Tag Archives: dog

Longtime Westporter, RTM representative and animal lover Andrew Colabella writes:

We are born to die, but we’re living until then. The same goes for pets. I consider them like people. They have feelings, emotions, habits, schedules, wants and needs.

Many of us have had this discussion with ourselves or others: What do we do when we think the end is near?

As I searched for the answer as a human, I realized that we try to tie up loose ends every day, thinking about our families and loved ones to leave them with the least amount of issues, surprises and unanswered questions, along with something for them to remember us by, or even improve their quality of life.

The end is unknown. But for our pets, a service can help our beloved fur kids or fur siblings.

For 14 years, Roxy was part of Andrew Colabella’s family.

Final Journey is an in-home pet euthanasia service that brings comfort and peace to loving families during a challenging time. Based in Monroe, 4 expert veterinarians are a call away to come to your house. They help you decide if it’s the right time to pass.

A call was made in the morning. We were told they would be at our house at 12:15.

A veterinarian and assistant showed up then. They wore robes, scrubs, masks and gloves. Each carried a bag. One was filled with medical supplies; the other, blankets and a book.

They asked us where our dog Roxy wanted to be, and where we felt comfortable as a family to sit. We chose the fireplace, next to one of her 4 beds (we all spoil our dogs).

We described Roxy’s recent medical history, detailing her sleepless last couple of nights, restlessness, tripping, coughing and panting. We said she still had a great appetite, a schedule, and still wagged her tail.

We were torn.

Our veterinarian, Dr. Sarina Hinsley, spoke to us about lymphoma and its side affects, as well as palliative care for dogs. Chemotherapy would extend time by a little, but would not improve quality of life, habitual behavior or energy.

She took Roxy’s vitals, listened to her heartbeat and breaths, and checked her lymph nodes. Our dogs cannot speak like us, but they do show pain.

We knew. It would be selfish for us to keep her alive while she suffered, trying to keep up with what she’d done every day for the last 14 years.

At that moment, our questions were answered. The other bag opened. We were shown urns. They said she would be cremated, then returned to us with her name inscribed on the box and prints.

A piece of hair was trimmed. Roxy had her last snack (chicken): her motivation and favorite word.

The Colabella family, with Roxy.

The sedative made its way through her. She relaxed in my arms, becoming at ease and at peace.

Roxy was warm, and snuggled into my shoulder and elbow. Her breathing became slow; her noises — bear cub-like, just as when she was a puppy and healthy — pinged our ears.

Her heart, beating just like it was 14 years ago when we adopted her from Virginia, slowed down, and came to a rest. I held my hand there, hoping it would keep going another second. Just one more. Even a half.

Roxy was diagnosed last week. She passed today as we surrounded her with love, just like when she came into our world.

I carried her out in a blanket with dogs on it that said, “I love you.”

We did. We all did.

Andrew Colabella

She exited our home with love, into the caring arms of these people who love their dogs too. They are professionals who took their time with us. They talked us through the whole process, telling personal stories of how their own pets died at early or late age, due to cancer or illness.

I carried Roxy out of the house one last time, her black fur shining, her wet nose now cold and drying, her feet sticking out with dirt still on them, smelling of fresh bread, Fritos, and her home.

I put her in the lap of the assistant. I kissed Roxy goodbye, telling her I loved her and will always miss her as she goes for a ride.

It’s the first time in 14 years she’s not home under our roof. The hallways do not echo with her claws clicking the wood floors, or her loud, deep hibernating bear snore that could be mistaken for an earthquake.

Our society has become more compassionate about our animals over the last couple of decades. How we buy or rescue our pets is just as important as how they leave. While they are only here for a part of our lives, they stay with us for the rest of our lives — and we are their entire life.

My experience with Final Journey was more than I expected. Passing at home with us, where was all she knew, put her at ease. It made her comfortable on her own next journey.