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Thursday, November 22, 2007
Pee Wee is Gone
This is an old Blog that I have posted on my MySpace blog. I thought I'd transfer it here.
Tuesday was the day. I finally decided. After 19 years of the same dog by my side it was time to put him down. He was in pain. Arthritis through his back and his hind legs, cataracts clouding his eyes. He couldn't walk very well especially around here with all the hills. He would lose his footing and roll down the hill. Because he was losing his eye sight he wouldn't walk around objects in his way. He'd barrel through them if he could. If he couldn't he'd just stand there waiting for me to pick him up. He'd fall down and sometimes wouldn't be able to get up on his own. During the day I'd keep him in the laundry room because he couldn't wait for me to get home to go to the bathroom anymore and if he were in the laundry room then I could easily clean it up. I came home one day to loud whining and when I opened the door to the laundry room I found him stuck in his water bowl. He couldn't get out and I could tell he'd been struggling for a while because he had red sores all over his legs where they had rubbed against the water dish. I keep telling myself all these things because I need to justify it. I need to tell myself that it's okay that I made that decision. He was suffering. He led a great long life. He's better off now, but I still want him here. I come into the door and instantly look for him. At night I reach down to pet him but he's not there. I can't bring myself to throw away the open can of food that resides in my refrigerator. A morning hasn't gone by where I haven't cried. I miss him so much. And I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I had to make the decision, that he couldn't have just died naturally in my arms. I feel guilty that I couldn't be there when they inserted the needle but I was afraid I'd stop them. I was afraid that she'd approach him with the needle and I'd grab her hand and say "Stop. Please don't. I love this little guy and I don't know what I'm going to do without him." I couldn't be there. I had to walk away. I didn't want to hear the yelp when they put the needle in his leg. I didn't want to see him gasp his last breath. I didn't want to see his eyes grow heavy and then never open. But I did want my face to be the last one that he saw but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be there for him in his last minutes, his last seconds, and I feel guily as hell for it. I looked back when they were closing the door and I all I saw was his sweet little face looking at me as if to say "where are you going." That face haunts me and I have to keep justifying my decision. He's better off now. He's not suffering. He led a long great life of 19 years. It's okay. Everything will okay. I know all of this to be true but it still hurts and I don't see an end in sight.
