Euthanizing Joe: The Best Kisser in Nashville
Six years ago, Mason and I took our shaggy mutt Joe Poop to Centennial Park for Nashville’s annual “Dog Day Festival.” We entered him in the kissing contest, thinking we didn’t have a shot in hell of winning the gold. Besides the fact that twenty-eight contestants entered the event, the competition was stiff; pretty women in flowing skirts carried fluffy, panting pocket dogs that delicately flicked their tiny pink tongues on their human’s noses. Or ginormous Great Danes and Mastiffs – with names like Czar and Goliath – strutted next to little kids, kissing their child companion’s small faces with one swipe of their massive tongues.
Joe, on the other hand, was about as average as a mutt could be. He was a boring fifty pounds with a rough, wiry coat in a salt and pepper shade, and ears that my husband Mason and I adored but appeared mediocre at best, triangles with drooping tips and scruffy wisps of hair. Plus, Joe was never in optimum shape, carrying a few extra pounds around his waist because his favorite hobby was vegetating with his dad on the couch, watching NCIS reruns. But Joe had always had a special knack for the art of kissing, patiently and gently licking the faces of the humans he loved, not too much, but just enough to make people feel special.
On that “Dog Day” in Centennial Park, he acted like a seasoned pro, kissing my face as expertly as always. When the judge, the weatherman Justin Bruce from WKRN, called out “Joe Poop” as the winner, Mason and I went nuts, hopping around and kicking the air like soccer parents after their kid scored the winning goal. His number 25 still hangs on the fridge.
Joe Poop was a great kisser until he died. The night before we had him euthanized, we carried him onto the front porch while Mason grilled sirloin steaks. Of course, we gave Joe the juiciest, fattest pieces, and then invited our other pack elders onto the porch, and we all pigged out on Joe’s favorites: sweet potatoes, green apples, and of course, strawberries. Every time I started to cry (and there were a lot of tears) I would shove my face against Joe’s nose, and he would kiss away all my snotty tears. Joe had always taken care of me, even then.
I won’t lie. The next morning, we woke up at 4 AM and the three hours before Dr. Dan got here were f-ing terrible, emotionally exhausting. Mason carried Joe Poop onto the deck so he could watch the sunrise, while Mace, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, sat next to him. I stayed busy doing busy work, unable to say goodbye again. Joe and I had had a long conversation when I woke up, and we were square by the time Dr. Dan arrived.
The process of euthanizing Joe was fast. We laid a sheet over some soft throw carpets, then rested him on top. He was alert, watching us with trusting eyes, but like I’ve explained in past posts, he had lost the use of his limbs, so he didn’t move much. Once Dr. Dan stuck the needle – filled with the blue death serum – in Joe’s arm, he was gone within thirty seconds. Mason and I were holding hands on his body when he passed. Dr. Dan took out his stethoscope, listened for his heartbeat, and nodded while a couple tears slid down his freckled nose. Seeing our vet – a guy that stands six-feet and weighs two-hundred-pounds – cry made it all real. Joe was really gone. I expected my heart to feel heavier after he died, but instead I felt a giant sense of relief. He hadn’t been having any fun in months.
Our other dogs weren’t surprised. In fact, I think they felt the same relief that I did because the three youngest pack members smelled his body and immediately started wrestling, celebrating death as part of life, letting us know that we had made the right decision. Of course, they knew long before we did that Joe wanted to die. Animals accept death so much easier than humans.
Floyd, the only other male dog in our pack had given me the clearest sign last weekend before I went on an overnight trip to Bristol, TN. As I had been walking out the door, bag slung over my shoulder, Floyd, a well-trained member of our family for five years, had walked up to Joe’s bed, lifted his leg, and peed on it, watching me the whole time, letting me know that he was taking over Joe’s leadership role, whether I was ready for it or not.
One of the hardest parts of the whole process was that since we had decided to take care of the body ourselves, we had to deal with the waste too. Staying true to his nickname, of course Joe Poop pooped after he died. Mason cleaned Joe up, sparing me that awful ordeal, then wrapped him in another sheet and put his body in the trunk.
All in all, if there is a good way to say goodbye to a creature that Mace and I loved more than most humans, then the way we euthanized Joe was beautiful. It was peaceful. And most importantly, it was on Joe’s terms, in his house with his pack surrounding him.
After we dropped his body off at the Music City Mortuary to be cremated, Mason and I drove to Centennial Park, the place where Joe had earned the title of “Best Kisser in Nashville.” By late morning on that Thursday, June 19th, the air was already brutally hot and after walking one lap around the Parthenon, we changed courses, backtracked to the flower garden, and started racing in circles through the multitude of raining sprinklers. As I dashed around and around, the cold water spraying against my body, I laughed and cried all at the same time, thinking how lucky I was to have known a dog like Joe Poop.
(So many people have written to me, sharing their own stories about an animal that has died, reassuring me that time will make everything easier. Tons of our close friends, and even old school friends that knew Joe as a pup – like Bo, Pete, Abdul, Jen, and Nick – have reached out to us and that means a lot to Mace and me. Knowing we’re not alone helps motivate me to write through this necessary but difficult part of opening our hearts to animals.
If you have ANY questions about our first experience euthanizing a dog, please email thefarnival@gmail.com)
Click here for Part One of Euthanizing Joe