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The LW does not love the dog the way the husband does - that much is clear. But when she took the husband on, she took the dog on, and now she must cope with the (possibly protracted) the end of the dog's life with good grace, kindness, and compassion for all.
A new life is often as needful in the same ways as a life in the end stages. When her children were infants, the couldn't communicate except through sounds, often reeked with the odor of urine and poo, slobbered when they were happy, and ate and drank with unmindful, straightforward need. These things aren't considered horrible or disgusting - they are part of the beginning of life, and as such most people find them to have a certain innocent beauty. The end of the dog's life can be described in the exact same terms - it makes odd sounds, reeks of urine, slobbers, and lives only to eat and drink. Because the dog is at the end of it's life, these things take on a negative resonance, as we instinctively shy away from anything that reminds of the ugly truth of mortality.
If the dog continues to find joy in eating, walking, and the presence of it's master (the LW's husband), the LW should become a mouth breather for awhile, and change her perspective to see the dog's slow demise not as a smelly and annoying inconvenience, but as a simple and powerful demonstration of the circle of life. To her I would say: bear witness to this dog's death as you have it's life. Assist your husband in giving the dog a dignified and comfortable end, whenever that may be. Be grateful for the opportunitiy to help him with his grief - in this there will be learning, and beauty, as well.
And thank you, Cary, for your lovely words. I lost my 18-year-old dog last night at 2:30 a.m. He had been incontinent for a year, which I dealt with using dog training pads. Other than that, he was quite happy right up to his last days, though he looked a little the worse for wear (as he got older he got quite grumpy and hated to be bathed, groomed and generally messed with). It was the hardest thing ever, when he died in my arms. Seeing him there on the table at the end - so old, used up, and vulnerable, I loved him as much, more even, than when he was a hilarious little puppy with mischief on his mind. He was my friend, he was loved, he was love.
