Planning

Planning gives me a way to feel some sense of control over things that are completely out of my control.

Unfortunately, we’ve been through the loss of a pet many, many times, and by now we usually know how it’s going to play out.

The first part of the planning was making sure Jasper has all of the medication he needs to keep him mobile and comfortable.

We already have comfortable places for him to lay in almost every room. Over the last several months, we’ve had to be very intentional about where dog beds are placed so he always has somewhere soft to land in whatever space we’re spending time in. If there isn’t a bed available, he will lay down on the floor, and most of our home doesn’t have carpet. He hasn’t been able to get up from the bare floor since the beginning of November. He’s mastered getting up using only one back leg, but he needs something with grip to make that possible.

The next step was contacting the mobile vet. I like to reach out ahead of time and give them all the information they’ll need so we don’t have to worry about details on the day they come to the house. These angels of the vet world are usually incredibly flexible with their schedules when the time comes.

Jasper January 2026

We also needed to decide whether Jasper would be cremated or buried. As you can imagine, preparing a grave for a dog his size requires more than a shovel. All of our other Great Danes have been cremated. I plan to be cremated myself and have asked that all of our ashes be spread together. Our shelf for our pets’ ashes is getting full, and I jokingly mentioned that if I have another 20 years, we’re going to need more than a shelf if I keep cremating all of our pets.

Jasper has always loved being outside. Hot days, cold days, snowy days, he doesn’t care. Don’t get me wrong, he will absolutely let us know when he’s ready to come back inside, but that has always been his decision, not ours. It feels right for his final resting place to be in his yard. We have a wonderful person who handles our earth-moving needs, and when I contacted him about digging Jasper’s grave, he didn’t hesitate. I told him we might only have 24 hours’ notice, and he said he would make it work.

Those are the immediate needs of the planning.

I also reached out to a pet photographer to see if she might be able to fit us into her schedule. She graciously said any day, any time.

We’ve been buying every kind of sweet treat we can think of to hide his medication in, along with anything else we think he might enjoy eating. He gets all the pets and kisses he can stand.

He has been able to put some weight on his right leg, but recently he’s transitioned to hopping on his left. That right leg has become more of a hindrance than a help. We keep a booty on his right foot because when he drags that leg, his foot hits the ground and his toenail has busted open. The booty also gives him a little extra grip on the tile and laminate floors.

We don’t believe he will make it to the end of this month

When Plans Turn Into Action

At some point, planning stops being theoretical and starts becoming real.

The medications are no longer “just in case.” The beds aren’t just strategically placed, they’re necessary. The mobile vet is no longer someone we know we’ll need eventually, but someone we’re waiting to hear back from. The photographer is no longer a hopeful idea, but someone we’re coordinating schedules with.

This is the part where the planning turns into action, and somehow that makes everything feel heavier and clearer at the same time.

We’ve settled into a slower rhythm. Everything revolves around Jasper’s comfort now. How he’s moving. How he’s feeling. Whether today is a good day or a harder one. We watch closely, adjust constantly, and try not to rush anything that doesn’t need rushing.

There’s a strange tenderness in this phase. We already know where he’ll rest. We know who will come when it’s time. We know what we want his last days to look like. That knowledge doesn’t take away the pain, but it does remove the chaos. There’s peace in knowing we won’t be scrambling or making decisions while our hearts are breaking.

Most of the action looks quiet from the outside. Extra treats. More time outside. Helping him stand. Lying on the floor next to him. Letting him eat what he wants and do what he can. Talking to him more than usual. Thanking him for being such a good boy, even though he already knows.

We are still grieving. That hasn’t changed. But now we’re also actively loving him through the end, and that feels like an honor I don’t take lightly.

This part is hard. It’s also sacred.

And for now, this is where we are.