The Passing of Maurice the Pug Dog

Last week I had to make the worst decision of my life, a decision I was praying I would never have to make.

 Our Pug Dog Maurice, a loved member of our family, for the past nineteen years, a ripe old age for any dog, was on his last legs, in fact, he had been that way for quite a while.

 

 

 When we first adopted Maurice, he was named Aramis, he didn’t look quite the type to be a musketeer though, so, my daughter re-named him Maurice, rather strange, I thought, at the time, where on earth did that come from? But he did grow into his name!

 

 

Our good friend Robert, who makes a yearly trip to visit us, had already said his goodbyes to Maurice, twice, when returning to England, but, after his last trip in September, there were no goodbyes, “What’s the point?” asked Robert;

  “He’s going to outlive us all”

 

 

 

Dimitris, my daughter’s boyfriend, when visiting, would say;

 ”Maurice, are you still alive?”

 Then, things changed, Maurice looked worse, it wasn’t a joke anymore, people were now asking me what I was going to do about him.

 At this point Maurice was still capable of getting in and out of his basket, he was eating and although we did have accidents, he was still able to walk outside to the “Loo”.

 

 

Maurice did look terrible though, just skin and bone, and rather wobbly on his legs, it took him a while to “Get going”

 I decided that when he could no longer get out of his basket, well, that was the end.

 When that time came though, I couldn’t do it; instead, I lifted him, in, and out of his basket to eat and to go to the “Loo”.

 

 

The situation deteriorated, I was washing his bedding three times a day, and I couldn’t keep up with it.

 Every morning, on waking, I would pray that Maurice had died in the night, peacefully, in his sleep.

He didn’t do me the favour.

 I talked to him, begged him to go, but Maurice just hung on.

 I was being selfish, thinking more of my own misery, than the misery of Maurice, I felt guilty, I felt terrible, and I was a wreck.

 

 

The only thing on my mind, from waking in the morning, until going to bed at night, was Maurice.

 My family tried to persuade me to make the decision, bite the bullet, I knew they were right, I agreed a couple of times, yes, alright, tomorrow, but when tomorrow came, again, I said no.

 

 

Last Monday, the family was all here for a meal, and the subject of Maurice was brought up, yet again, I came to my senses, this time, I thought of Maurice, not of myself.

 MGG (My Greek God) rang the vet, Maria, she was at her surgery, but would come as soon as she closed.

 It was only six o clock, the surgery finished at nine; I had three hours of hell to get through.

 It was suggested  I take Maurice there, to Maria, to avoid an excruciating three hours, but no, Maurice was going to die, here, at home, with all of us around him, I owed him that much.

 

 

MGG went down to the bottom of our garden, the resting place of Amos, our boxer dog, who died at the age of twelve, and of Ziggy, our groenendael, who died at the early age of only four years, and of my friend’s dog, a beautiful blonde cocker spaniel, Daisy.

 

 

 

 

 

MGG dug a space for my darling Maurice, in the garden, where once, Maurice had happily frolicked about with his friends, he was now about to go and join them all, there in doggy heaven.

 

 

With these three aforementioned dogs, we had been lucky, they died naturally, and as sad as it was, no nasty decisions had to be made.

 The doorbell rang just after nine, I thought my heart would break, I held Maurice in my arms, said my last goodbye and Maria, who was so sweet and kind, did what she had to do.

 

 

I hope, with all my heart, Maurice didn’t understand what was happening, and that he is now, once more with his friends, Amos, Ziggy and Daisy.

 

 

 

Maurice had gone and I was devastated, but also relieved, he was out of his misery, I had done it, got it over with.

Maurice, my little friend, I’ll never forget you, just as I have never forgotten your three friends.

I wish you all a happy reunion.

 

 

 

Now, it’s just you and me Hugo;

 “Are you missing your old pal?”

 

 

Hugo, we’ll get through it together.

 Hugo is our other pug, he’s eight and a half years old, and, as you can imagine, right now he’s being spoiled to death!

 

 

 

There is nothing sadder than an old dog.I say now, that Hugo will be our last dog, but, you know what they say;

 “Never say never”

 

Postscript

 

Less than a year after writing this post, Hugo, who was left all alone, had had enough, he went to join his pals in doggy heaven.