Tuesday, June 4, 2013
But we stuck it out. Through moves, terrible choices in men, across state lines...we was always with me. Over the last year or so, he started to have trouble walking. We have linoleum in the main section of our house, and at times, Shelby was like Bambi on the ice. But his spirit was still in tact...and he would manage to slip and slide all over for a treat or peanut butter pill sammie. But for awhile now, you could tell his mind was slipping. He would bark or yelp for no reason. Sometimes for 15-20 minutes at a time. It was kinda like we was a Vietnam vet that wasn't quite sure where he was when he woke up and he was always waiting for Charlie to come out of of the jungle.
Two weeks ago I took him to the vet and she told me basically he had doggie dementia. That he wasn't in pain, but I had to start thinking about end of life procedures...and that at some point I was "keeping him alive for my comfort, not his". I started bawling and repeating "I'm not ready for that yet". So she sent me home with some crazy meds (for him).
I have been saying for awhile I wish he didn't seem so happy to be alive...like if he WAS in pain or had seemed to give up, at least it would make the choice a little easier...
And last Tuesday it happened. Heather got home before I did and found Shelby half in/half out the doggie door...breathing...but unable to walk. I don't want to think about how long he had been there like that. So she called me and told me to hurry home...and that it was time.
I got home, scooped him up...and Heather drove us to the vet. She went in and arranged everything while we waited in the car. She couldn't go back with me, but I wasn't sending him back alone.
When we got back there it was so so hard. I've never had to put a pet down before. The vet came in and told me how it would go...asked if I was ready...and she started. And then it was over.
Just like that.
And...that's all I can type about that part. I get to pick up his ashes on Monday.
I took the next day off. Crying and cleaning the house, changing around the dog beds...trying to remove visual cues. Heather was amazing. Very patient with me. Cried with me. Talked me through it.
Coming home is different and probably the hardest part of my day. I am used to that crazy bastard waiting for me with a look of hunger in his eyes (he was a Workman after all...we are always starving). I know they don't get to live as long as us. And that sucks. And I know you have to think about what a great life you gave them and that they gave you. But it doesn't really make it easier. I am selfish and want him with me always. But I know if there is a better place...that if our spirits don't go with us to the dirt...that he is somewhere biting ankles, riding on SeaDoos, and eating all the food is fat belly can hold.
Posted by Amy W. at Tuesday, June 04, 2013