When Dogs Die
Today I have to write the saddest blog post I have ever written.
I want to keep this post as a memory and to work through my pain. I have taken a few losses in my life, but losing my dog does not compare to any of them. He was by my side every single day. He lay under my desk every day, he walked me to my coffee machine every day, and every day we went on our walks together.
How it all began
It was the day after my birthday, in July 2017. I was young, I had my first job, a steady relationship, and my first apartment of my own, and somehow I had always wanted a dog. Since we didn’t have much dog experience, we settled on a sweet brown Labrador. We named him Carlo. He was a sweet little puppy who made us laugh every day. His funniest habit was a nervous scurrying back and forth while hunting for a spot to do his business. We always called it the “poop dance”. He was our best friend and we loved him more than anything.
Back then I wasn’t aware that taking a dog into your heart also comes with a goodbye that isn’t all that far away. Of course I knew that dogs don’t live as long as people, but I had never really let myself think about the day it would actually happen.
Our adventures together
Novigrad, Kroatien · 4. Aug. 2017
Novigrad, Kroatien · 5. Aug. 2017.CvRVcGgp_ZLQcUP.webp)
Oldenburg in Holstein, Deutschland · 14. Jan. 2018
Lütjenburg, Deutschland · 22. Juli 2018
Penzance, Vereinigtes Königreich · 3. Aug. 2018
Penzance, Vereinigtes Königreich · 4. Aug. 2018
Hamburg, Deutschland · 26. Juli 2019
Siena, Italien · 23. Aug. 2019
Poggibonsi, Italien · 26. Aug. 2019
Montalcino, Italien · 1. Sept. 2019
Hindeloopen, Niederlande · 23. Sept. 2019
Hindeloopen, Niederlande · 23. Sept. 2019
Hamburg, Deutschland · 10. Apr. 2020
Weimar, Deutschland · 27. Juni 2020
Eckernförde, Deutschland · 30. Aug. 2020
Eckernförde, Deutschland · 9. Sept. 2020
Eckernförde, Deutschland · 9. Sept. 2020
Fehmarn, Deutschland · 26. Aug. 2023
Fehmarn, Deutschland · 27. Aug. 2023
Neustadt in Holstein, Deutschland · 17. Aug. 2024
Binz, Deutschland · 10. Aug. 2025
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The diagnosis
Carlo had always been a very active dog who loved to play and needed his long walks. I sometimes wondered when this guy would finally settle down a bit, but somehow it never really happened, until he turned nine. A lot of people around me told me that Carlo had changed, that he sometimes seemed a little confused. I always thought it was just the laid-back manner of an old dog. He was slowly starting to struggle with stairs, and I chalked that up to his age too.
In the summer of 2026 he started refusing his dry food, so I switched him to wet food. There were also two evenings when he was breathing very fast and couldn’t settle, and I told myself it was the weather. Then one day his belly started to get bigger, and my first thought was: oh God, my dog has a gastric torsion or something. But it was something else.
At the vet on 20 July we were told it was fluid. An ultrasound wasn’t possible with that much fluid buildup, so he was first treated with water tablets. The search for the cause was scheduled for 30 July, once the fluid was gone. In the meantime Carlo was doing fairly well. The medication of course made him pee a lot, but everything seemed okay. During that time I had been turning things over in my head and thought: ah, it will just be a bit of heart weakness, and there is decent medicine for that in dogs too, something that could still give the little rascal a few more good years.
On 30 July an ultrasound was done, and it showed fluid building up between the heart and the pericardium. On top of that, a few spots were found on his spleen. The vet told us to come back again in a month and to make sure Carlo didn’t romp around so much anymore and only went on short walks. Since a little short holiday with Carlo and my daughter was coming up the following week, I was torn about whether the drive from Buchholz to Weimar and back would be too much for him. But I decided to just go. The back seat was folded down, everything laid out nicely with blankets, and off we went. Carlo had always been a good passenger and handled the trip well.
Since my mother lives a bit more out in the country, has a sweet dog named Emmy, and the river Ilm runs right past her front door, we went on some lovely walks there. Carlo was overjoyed and was his old self again. He played, he romped around, he was simply happy. I was so glad that he was doing better and that we could enjoy our time in Weimar.
The week in Weimar was wonderful for Carlo, and of course for me too, until the call from the vet came. She told us she had consulted a cardiologist about Carlo again and urgently advised me to have his heart drained. Try finding a vet who can do that on short notice during holiday season! After many phone calls I finally got help at the Erfurt animal clinic and got an appointment for 4 August.
After the appointment in Erfurt I was in shock. The diagnosis was not good. Carlo had a tumour on his heart (a haemangiosarcoma) that was inoperable, and the prognosis was very poor to hopeless. The vet explained that he could no longer drain the fluid because it had become too viscous, and that from here on it was only about making Carlo’s last days as comfortable as possible. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me a timeframe, but I knew I now had to make the most of these last days instead of sinking into sadness. On the drive home I cried my eyes out. But Carlo was somehow in good spirits anyway, and that calmed and cheered me up. Every day Carlo went swimming in the Ilm with Emmy and was so happy. Sometimes I had to slow him down a bit, because I was frightened for his heart.
The last days
Since my ex-wife also realised that we wouldn’t have Carlo much longer, she decided to take him on a day trip to the North Sea in Sankt Peter-Ording. In the evening she brought him back to me, and Carlo seemed very content. The next day there were problems with childcare and I had to look after my youngest and my oldest daughter. Since I had taken the day off, we made the most of the time and took a little trip to Carlo’s favourite quarry pond in Todtglüsingen. Carlo asked me dozens of times to throw sticks into the water, until I had to stop him again.
The next day Carlo showed real signs of weakness for the first time. He lay around in the garden a lot, slept, and ate very little. It worried me deeply, and I wanted to take him to the vet the next day, but then he perked up again and was completely his old self. On the weekend of 15 August we celebrated my oldest daughter’s first day of school, and Carlo was thrilled about the visitors. Even Emmy from Weimar was there, and he played a lot in the garden and let all the guests fuss over him at length. The next few days were fairly quiet, until on 19 August he seemed listless again and didn’t want to go for walks. He would still let himself be fed cheese, but he no longer wanted his normal food. So I went to the vet and asked for painkillers, the ones he had still been taking on Thursday. But they didn’t really help either.
The last evening
Carlo was no longer doing well. He no longer wanted to eat his beloved cheese. He no longer wanted to go for walks. He no longer wanted to play. He only wanted to sleep. I knew it was time to let him go. On Thursday I had already tentatively booked an appointment for Saturday at the vet, in case the painkillers stopped working. Since he refused the tablets on Friday, wasn’t eating anything anymore, and kept retreating to the farthest corner of the garden, I knew it was time. After I had put my daughter to bed on Friday evening, knowing it would be my last evening with Carlo, I sat down with him in the garden. I stroked him, lit the fire bowl, opened a bottle of wine, put on some quiet music, and we spent those last hours together, looking into the fire.
Around 2 a.m. I was very tired and carried him into the living room. He signalled to me that he wanted to pee again. Since he had never gone in the garden, I took him outside the door one more time, looked away for a second, and he was gone. I called for him, but he didn’t come back. I searched for him, but I couldn’t find him. I walked the whole length of the street and couldn’t see him anywhere. We live in a mid-terrace house with a small private path that ends in a cul-de-sac at the last house. At that house there was an unfenced garden, and he had withdrawn into its farthest corner. Somehow it is in a dog’s genes to break away from the pack when they are dying. They don’t want to burden their pack with their own death and would rather die alone. It proves once again what selfless animals they are.
When I saw him lying there, I picked him up and carried him back into the house. That night I slept in the living room and put his little bed right next to the sofa. I stroked him and told him that I love him. I told him it was okay to go and that he didn’t have to be afraid. I told him that I would always be with him, even when he was no longer there. I told him that I would never forget him. I told him that he is the best friend, companion, and dog in the world to me. He then gathered all his strength once more, stood up, sat down, and laid his sweet head on my legs, as if to tell me that he understood, and that he was ready to go. He wanted to sleep next to me on the sofa; I lifted him up to me, and at some point we fell asleep.
Saying goodbye
Early in the morning he wanted to go into the garden again, and I let him. I put his bed outside, but he preferred the flower bed again. I dozed a little more and then got up. We had the appointment at the vet at 10:30 a.m. and it was only 7:30. Time crawled, and he was still lying outside. I laid him on his bed and wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm. Then it started to rain and I carried him into the living room. At breakfast I could barely get anything down, and shortly before 10 my ex-wife came to pick up our daughter and to say her own goodbye. Then I took my beloved dog in my arms and drove to the vet with my girlfriend.
I was so afraid. I didn’t know how something like this goes, and I didn’t know how I would feel. I only knew that I had to let him go. I knew it was the best thing for him. I knew he would no longer be in pain. I knew he would go in peace. But the thought of sitting with him in the waiting room, knowing you have to wait so long until you’re called, was unbearable to me. The vet who treated him was so kind and treated him right there in the boot of the car, so that we didn’t have to wait. She examined him and told me that he was very weak and that it was the right decision. She explained that she would give him a sedative injection to make him sleepy, and then two injections that would let him fall asleep. I was with Carlo the whole time, stroking him, and we were head to head until his little wild dog’s heart stopped beating.
Carlo had been strong for me his whole life, and on that day I had to be strong for him. After he had fallen asleep, my girlfriend and I stood with him for about another ten minutes and said goodbye. Then I was allowed to drive my old friend to the crematorium, our last car ride together. The vet had asked me whether I was even able to do that, and said that in my situation she wouldn’t have been able to herself. But for me it was somehow the last service I could do for my dog.
Pet crematorium is such a strange, cold term, and here too I didn’t know what to expect. We parked in front of the entrance, had to fill out a few forms again first, of course, and then we moved Carlo onto a small trolley. It was raining, fitting the mood. Then we were allowed to bring him into a small farewell room one more time and say a final goodbye. I stroked him and shed a great many tears. From my perspective it was a very dignified farewell, and that last walk to the crematorium was, for me, like a small funeral ceremony.
The grief
The days afterwards were genuinely strange. You always had your fixed routines: you got up, went out with him in any weather, you fed him, you played with him. Now everything was different, and the emptiness was palpable everywhere. As if a part of you were missing. I don’t know whether a life without a dog is something for me, but I also know that no one can replace my Carlo. Sometimes in the evening I still hear his footsteps; sometimes I picture him standing in front of me when I open the fridge, and then the tears come. But the thought that he is now up there in dog heaven, no longer in pain, able to romp around with his whole pack, makes me a little happy. I know that he will always be with me, in my heart and in my memories. I will soon scatter his ashes at our favourite places, so that he stays present there forever too. I will never forget him, and I will always love him.
I love you, Carlo. You were the best dog anyone could wish for.
† Carlo · 11 April 2017 – 22 August 2026