My dog, Hoover (after the vacuum, not the President) has reached his end. Poor guy. He has a litany of diseases, ailments and maladies that make him absolutely miserable. He has tumors that have gone malignant, he has Cushings Disease, he has Hypothyroid disease, he has gone blind, he is deaf, and he is absolutely miserable. On the one hand, I don't want him to leave us- he has been with us since we got him from an abusive home 10 years ago. He has welcomed three babies into the family, been there to comfort us when we put his partner Pepper to sleep, and he has kept the floor in the kitchen spotless- no mean task with four kids in the house. But seeing him frozen in the middle of the room, not sure where he is, blind and deaf, whimpering and yearning for something that he is familiar with to get his bearings, I am sure it is the right thing to do. We could give him drugs to stave off the pressing medical problems, but it would only prolong an agonizing life so that I don't have a guilty conscience about killing him (that's what it is, let's be real). It took a while to get over whacking Pepper, and Hoover has been my buddy, so this is gonna hurt. But it's the humane thing to do. I'm gonna miss him. He was supposed to be a short haired miniature doxie. He turned out to be a standard longhair.
Tonight he will sleep on my pillow; tomorrow night also. Wednesday morning I will say goodbye.
I'll hold him as he goes, because I want him to not be confused and scared, and the only time he doesn't shiver is when he is up against my wife or I. And she doesn't want to do it- she can't.
This task falls to me.
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