The Year of Things I Feel Ambiguously About Shows Its Ace in the Hole

Lose this, lose that, lose this again. Thus has been the rhythm of my year, things I feel ambiguously about leaving me confused and so sad in their wake.

The dog has stopped eating. My parents and I got her some wet dog food, because, as I suspected, she’s very into eating for fun still. She’s just not interested in eating for sustenance. And wet dog food is fun. My dad was like, “I think this is it” and I tried to argue, “I know we are at the end. But I don’t know if this is the end so to speak.” Yes, the not eating is the two minute warning, but can’t we run some plays, see if we can’t stretch things out? Come up with some last minute miracle?

Last night, she slept with me, as she normally does. And she peed the bed. Not only that, she didn’t wake up until I woke her up because I was like “Yuck, why is my bed so cold?”

That’s it, then. When the Butcher gets home, we have to put her down. You can’t ask someone who has been so good to you for so long to sleep in her own piss because you’re afraid of your own broken heart.

And I am glad and relieved that I don’t have to ask that of her, that I can ease her on out of this world before her suffering is too great. But I want to cry for a while, too. For a very long while.

I don’t know how to stand this and yet, for her sake, it must be stood.

About these ads

19 thoughts on “The Year of Things I Feel Ambiguously About Shows Its Ace in the Hole

  1. Oh, B, I’m so sorry. Mrs. W has been lucky to have you looking after her, just as you’ve been lucky to have her caring for you. And this is awful for you, but you know it’s the last gift you can give her. It would only become more awful (for both of you) later. Sometimes doing the right thing wrenches our hearts.

  2. Easing her gently out of suffering is the most kind and blessed thing you can do to thank a soul who has devoted her life to loving you.

    That knowledge doesn’t make it one iota easier to do.

    We are grieving the beautiful, brilliant Mrs. Wigglebottom’s passage as a beloved family member — and your suffering — with you.

    Bless you and your Dear Companion, B. May happy memories comfort you all.

  3. I’m so sorry. You are doing the most loving, hardest thing. She had a wonderful life with you, and you are giving her the last thing you have to give her. You are brave and right and it’s still so awful. I’m sorry.

  4. Poor Mrs. W. And poor you. I don’t think dogs don’t have to suffer all the fear and wondering about the unknown and the afterlife that humans do. I think Mrs. W., aside from any pain she feels, is at peace with death. I think she will be happy and unafraid so long as you’re with her.

  5. Knowing you’re doing the right thing doesn’t make it any easier. My thoughts are with you and Mrs . W.

  6. I grieve for you, and I grieve for myself and my wife, as I know the time will come for our two little dogs as well.

    People who don’t have pets do not understand, We are brokenhearted, not just because we love them so much, but because they love us back. And there are way too few in the world who do love us back.

    But I know you have made her life a good one. Good for you. Love and care for animals is the sign of a good heart.

  7. Thanks, everyone for your kind words. She has been this strange and lovely thing in my life for so long that it just seems impossible to believe that it can’t go on forever. And yet, here we are, at the end.

  8. I don’t know what to say (not that it would help), but Irving Townsend wrote this:

    “We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.”

    Hugs from us.

Comments are closed.