sorry to hear this. Rest in peace, Cricket.
Thank you!