It had been a rough week. I had three fosters in different bathrooms, each one recovering from various veterinary procedures before they would be available for adoption. One of my dogs had forgotten that he was supposed to go outside to use the bathroom. My cat began shredding the sofa in the living room after years of only scratching cat trees. One of the kittens I had been bottle-feeding had suddenly passed away after a week in my care. And, my latest VISA bill came (the one with just vet charges on it), and wow, was it huge.
I was seriously questioning whether I had the strength to continue opening my home to all these animals left homeless. Those deemed of no value by the humans who couldn’t see the treasure in their loving eyes and loyal hearts. The task of continuing to save these precious ones was weighing so heavy on my shoulders and in my heart, that I thought, after so many years, the weight would crush me.
That was when I got the call from my local shelter. They had just received an 18-year-old Chihuahua named TJ. Oh no, I thought, another burden to add to the mountain of responsibility pressing down on me like an anvil on my chest, But how could I say no?
I was able to give him the gift of what Mother Teresa called “a good death,” the certainty of being loved and cared for in his last days, even if he didn’t experience much of that during his life.
He came to my home, fresh from his time in the shelter, so joyful to be among kind hearts and loving hands that he seemed to be vibrating with gratitude. His legs were bent, and his eyes were clouded and sightless, but you just had to believe he knew he was among people who saw his value.
The vet said his poor old body was totally shutting down. His kidneys were no longer functioning very well, and his lab results showed a picture of a creature that had few resources left to sustain him. But as he looked at me with those sightless eyes, he seemed to be saying, it doesn’t matter, just please, please give me some love; show me I matter to somebody.
He lost strength every day and stopped walking, so I just held him in my arms and told him he was a good, sweet boy and that I loved him.
He was incontinent and had to be bathed frequently, so I just held him in my arms while I washed him and told him he was a good, sweet boy and that I loved him.
He had to be hand fed, so I just held him in my arms while I fed him and told him that I loved him.
He had a sore on his chest that was severely infected, so I just held him in my arms while I cleaned his wound and told him I loved him.
Throughout what turned out to be his last week on this planet, he often laid his head against my chest and though he couldn’t speak I heard, thank you for reminding me that I am loved, coming from his heart to mine. TJ died peacefully in his sleep.
The gift he gave me was even greater. He reminded me how very, very precious each and every one of the animals we help at the PETCO Foundation are. He reminded me that those of us who love and are loved by animals must be there for those animals who have no caring people of their own, especially the seniors who are facing the prospect of dying alone and unloved. He reminded me that no matter what we give to these animals, they give us infinitely more.
Thank you, TJ, for sharing your last week with me. I love you.
Paul Jolly
Vice President and Director, PETCO Foundation