Deciding to euthanize a beloved pet is one of the most heartbreaking choices a pet owner can face. On May 10, 2013, my husband and I made this agonizing decision for our 10 ½-year-old English Mastiff, Winston. While we often use gentle terms like “sleep” or “put down,” the reality is that we ended our dog’s life. Yet, we knew it was the right and merciful thing to do. Winston had been suffering from chronic pain due to hip dysplasia for years, a condition that significantly impacted his quality of life.
The Beginning of the End: Winston’s Health Decline
Winston’s struggle with hip dysplasia had been ongoing. In June 2010, he underwent a hip replacement on his right hip. This was a difficult choice, as the cost prevented us from addressing his equally problematic left hip at the same time. We hoped the surgery would prolong his life and provide relief, which it did for a time. However, we were acutely aware that the inevitable decline of his untreated left hip would mark the beginning of the end.
The Friday that would change everything was April 19th. I remember calling my husband, my voice trembling, to tell him Winston could no longer walk properly. His left hip had finally given out. For months, Winston had required assistance to navigate the three steps into our home. Yet, he still managed to walk the length of our large backyard each evening before dinner and diligently participated in his weekly underwater treadmill physical therapy sessions, which he genuinely enjoyed. The following day, when I attempted to take him to his beloved physical therapy, Winston refused to get into the car. It was as if he understood his limitations and knew he couldn’t endure it any longer. He never walked on that treadmill again.
Facing the Specialist and the Inevitable
The subsequent weekend, we managed to get Winston into the car for a visit with a specialist. The veterinarian explained that hip replacement was the only viable surgical option for his left hip. However, considering Winston’s age, it was akin to performing such a procedure on a 95-year-old human. Even with unlimited financial resources, the surgery was deemed impractical. Despite his otherwise excellent health, Winston was an old dog with aging bones. He had been on pain medication for several years to manage severe arthritis in his back, elbows, and hips. His left hip was completely out of socket, and the once joyful car rides, which signified an adventure with his mommy, now filled him with terror. Instead of pursuing surgery, we focused on pain management and left with a new prescription that increased the dosage and frequency of his medication. The end was undeniably near, though I couldn’t fully grasp just how close it was.
Daily Life with Chronic Pain
Each day brought a noticeable decline in Winston’s condition. He spent the majority of his time in his bed, only rising when absolutely necessary. His trips outside decreased from at least three times a day to twice, and eventually, just once. Despite his pain, his daily ritual of barking at the mailman persisted. He also continued to attempt sleeping in our bedroom each night, even though the short distance from the living room left him exhausted. I began sleeping on the couch to ensure he remained in his bed. My husband expressed concern for my back, but I reassured him that Winston had given us over ten years of happiness, and some sleepless nights with back pain were a small price to pay. As long as Winston could see me, he seemed to find comfort and stayed put.
The Gentle Giant: Why an English Mastiff?
Many have asked why I chose an English Mastiff. My fascination began years ago when I met a man with two Bull Mastiffs. I was captivated by their gentle nature, playful affection, and regal presence. However, after further research, I determined that an English Mastiff better suited my lifestyle. They are known for being larger and calmer than Bull Mastiffs, and in my opinion, possess a more striking appearance. My decision was solidified by witnessing a three-year-old boy fearlessly riding a 200-pound male English Mastiff like a bucking bronco. The child pulled the dog’s ears and kicked his ribs, yet the dog remained remarkably docile, complying with the boy’s every whim. I had never encountered such a sweet and tolerant dog with a child before, and I knew I needed such a gentle giant in my life.
Owning a dog as large as Winston came with a predictable set of questions. Most commonly, people would inquire:
- “What kind of dog is that?”
- “How much does he weigh?”
- “How much does he eat?”
- “Did you know he was going to get that big?”
- “Does he sleep with you?”
- “Does he come with a saddle?”
My standard, often humorous, replies were:
- “A purebred English Mastiff.”
- “Between 185 and 205 pounds, depending on when you asked.”
- “About as much as a large Labrador.”
- “Of course, I did.”
- “Of course, he doesn’t.”
- And with a fake laugh, “No, he’s not a horse.”
The Long Wait for Winston
I had eagerly anticipated owning an English Mastiff for eight years. At twenty-two, I planned to get a puppy when I moved into a house with my sister and then-boyfriend. Despite initial agreement from the homeowner about getting a dog, she rescinded her permission upon learning I wanted an English Mastiff, setting a strict weight limit of under fifteen pounds. This was simply not feasible for the breed I desired. My sister was relieved, calling my desired breed “an overgrown, slobber machine,” but I was deeply disappointed. It would take another five years and a different home before Winston finally entered my life.
A Dream Come True: Winston’s Arrival
Unable to find a suitable breeder in California, I ultimately purchased Winston from a puppy broker in Florida who sourced him from a breeder in Missouri. Winston arrived at LAX on December 17, 2002. My excitement was so palpable that I arrived at the airport two hours early, unable to contain my anticipation. After eight years of waiting, the moment was finally here. I must have asked the United Cargo employee “Is he here yet?” every fifteen minutes. She kindly remained patient, remarking that she had never witnessed such enthusiasm for a dog. Finally, she announced, “He’s here.” Winston was eleven weeks old and weighed twenty-eight pounds. The sight of him in a large, beige container, with his soulful brown eyes, black muzzle, and floppy ears, was instant love. He was scared, but I knew we would be home soon, and he would be alright.
