About a month ago, I sent a blog post by Bellwether Vance over at Open Salon to my friend and fellow pet-lover and sometimes doggie foster mom. It was a wonderful article, sprinkled liberally with humor and heartbreak. Mostly it's about closing one of your personal tubes on the interwebs with a password containing the name of your pet. And the loss of the said best friend. My pomeranian, "Peanut", lovingly nicknamed "Turd" because he shat on an ice house picnic table when he was six months old, is now resting peacefully, in a little wooden box, in my living room. I won't be participating in some mental self-flagellation and have changed all passords to the name of my ex, Sneaky McCheaterson (there's a joke in there people). I think he did the hokey pokey with half of Harris County - seriously.
Losing that super loving, yet totally incontinent dog has been difficult. He was no prince, he urinated on everything left on the floor, pooped on all bath and door mats and had a genetic cough. I rescued him from a purported trip to the pound, or that lady fibbed about dumping him, when he was six months old. At two, the vet told me he had a collapsing trachea from in-breeding or "puppy mill" genetic coughing stuff. Said coughing was normally really bad in the early morning, or whenever I wanted to sleep. Sounds like he was a total pain, and he was. But, he loved me with all his little heart and I lovd him right back. Just as much.
Speaking of love, he had a girlfriend - File Gumbo, my little girl cat. He would hump her furiously, and mostly when I had company he could show off for. When she died suddenly, in the living room, I wrapped her in a towel. He nudged it back and sat next to her. That little boy was five pounds of personality plus.
I won't say much about his refusal to eat, the trips to the vet, the testing. I won't mention in detail all of the foods I tried to get him to eat, the droppers full of pedialyte unflavored. I will say, I tried and my vet tried. But in the end, I made the toughtest choice we make as pet owners and let him go with dignity. Hopefully, with no, or minimal suffering. My brother offered up a 21 "Gak" salute, to honor him and his quack-like cough. I still listen for him, but, that's all part of grief. Fortunately, I have Libby, my PitMix Princess and a cat I purchased at a rodeo benefit - who puts a kitten in a silent auction? They keep me company.
Now, I am going to be playing the lottery, on account of I'm due a little something "good".