Senior Dog, Final Adventures: Our Bucket List Year With Charlie

The oncologist used the phrase "quality of life" six times during our appointment, which is how we knew the conversation wasn't about curing Charlie.

Osteosarcoma in large breeds is aggressive. At eleven, Charlie had already outlived the typical Bernese Mountain Dog lifespan. The surgery and chemotherapy protocol would extend his life by months, with significant side effects.

We chose palliative care and pain management. Then we made a list.

Charlie had opinions. Specific, consistent, easily observable opinions. He loved water — lakes, rivers, any standing puddle that exceeded four inches. He loved car windows down at highway speed. He loved the particular spot behind his left ear. He loved our younger daughter, Isabel, who had grown up alongside him and remained, in his view, the most interesting person in any room.

The bucket list built itself around these facts.

Week one: We drove two hours to the lake where Charlie had swum every summer for nine years. He entered the water immediately, swam for twenty minutes, and spent the drive home sleeping with his head on Isabel's lap.

Week three: My wife Rosa made him "pup cups" from a local ice cream shop every Friday. He ate them with an enthusiasm that made me think he'd been aware of this option for years and simply waiting.

Week five: We took a slow coastal road trip — windows down, three nights in pet-friendly hotels where Charlie slept on the bed and hogged the blankets exactly as he had always done at home.

Week seven: A family portrait session. Charlie wore his best collar. He was cooperative for approximately three minutes before deciding the photographer's camera bag was more interesting than posing.

Week ten: His last swim. Short — his pain was being managed but the disease had progressed. He walked into the water up to his shoulders, looked back at us, and seemed satisfied. We went home.

We made the final appointment on a Monday morning, in our living room, with our vet present. Charlie was on his bed. Isabel sat beside him. He went quietly, which was exactly how he had always wanted everything.

Grief is its own season and we are still in it. But we didn't spend those twelve weeks grieving in advance. We spent them at the lake, at the ice cream shop, with the windows down.

We have no photographs of Charlie looking sick. We have photographs of a dog who knew he was loved.

---

*When a beloved pet has a terminal diagnosis, palliative care specialists and pet hospice organizations can help families make the most of remaining time.*