Mowgli’s last journey

The day came when Mowgli no longer wanted to get up. It came as a surprise, even though my old friend had been having problems for some time, so I already had the feeling in Romania that our time traveling together could soon come to an end.

The day before had been particularly harmonious. While it was storming and raining heavily outside, he and Gina, a 12-week-old Romanian street dog girl who had recently joined us, lay peacefully near me and dozed. I was looking forward to a future with two lovely dogs and was extremely happy.

Gina had already learned a lot from her big friend and he accepted her, even if he set clear limits to her exuberance from time to time.

One day later, everything was different. When I finally managed to convince Mowgli to go out with me, he barely moved and had to be encouraged every step of the way. At the corner where he would normally relieve himself, he would stop, scent in different directions and look into the distance as if someone was calling him.

It turned out that, apart from urinary retention, he was also unable to defecate. A visit to his vet brought relief, but the situation remained critical. He had had an inoperable tumor for some time, which we had kept reasonably in check with spider venom, as well as problems with his prostate. But now the picture was one of collapse and rapid deterioration.

It almost seemed as if he had been waiting for the baton to be handed over to another dear dog who could look after me from now on.

Equipped with a few medications and little hope, I took him home one last time so that not only I but also he could say goodbye. While he lay on his couch and slept or dozed most of the time, many scenes of our life together surfaced in my memory, beautiful pictures of our travels, Mowgli as a young dog, his little adventures in which he had tricked me, our swimming together in the lake…. – oh, so many things that had brought us joy.

Sometimes I cried and wiped a few tears from the corners of his eyes too. We looked at each other from time to time and it seemed to me that he knew he would soon leave his body. He had no appetite and didn’t even want to eat his beloved noodles, but gratefully accepted the water I gave him.

When he got up to walk with me to his toilet spot, which he only reached with difficulty, he took another good look at everything and often stopped.

As with a dying person, there then came a phase in which he obviously regained a little more strength. I was pleased that he also accepted a few treats.

Unfortunately, there was no prospect of recovery. After a last short walk, he willingly got into the car, which took him to his vet.

Everything there was dignified, safe and painless.

A good half hour later, the mortician was already there to take my beloved friend’s body for cremation.

I picked Gina up from doggy daycare and it took me a while to get used to the new situation and get over the heartache. Gina, my dog child, whose middle name is “Mis(s) Chief”, does her best to wrap me around her paw with her charm. But that’s another story…