He was only 8 weeks old when we brought him home after answering an ad from The Trading Post. He was advertised as a Pomeranian for $600, but being Asian, I managed to negotiate the price to $500. Looking back, I think the seller was relieved to get rid of him.
We named him after the movie “Prince Caspian”, from The Chronicles of Narnia.
He turned out to be a completely different breed. He was 2 sizes bigger than a Pom and he was a handful. Nevertheless, he brought us 15 years of joy. Sure, there were moments of frustration, like when he dug out my parent’s plants to examine what they had planted, or when he ate an entire mooncake from my mum’s god offering, or when he opened the sliding back door with his nose when he saw a gap and made himself comfortable on the sofa.
He was like the naughty younger child. He knocked over a jar of preserved kumquat we had in our family home for 20 years. My mum was super mad!
He was a wuss who was afraid of other little dogs and would run in the opposite direction when he saw one coming towards him. And he was a big fluffy cannon ball that knocked Bibi to the side when there was food.
“Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day.”
― John grogan, Marley and Me: Life and Love With the World’s Worst Dog
Every time I visited, he seemed to have aged, and every time I left, I was afraid he wouldn’t be there when I visited again. This time when I saw him, he was a lot older. He was slower and he slept a lot. He doesn’t respond to me anymore, he couldn’t see or hear very well. He struggled to get comfortable and would stand there and stare into space.
Last week, my brother called to tell me he took him to the vet because he screamed when he tried to pick him up. The vet did an x-ray and saw a lump in his chest. He was prescribed painkillers as a temporary solution. The vet didn’t think it was worth putting him through treatment given his age. The last thing we wanted was to see him suffer. So, we made the tough decision to put him to sleep.
But I felt so conflicted. What if there’s a chance he would recover after surgery and be his old self again? Who am I to deny him of life? But what if I’m putting him through unnecessary stress and suffering? He hated going to the vet. It stressed him out. He usually hid under the chairs in the waiting room whenever we took him there. What if I’m only keeping him alive for my selfish reasons? To relieve myself of guilt for leaving him with my parents and not being around for half of his life? The guilt never really goes away when you move away, and everything that was part of your old life goes on without you. The pain was too much knowing that we had to decide his fate for him. We were being cruel to be kind. But right now, it just feels cruel.
He was surrounded by family in the last few days of his life. He was fed chicken, his favourite food, and I know my family did everything they could to make him comfortable. I was comforted by an article I read that dogs don’t care if they live to their next birthday or to see Christmas. They want to be happy day by day.
Yesterday evening, his body stopped taking food.
He was booked in for 4 pm on 14.02.24, but he passed away at his favourite napping spot at home on Monday morning.
He’s not just a pet. He’s family. I love him with all my heart.
Until we meet again… rest in peace, Caspian.