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Nov. 21st, 2009 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peroxidepirateI'm not sure I want to talk about this much, but 1. I kind of abandoned a post/poll mid-stream a few days ago, and 2. I already mentioned that my dog, Mack, had cancer. So.
We had to have him put to sleep on Wednesday morning.
We had to have him put to sleep on Wednesday morning.
Monday was my birthday, and he stayed around that long. Tuesday morning, though, he started having a lot of trouble breathing and controlling his back legs. He didn't want to eat much. When we went outside, he just lay down, which is something he never used to do outside. He seemed really happy to just lay in the sun -- but he didn't want to get back up or do anything else. The last couple of times we went out, I had to carry him (all 50-odd pounds) the 20 feet from where he lay down back to the door, because he couldn't walk it anymore. And he refused his meds -- he was willing to take treats, but he looked me right in the eye and closed his mouth to the medication. I tried hiding it in a couple of different kinds of food, but he wouldn't budge. We did finally manage to get him to take the 4:00 and then the midnight doses. By that time, we knew this was it. But it was too late to take him to the vet that day, and we didn't want him to be in more pain.
He was such a good dog, always. He told us so clearly that it was time, that he didn't want us trying to keep him alive anymore. I'm glad of that -- I really hoped that it wouldn't be a hard decision to make, and it wasn't. We got an appointment with our regular vet on Wednesday morning. For him it was very peaceful, and however much we miss him, we're grateful for that.
He was my baby. He was the dog I got first, the one I had the longest, the one I loved most (but don't tell the other 2). He was three when I got him. I told him I needed ten years with him. I got five years, two months and two days.
It's so hard.
It's also, as always at a time like this, kind of a relief. (And for some reason, I don't feel the same guilt thinking that about a dog as I would about a human.) If I could choose, of course I would choose to have him back. But since he's gone, in between missing him so desperately, I'm grateful that he's not hurting anymore. I'm appreciating the fact that feeding dogs is now, again, a sixty second operation instead of a twenty minute project. I'm enjoying not waking up to the sound of a dog coughing and throwing up. I'm relieved that my work schedule is no longer dependent on when I need to be home to give him meds.
But then, I keep thinking he's right around the corner. Doing a mental doggie head count: One on the couch. One on the dog bed. Where's the thir-- Oh shit, there is no third one. Seeing a crumpled up black blanket on the floor & momentarily thinking it's him. It's hard.
Not sure what else to say, but since I do sometimes post personal stuff here, I feel like I need to post this, too. But no comments, please, I don't want to talk about it.
He was such a good dog, always. He told us so clearly that it was time, that he didn't want us trying to keep him alive anymore. I'm glad of that -- I really hoped that it wouldn't be a hard decision to make, and it wasn't. We got an appointment with our regular vet on Wednesday morning. For him it was very peaceful, and however much we miss him, we're grateful for that.
He was my baby. He was the dog I got first, the one I had the longest, the one I loved most (but don't tell the other 2). He was three when I got him. I told him I needed ten years with him. I got five years, two months and two days.
It's so hard.
It's also, as always at a time like this, kind of a relief. (And for some reason, I don't feel the same guilt thinking that about a dog as I would about a human.) If I could choose, of course I would choose to have him back. But since he's gone, in between missing him so desperately, I'm grateful that he's not hurting anymore. I'm appreciating the fact that feeding dogs is now, again, a sixty second operation instead of a twenty minute project. I'm enjoying not waking up to the sound of a dog coughing and throwing up. I'm relieved that my work schedule is no longer dependent on when I need to be home to give him meds.
But then, I keep thinking he's right around the corner. Doing a mental doggie head count: One on the couch. One on the dog bed. Where's the thir-- Oh shit, there is no third one. Seeing a crumpled up black blanket on the floor & momentarily thinking it's him. It's hard.
Not sure what else to say, but since I do sometimes post personal stuff here, I feel like I need to post this, too. But no comments, please, I don't want to talk about it.