Peppi

We bought Peppi, my dog, from a rescue center when I was 1 years old. I was petrified of her when I was little (apparently I always made my parents pick me up and carry me around the house whenever the puppy came close to me). Naturally, I grew to love her with my whole heart. I grew up wither her, and like most households, we considered her as a family member. We loved and adored her.

When I began Sixth Form Peppi turned 16 years old; very old for a dog. With age she found it hard to walk, hold her bladder and food, and began to have seizures. I distinctly remember two specific incidences. I found her the first time she had a seizure and panicked. I came downstairs and found her in the corridor half sitting; she was trying to stand but her back-legs wouldn't straighten and she was shaking with a scared, sad look in her eyes. I immediately cried; cried tears and cried out for my sister upstairs. It was heartbreaking to see. We didn't know what was happening and as she saw us she struggled to get up to greet us with her tail wagging. But it was physically impossible for her. We tried to sooth her and make her sit and stay still. After some time she was OK again. The vets didn't find anything wrong with her and she seemed fine. But the seizures slowly became more regular, and her abilities to walk, hold her bladder and food became weaker and weaker.

The second incident is a painful memory. After a seizure she became blind and disorientated. She was on the mat in the kitchen; where she slept. She had an empty look in her eyes; she didn't seem to recognise us or her surroundings. She always slept in the kitchen and never went onto the slated floor near the kitchen cupboards and oven. Partly because we trained her to, and partly because she slipped on the floor. However, after her seizure she seemed to have forgotten this. She hit the cupboard. But she kept repeatedly tried to walk forward. It was like watching a broken toy. She just kept making a move forward, hitting her head on the cupboard, move a little back and tried again, and again, and again, and again ... It was agonising to watch. We tried to move her but she didn't acknowledge us; we had to pick her up and move her into the corridor where we stayed with her; holding and stopping her from walking. Thankfully, her condition was temporary. She got her sight back and acted like normal again. The only problem with this is that she didn't seem to have noticed what had happened. I know she's only a dog and I know we can't know what animals are thinking. But perception and intuition can go a long way to empathise with someone. And 93% of communication is body language right? It wasn't hard to tell that she was deteriorating, nor that she had no recognition of her last seizure. It was like we had suddenly appeared and she hadn't seen us for hours and wanted to play with us. This incident highlighted a clear issue we needed to discuss and resolve. We were all heartbroken after this incident and decided that if she didn't get better or if she had another seizure then it would only be humane to put her down; we all hoped it would never come down to that.

Readers can probably tell where this story is leading. Peppi was fine for a while but unfortunately became worse again. The seizures and vomiting began again and became regular like before. So we stuck by our decision and rang for somebody to come and put her down.

We chose for the vet to come to our house as Peppi hated the vets, and we didn't want her to be scared when she passed away. Regrettably, the vets actually came an hour earlier than expected. We took deep breaths and allowed the procedure to go ahead. Animals sense things and she knew something was wrong. We calmed her and I sat with her; soothing and distracting her while the vets shaved some fur from her leg for the injection. I kept her still and blocked out all emotion so she couldn't sense anything bad from me. I tried to be strong for her. If I'm required to be strong for somebody, I'm usually quite capable. But one thing I wasn't expecting, nor could I stop myself from reacting to, was my mother. She's a very emotional and affectionate person who's never learnt to detach herself from her emotions. Tears ran down her face, she sobbed loudly and choked on her own tears. Even if I didn't look at her, I could hear her crying out all of the emotions we were all feeling loud and clear. She was red in the face and had to bury her face into my father's back to quieten her sobs and hide away from Pepppi. My brother was standing in the doorway with silent tears slowly seeping from his eyes. I couldn't stop the tears from leaking out of the corners of my eyes either, but I continued to be as strong as I could and did everything to make Peppi go peacefully.

It was the first loss I ever really had. I lost my grandmother before but I was very young and remember little about it or her. Peppi was someone I was affectionately attached to. I know some would see her to be but a pet and animal, but others will understand that losing a pet, especially one you grew up with, can feel the same as losing a family member; which it essentially was for me. I love her dearly and I'll always remember her.