Meditation on the Death of Paxil

MEDITATION ON THE DEATH OF PAXIL

October 28, 2015

Paxil’s situation deteriorated very quickly to the point of no return and, in consultation with a very caring veterinarian at the Allentown Animal Clinic, determined that the best course of action on behalf of Paxil was euthanasia - a process that was mercifully pain-free and peaceful for Paxil if not for my own peace of mind.

Despite my housemate and myself doing the best we could to keep swapping out wee wee pads and to give him sponge baths, he apparently chewed one of his rear legs and did some real damage. He had exposed muscle in two places that was infected from being dragged through urine and feces and the skin that I thought was diaper rash was actually rotting.

The only other possible treatment option was surgery on his leg - which he might not survive due to his age and his heart murmur - followed by intensive nursing care, continually cleaning his wound, drying it completely, and changing his bandages and - even then - the vet said he might have to amputate the leg.

He now had no feeling in his rear feet and the vet said that indicated that, in any event, he’d never walk again (which wasn’t really the issue, I was prepared for that).

It became very obvious at that point that deciding to keep him alive would have been in the service of my feelings and not Paxil’s.

This hit me a lot harder than losing Percy as I had done everything possible to extend the quality and quantity of his life, up to and including all but bankrupting myself to have his gallbladder removed.

This was a case of woulda, shoulda, coulda: I had volunteered to take Paxil because I thought he’d be SAFER, not injure himself and allow him to inflict a mortal wound on himself.

Offhand, I can’t remember failing so totally at something this important. Normally, I can at least say my high risk interventions didn’t make the situation worse. No one can say what would have happened to Paxil if they had taken him to a no-kill shelter (they had decided they couldn’t keep him), so he might have lived out a number of years in peace or gone to another foster family who made the same mistakes I made.

I’ve rehearsed things in my mind and I believe the primary mistake that led to the other mistakes was that his previous rescue owners had wanted me to take him THAT DAY (which was on the weekend) and I agreed to do so.

What I SHOULD have done was made them wait a week and developed a containment area for Paxil where he could not jump on the furniture.

But who knows, he’d have probably convinced me to abandon that regimen at some point: Paxil, like my other hounds, would have quickly discovered that he could get anything out of me he wanted.

But what’s done is done.

Just half a week ago I described Paxil - and my - close encounter with the power of Death and the hope of new life and resurrection in the midst of Death.

Despite Death returning to complete the job nothing, theologically, has really changed in that regard.

God comes to us on the shared cross of human experience. This - and not obnoxiously trying to convert people - is the TRULY OFFENSIVE character of the gospel.

We would rather God redeem us from the power of Death in some place other than where Death is disguised as Lord of All.

And, in fact, God does. All the time, every day. In every meal, in every friend, in every pleasure.

The thing is, the various gods also appear in those things and it is easy to be deceived that it is THEY (e.g., money, power, security, family, ideology, personal ethics and religiosity, reputation, etc.), and not God in Christ, who makes these things GOOD things.

But it is in the experience of Death triumphant at our own, personal, cross, the experience where we see ourselves completely naked and vulnerable at the fearsome character of Death,  where we become most conscious of the transcendence of Death by the One who has authority over Death.

I suppose that’s a mighty large piece of theology to come out of the death of a very small dachshund, but Paxil’s memory - and that memory’s personal significance to me - will no doubt come to mind when Death makes its next move.

Peace.

Bill B