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 
Awww this post brought tears to my eyes. I’m so sorry for your loss. RIP, beautiful Cricket! Big hugs to you, your mom and Ellie! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
Thank you!
My heartfelt condolences.
Thank you!
So sorry to hear about Cricket. Every time you think of her, she will be with you.
I hope so. Thank you!
So sorry to hear about Cricket. May you find comfort from your memories.
Thank you!
So sad for you, I’m going through something similar with my dog Tarka at present. Be strong and remember the good times you’ve had xx
Thank you, sorry you have to go through the same things.
Hugs.
There are no words. Only feelings from the heart. I am so sorry for you all- Cricket was a very big spirit!!!!
Thank you!!!
Very sorry to hear about lovely Cricket. And very brave of you to write about her. Thinking of you all. X
Thank you!
My heart goes out to you. I have a very close family member myself, her name is Charlie and she’s a Hav-a-Poo (Havanese and small Poodle) She just turned 7 yrs but still acts like a puppy. She loves to terrorize the cat Aiya when she’s bored. There are no words when it’s time for Charlie for me. Be ever more present and supportive for Ellie as I’m sure you are. Keep your memories of Cricket as she will always be in your heart.
Thank you!!!!
I strongly agree with your thought of there being no right or wrong in waiting longer. For Dina, she’s in less pain and found relief because of your decision and (at least to me) you made the best possible decision for her. Remembering Cricket, I feel for you Rachel, your Mom, Ellie, and Kevin. And as I look at the photos of Cricket and Dina again (especially their expressions), I believe that both of them knew that even if they’re gone they’d also be remembered because they knew they’re loved. Hugs
I hope so. Thank you!
🥹😭 tears make up the rainbow 🌈 bridge … 🪽 sending lots of ♥️ felt love and 🙏
Thank you!
I am so so sorry for your loss! I know how impossibly difficult it is and I have no words to offer, just all the good vibes I can send. You are so strong for being able to write about these final days – I never could.
Thank you!
Heart breaking but full of understanding and love. So sorry for this loss. Thank you for writing about it.
Thank you!!!
Sorry to hear, Rachel! Cricket was loved by so many through your words. We will miss her.
Thank you!!
So sorry… We had our Smokey for 17 years and it was indeed like loosing a child.
It really hurts.
So sorry for your loss.
Thank you!
No matter the circumstances, it is still such a shock to lose a pet/friend. Thankfully, memories of joy and love remain…
Absolutely. Thank you!
Rachel, my Labs and I are sending hugs to you, your mom and Ellie. What a blessing to have all the posts and pictures that chronicle your journey with Cricket and commemorate the very special place she will always hold in your heart.
You’re so right! Thank you!
So sad. Sorry to hear. Been there. Cried and cried. Very hard thing.
Thank you!
Much love to you and those who truly knew and loved Cricket. Letting go is much harder for us than thise moving on, but they sense our need and saty until we are ready if possible. She was a cutie. Hugs. ❤️
Thank you!!!
A lovely blog. God bless and comfort you and give you His deep peace. I’m so sorry about your loss…but I believe it is only temporary and you will be together again in Heaven, Meanwhile, may God wrap you tightly in His love.
Thank you!!
RIP, Cricket. You must be missing him so much. So sorry for your loss.
Thank you!
Having a nine-year-old blue heeler who is my comfort and joy, I wonder what those future last days will be like, and dread them. Cricket had the best possible life and left it knowing the most love imaginable. That’s all we can do.
Thank you so much!
So sorry to read this, she seems to have been a wonderful dog and a great friend. Rest In Peace, dear Cricket.
Thank you!
“The idea that she, like all of us, was mortal, just feels impossible.” This is such a profound thought, Rachel. I am terribly sorry for your loss.
Thank you!!!
Virtual hugs. So sorry for your loss. I have read so much about Cricket I felt I knew her. I can say she will always be with you in spirit. You can imagine her happy and content chasing butterflies in the fields of Heaven up above. I hope Ellie feels better after some time has passed and at least you can give her all your love and support.
Thank you!!!
I’m sorry you have to say goodbye right now. Not too long ago I had to say goodbye to my cat – we tried to keep him comfortable as long as we could, but likewise we reached a point when I knew he was suffering and I did not want his end to be prolonged and painful. We got to hold and pet him when he was euthanized.
I also found myself thinking about how we often think that the same thing we see as necessary for our pets, is considered abhorrent for humans. Working in heathcare, I have met many people who voiced readiness for the end and a wish for their life to be over. Yet, for some reason it is treated as pathological (depression!) when maybe acceptance of the course of our life would be much healthier and more peaceful.
I wish you peace right now as you remember Cricket.
Thank you!!!
Sorry to hear that. My eldest dog is same age and has been declining.
It’s so hard.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Rachel. My heart goes out to you. ❤
Thank you!
Sending love and healing thoughts. 💜
Thank you!
I forgot to mention the following earlier (and maybe the following has already been done, but if it has not, I’m sharing this idea with you for Ellie and Kevin): Maybe pictures of Cricket could be given to Ellie and Kevin and/or pictures of Cricket could be put in places near them where they can easily see her and make them feel less alone and make them feel like (and/or know that at least in this way) she is still with them and maybe even (maybe spiritually) still sees them and thinks about them.
Such a sweet idea! Thank you!
My condolences. We had to put down our 15 year old dog years ago when he started getting dementia, and I still remember that experience. I do think assisted suicide should be available for humans — I would want to spare that pain of seeing my decline for my loved ones.
It’s so hard to do. Even when it’s the right thing.
This was such a beautiful account, thank you for writing it so honestly. I have a little 4 year old dog who is my first dog and I struggle with the thought that one day I will lose her, and maybe it will be through having to make the decision to put her down. I appreciated reading about the rights and wrongs of making that decision. I can only hope I’ll get strength to make it if it ever comes to that. Sending sympathy to you on the loss of your much loved dog.
Thank you so much!
I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s so difficult losing a pet.
Thank you!
I’m so sorry for your loss, Rachel. I know how much sweet little Cricket meant to you.
Thank you!!
I’m so sorry for your loss, Rachel. I feel like I’ve come to know Cricket through your stories about her. Sending love.
Thank you!
I’m so sorry to hear you lost Cricket.
Thank you!
I’m so sorry to hear about Cricket. They are so loved and members of our family. I know how hard it is to let them go.
Thank you!
I am so sorry Rachel, their loss leaves a hole in your heart and home. Cricket had such character. You did the right thing but it is so difficult to let them go, it never seems like the right time.
Thank you!!
This story is so lovely. Not just because it is beautifully written, but because it perfectly captures that terrible struggle we experience when we know we have the power to end our pet’s pain, but are reluctant to do so because we know it will deepen ours. Every time I’ve had to let one go, I tell myself that life would be worse than terrible if we could manage to feel no grief, no pain, when we lose someone we love. It’s true, but it doesn’t make it better.
This is a dangerous suggestion, but have you ever heard of Keith Olbermann? He’s a sportscaster/political commentator with (an often annoying, arrogant, and infuriating) podcast, but I listen to him anyway because of his brilliant use of language. Episode 96 of Countdown with Keith Olbermann is “May I Introduce Stevie and Mishu,” about two of his beloved Maltese rescue pups. His story about Mishu’s short life and death made me ugly cry, but in a good way. And it also made me realize that even annoying, arrogant, and infuriating blowhards can love their pets as deeply as I do, and anything that humanizes people I dislike is a good thing. It’s worth a listen, when you’re ready.
Thanks for the recommendation!
I am so sorry to learn about your loss. I loved reading about her. Thinking of you!!!
Thank you so much!
I’m really sorry about Cricket.
Thank you!
You know I feel the need to apologize here as i haven’t checked in on your posts recently (the world, life, shit that pisses me off distractions or even moments of a complete 180 that bring a little light) but I am so sorry for the miss you feel. Know that I feel your loss and offer whatever thoughts thoughts may amount to. It’s a deep heart hurt but a one that was full for so long. Last days but all days. You hang in there, from me and my own Cricket and my too many other Crickets. We were a them and they were a we. We worked life together.
Thank you! It helps to know I’m not alone.
You are not.
I’m so sorry, sending you so many gentle hugs
Thank you!
😞😓
I just read this, Rachel. Man, I’m so sorry. It brought tears. I know how close you were to Cricket. I had a dog once, the one I dedicated my book to, whom I got when he was 2 months old. Ruddy was his name (RuddyMyHeart in full). Used to go with me everywhere. We probably hiked many thousands of miles together. We were inseparable.
He died at 15 1/2 years. I had to have him put down. He had twisted his stomach the vets said. Was suffering. Just before I took him to the vet that night, he walked with me on the street, still faithful as ever. His potty walk. But it was hard for him. He trailed behind. Having him put down was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life (and I have done some really really hard things). I felt like I was being torn in half. Our pets just seem so much better than the machinations of clever people. They reassure us that there is still good in this world.
And now with Musty, another dog that we’ve had since a 2 month old pup, and another dog that’s on his last legs too. I saw a bumper sticker once. Dog is Love. Yeah.
Absolutely.
I hope your memories of Rudy stay with you as a blessing forever.
So sorry to read this. Cricket,s adventures and endeavours have entertained us for so long, It was a good life, I know, Condolences, however late.
Thank you so much!
We feel very sorry for your loss…
Thank you!
So sorry to read this. I love the photos you have shared of Cricket. She will be truly missed. My heart felt condolences to you and your family for your loss.
Thank you!
Sorry for your loss. I still remember how I felt when I had to put mine down, after all these years. Heartbreaking. 😦
It really is. Thank you!