And Then There Were Two…

January has become a difficult month for me. My mom passed in January of 2019, and then ten days shy of three years later, my dad passed. And now we can add another loss to what is for me, the bleakest month of the year. After multiple visits to our vet, a home visit from another vet, and an appointment with a veterinary neurologist, the end time for our boy Bixby came on Saturday evening in the final hours of January.

We are heart broken 💔 and simultaneously relieved. It’s complicated...

[WARNING: This post details our last days with our boy and the years leading up to them. It is a long read... Sorry... Not sorry... I needed to write this out for my own benefit. Maybe it can be of benefit to some of my readers as well.]

I have, on a few occasions over the years, encountered an expectant mother quite literally at the moment when they look like they’re going to bust that baby out only to learn that for various reasons, they are actually going to have their child by cesarean section. Then they go on to tell me that they have already set up an appointment at the hospital to go in and have their child. Scheduled child birth... How twenty-first century... I have not however found myself in the situation of having an end-of-life scheduled a week in advance until now.

This is not where we saw things going as recently as two months ago, but here we are. We can only now see with clarity the clues which have slowly been appearing since shortly after we arrived with him here in July of 2024. But even before our move across the pond, there were signs we weren’t really seeing. He was growing more fearful, more sensitive to touch on his paws or under his chin. We just chalked things up to the aging process. Which was absolutely a contributing factor, but there was something else going on.

Bixby came into our home in late August, 2016. Obama was president, Trump was still mostly considered a joke of a candidate, and Hillary was poised to become the first woman president of the US. And only 18 days earlier, we had gone through the grueling experience of putting Fritz, our first boy down after only two years of caring for him1. When we let go of Fritz, we both agreed that we would wait one year before adopting a new member into our family. Obviously that didn’t last. Within days I was looking for a new rescue pup online. That’s when Drake popped up on PetFinder. He was just under two years old, he was house broken (allegedly), and he was full of life and energy. He was also super adorable.

So we did as you do when you live in New York City.... We rode the subway out to Queens to meet Drake. He was being fostered by a young couple in Long Island City. He was even more adorable than the pics, and we immediately noticed that he wagged his tail endlessly. He seemed like a well adjusted and happy being. After taking Drake for a walk around the block, and signing some paperwork, we proceeded to bring him home on the subway. To skirt the MTA rules about pets on the subway (needing to be in an enclosed carrier which we did not have), we placed him inside of a blue IKEA FRAKTA bag, slung him over my shoulder and took him to Times Square, changed to a 1 Train, and took him to his new home on 108th Street.

Other than his silly name, he was pure delight. Drake? Seriously? Perhaps for a large and confident dog that is also a skilled rapper, but not for small dog of 19 pounds (8.6kg) from Texas2. Since I had arranged the day before to come and meet him, I had already spent too many hours doing research for a more appropriate name for Drake.

I’ve always known that dogs are quick to learn their name if it has a unique sound and is not like other common words. I was hoping to come up with a name related to the city or our area or something like that. That’s when I stumbled upon a former New York State Senate member from the late 1870s, representing the district in which we lived (Upper West Side/Manhattan Valley)... Francis M. Bixby. Hmmmm.... Bixby! Perfect! Based on the pics we had seen of Drake, he definitely looked more like a Bixby than a rapper. So, Drake became Bixby, and within just a few days, the moment either of us would utter “Bixby” the tail immediately popped up and began wildly wagging.

Shortly after becoming part of our family, we learned that Bixby likes to engage in self petting. This was common behavior for many years until about the age of six when he mysteriously stopped doing it. [The video above was shot in spring of 2017 in our NYC apartment during an evening with friends and martinis.]

Our NYC apartment was on the fourth floor and we learned pretty quickly that although Bixby was housebroken, outside of our front door was outside to him when it came time to pee. We learned that if we did not carry him from our apartment, down in the elevator, and then to the sidewalk, he was prone to peeing. Whether it was in the hall outside our front door, the elevator, or the lobby right in front of the doorman, outside of his domain was outside. But even with doing our best to carry him down, he wasn’t as housebroken as we had been led to believe. Pee incidents occurred every week or two. In hindsight, I now wish we had trained him to use a pee-pad.

In early 2018, we left our NYC apartment and settled into our new (very old) house. A three story rowhouse built in 1852. After living in apartments my entire adult life, I was thrilled to be living in an actual house. I was also thrilled that our front door opened onto the stoop on the sidewalk. We also had the privilege of living directly across the street from a neighborhood park (a big selling point for the house). We looked forward to simply taking Bixby out and across the street to do his business... And for the most part, this worked out well... But not always.

Our house was a true fixer-upper and along with it came plenty of quirks and charms. At least they were quirky and charming to us. Aside from the 1980s kitchen and bathroom, most of the interior was original to the 19th century. The stairs were narrow and steep with shallow treads. Climbing up and down wasn’t a big issue for Yoav and me, but Bixby struggled with them, especially when going down. We slept in a room in the back which was only part way up the first flight of stairs. He managed them fairly consistently, but rarely ever climbed up to the second and third floors in all the years we were there.

The house was also built before subfloors were common. The original heart-pine floorboards were nailed directly to the floor joists. As charming as they were, there were plenty of gaps resulting in our scrambling down to the basement to survey the damage anytime Bixby had an accident on the main floor. I ended up suspending strategically located tarps from the basement ceiling to minimize the damage.

As he aged into his middle years, things began to change. He became more fearful, more sensitive to being touched in certain areas. Our dog grooming shop had labeled him as aggressive in their system, and only one groomer was able to handle him, give him baths, and trim his nails. Then she left the shop and nobody would touch him. That was when the baths stopped because he would not let us do it.

It also became pretty much impossible for me to pick him up. Yoav was still able to pick him up, but a day came along when I could no longer do it. I was walking him in the park as usual when he somehow managed to Houdini his way out of his harness and he took off running. I ran after him and with some effort, managed to get a good grip on his body. He freaked out like I had never seen before, yelping as though I was beating him, and swinging his head side to side biting my bare arms. I had to carry him across the park, back to the house, and somehow open the door. From then on, he panicked when I would try to pick him up.

When we rented our apartment here in Porto, we didn’t factor in the long elevator ride needed to take him out several times a day. By this point, neither of us could pick him up, so we had to just risk it. He very often didn’t hold it long enough for the elevator to even show up. Fortunately the floor in the hall is terrazzo and easy to clean. This is when the mop and bucket became an almost daily tool.

The first few months after we arrived he spent huge amounts of time relaxing out on the balcony, with or without us. But this last summer, he seemed to have lost interest in the balcony, only coming out when we would bribe him with food. I also began to notice that he would lay on the floor staring at the blank wall for long periods of time.

His quirks continued to amplify as time went on, but we just didn’t connect the dots. His peeing inside got worse, and we didn’t connect the dots. Until finally, in December the topic of doggy dementia somehow came up and after a quick Google search, it was obvious that he was suffering from dementia. He had most of the common symptoms and, as we soon learned, the symptoms were about to get much worse. His incontinence wasn’t his fault, and I had to let go of my frustration over it. Random soiling is rather common with dementia.

It was during this same time as we were wrapping our heads around this new understanding of his behavior, that he developed even more tell-tale signs. As the sun went down each day, he became agitated and would pace around in a state of distress, randomly walking from room to room. Then in early January he began to whimper for no apparent reason. He also began to bark at nearly anything, this was totally new behavior. We then began to realize that he didn’t always recognize who we were. His behavior was becoming more untethered.

After months of his accidents, our wood floors were suffering, so we kept him contained within the kitchen area where the tile floors were easy to clean. Initially, this wasn’t an issue, but about a month ago, he suddenly developed extreme separation anxiety. We learned of this when our next door neighbor sent us text messages that he was constantly barking. Until now, he had always done very well when we were away.

One evening in early January, Yoav went with a friend to see a movie while I stayed home. Bixby went into full panic mode, whimpering and crying. He was extremely distressed, and I could not seem to comfort him at all. I was myself in tears because I knew there was nothing I could do. That was when we both reached the understanding that his time with us was more limited than we would have believed only a few weeks before.

Over the past three weeks, we saw three different vets, tried some new drugs, and watched as he slid deeper and deeper into his dementia. Everything just got so complicated so fast. He was now peeing 20 plus times a day in random spots everywhere. Last week, I got up to go to the bathroom at 3AM and stepped in a pool of pee at the foot of the bed. This was a first.

It was at the vets office, Saturday before last, that we agreed to try one final drug for the week and evaluate. All of us knew the drug wasn’t likely to change much of anything (and it didn’t). We set an appointment for this past Saturday to follow up, and set the expectation that he probably wouldn’t come home with us.

So, on Saturday, joined by a local friend of ours (who had grown quite attached to Bixby over this past year), we all three spent time with him. Giving him lots of pets, lots of treats, and as much love as we could. It felt really strange because some of the time, he was, albeit briefly, his normal self. Like nothing was wrong…. And then he would look right through you as though you didn’t exist, or look into your eyes with a completely blank stare. That’s not our Bixby, he and I used to have staring contests to see who could go the longest (he often won).

Finally it was time for Bixby and the three of us to begin the 400 meter walk to the veterinary hospital near us. I had been dreading this walk because it felt as though he was a prisoner going to the death chamber, and I was the executioner. I was walking him to his demise, a memory which will haunt me forever.

An hour later it was over. The vet took him to the back to insert an IV, and there was a definite struggle on Bixby’s part (we could hear the yelps). Once the ugly part was over, he was brought back to the exam room and we stayed present for the rest of the procedure. I took a few pictures... It felt creepy, but important to do. He looked to be at peace... He was no longer struggling, he was no longer stressed out, he was just there. The fight was over. It has been a very long time since we saw him looking peaceful. We took comfort in this.

I do not question the ethics of euthanasia as a necessary procedure for our pets. When their quality of life becomes severely impeded, it is even more cruel to keep them going than to accept that their time is coming up and we need to let them go. But no amount of mental preparation can prevent the sudden wall of sadness when it finally occurs.

Bixby was a complicated soul, a true introvert full of energy and full of anxiety, loving and aloof at the same time. We will fondly remember him for his quirky personality and that endless waggy tail. He wasn’t terribly smart, but he still managed to march to the beat of his own drum, doing things his own way. He was not very interested in other dogs, but would rather seek out their owners instead.

He was affectionately known as “the observer”… In each of the four places we lived, he would always be lurking around the corner with just his head visible, watching us as we went about our lives. This was especially true in the kitchen. The mere suggestion of the sound of rustling plastic was like a siren call to him. Within seconds he would come running in to see if there was a food opportunity for him. He was forever in search for every crumb or morsel that could be found, and quite often would be seen sitting by you, staring directly at the floor awaiting for some type of food to just manifest and magically appear before him. I came to call this FOMOFO, Fear of Missing out on Food Opportunities.

In more recent times, he lost the self confidence to hop up on the sofa, his tail wagged much less often, and he just seemed distant. He never lost interest in food, all the way up to the end, but he became more and more lost in this world.

We are grateful to have had the privilege of being his Doggy Daddies (affectionately known as Daddy D and Daddy Y) for the past nine years. Last time we went through this, we said we would take a break from having a pet... It lasted 18 days. This time, I think we truly are ready for a break.

I often referred to him as our troubled teenager. As much as we both loved Bixby, he was a lot to manage, and often the cause of stress and tension between Yoav and I. But he was our troubled teenager and we loved him regardless.

Goodbye sweet boy… 💔💔💔

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