A day of extremes.
This morning, I am at once celebrating the end of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, with the Senate's surprising 66-33 vote to proceed to vote where only a simple majority is needed, and sitting silently after returning home from the vet where we put Montana to sleep. On the one hand, this is the first nationally legislated victory in the fight for Civil Rights for LGBT folk that I know of. On the other hand, a creature who has been a fixture in my life for the past ten years is suddenly gone. I'm not sure how to feel at this moment.
DADT was a blight on the administration of Bill Clinton and on the military and our country in general. Its demise marks a step forward in the cultural acceptance of the patriotism of men and women who served their country despite the fact that their country treated them as less, as second-class or worse and punished them for who they loved. It's only one victory, but it's a high profile, significant one.
The ending of Montana was something we knew was coming probably within a year, but on Thursday evening the seizure disorder we'd been controlling with medication became suddenly and dramatically worse. By yesterday, she was seizing about every two hours, and the seizures, already fierce were growing in intensity. By this morning, she was seizing every fifteen minutes and her legs weren't working anymore. She refused treats and barely drank any water. We concluded that the time had come and headed off to the vet.
I'd never been present at the euthanasia of an animal. I've lost animals before, but never like that. It really is quick and painless; Montana just stopped within a minute of the injection without even any agonal breathing. I'm convinced we made the right call, hard as it was.
And so, here I am, caught between joy and grief, celebration and worrying about Shannon who is the most deeply affected of all of us. Merry fucking Christmas. It's going to be disorienting not having Montana under foot, not having to guard food from our own personal Bumpus hound, not having those soft ears to pet. It was ten years ago yesterday that we came home from Leader Dogs for the Blind, a fact that I just realized as I was writing this. My stepfather drove us home through a blizard and her first park time at her new home was in chest-deep (for her) new snow.
She was a sharp dog guide, displaying lots of initiative. She saved my life (or at least major injury) on at least two occasions I can remember, and was a great companion through some very dark times before I came out to California. In retrospect, while moving out here was good for me, it was less good for her as my opportunities to work with her were far more limited once I moved to Sacramento.
Still and all, she had a good life and was loved until the end. I will not be replacing her, unless I can guarantee that another working dog would get sufficient work to be happy and healthy.
DADT was a blight on the administration of Bill Clinton and on the military and our country in general. Its demise marks a step forward in the cultural acceptance of the patriotism of men and women who served their country despite the fact that their country treated them as less, as second-class or worse and punished them for who they loved. It's only one victory, but it's a high profile, significant one.
The ending of Montana was something we knew was coming probably within a year, but on Thursday evening the seizure disorder we'd been controlling with medication became suddenly and dramatically worse. By yesterday, she was seizing about every two hours, and the seizures, already fierce were growing in intensity. By this morning, she was seizing every fifteen minutes and her legs weren't working anymore. She refused treats and barely drank any water. We concluded that the time had come and headed off to the vet.
I'd never been present at the euthanasia of an animal. I've lost animals before, but never like that. It really is quick and painless; Montana just stopped within a minute of the injection without even any agonal breathing. I'm convinced we made the right call, hard as it was.
And so, here I am, caught between joy and grief, celebration and worrying about Shannon who is the most deeply affected of all of us. Merry fucking Christmas. It's going to be disorienting not having Montana under foot, not having to guard food from our own personal Bumpus hound, not having those soft ears to pet. It was ten years ago yesterday that we came home from Leader Dogs for the Blind, a fact that I just realized as I was writing this. My stepfather drove us home through a blizard and her first park time at her new home was in chest-deep (for her) new snow.
She was a sharp dog guide, displaying lots of initiative. She saved my life (or at least major injury) on at least two occasions I can remember, and was a great companion through some very dark times before I came out to California. In retrospect, while moving out here was good for me, it was less good for her as my opportunities to work with her were far more limited once I moved to Sacramento.
Still and all, she had a good life and was loved until the end. I will not be replacing her, unless I can guarantee that another working dog would get sufficient work to be happy and healthy.