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| goopy web hugs |
| 05.23.06 (1:21 pm) [edit] |
I can't stand those nutty ((((HUGS!!!)))) but Mimi Smartypants deserves one anyway. My friend Jennie is also dealing with pet illness, and Flea had a kitten emergency not too long ago. Can we all stop having animal sadness, please? I'll never forget my dad having to put his dog Winston down. Winnie was 13 and very sickly. He was a purebred Old English Sheepdog my parents got the same year I was born. They tried showing him briefly, but he was so dumb it just wasn't worth the energy. So he became our very own house bear. He was a big, goofy guy but sweet as hell. Finally, cancer and displaysia made it too hard to keep him peacefully, and I went with my dad to the vet when he had to say good-bye. I think it was the first -- and one of the only times -- I ever saw my dad cry. JJ was the next dog we lost -- this time to kennel cough, when he was 12. He was a Westie, and a sweet little guy. Not really as fiesty as most terriers, he was very content to be a mild-mannered lapdog. Oliver was the hardest, because he was really my dog. A purebred Collie, he looked exactly like the original Lassie and was the smartest, best dog a kid could have. My dad actually bought him as a gift for his dad, who'd recently been dumped by my grandma after years of mental and other abuse. Oliver lasted maybe 10 hrs with my grandpa, at which point Grampa called my dad and told him to "get this fucking mutt out of here." He hadn't walked the puppy, who finally peed on the rug out of desperation. Late that night, I was awakened by my brother, who said Mom & Dad told him to bring me down to the family room. And there, hunched under the glass coffee table between the brown velour sofa and the pukey green tweed one, was that sweet little 9-week-old collie puppy, looking terrified. Collies were Scottish, my dad said, so he looked up boy names from the baby book that were Scottish. So the puppy briefly known as Rover (seriously) became Oliver McTavish McPherson O'(JT Maiden Name). I knew I was an adult the day I was home from college on a break and I begged my parents to put Ollie Collie down. He was 14. He'd lost his voice a few years before, and had almost no use of his back legs. My parents lived in a second-floor loft in the city and had to carry Oliver up and down the stairs to take him outside. I didn't have the stones to be there when he died; I didn't want to see him lying on that stainless steel table. My last memory is of his tail weakly thumping the floor as he grinned his doggy grin at me, a few extra spaces showing where a couple of teeth had fallen out or broken. I know I stroked his velvety ears a few extra times before I had to go back to school. I still dream about Oliver to this day. |
posted by: irishred (reply)
post date: 05.25.06 (5:57 pm)
It is impossible to put a pet down if they have been with you for a long time. I know exactly how you feel on this,
