(no subject)
At approximately 7:45 this morning, dear, sweet old Buck went to the dog park in the sky.
I'm doing better than I was this morning. I signed all the paperwork for my parents, and took care of everything, trying not to cry as I went. I lost it a little when Dr. McMahon told me not to worry about it, to let someone else do it, and I said, "No, I have to do this. I have to."
Thank you for all the kind words, everyone who's commented or plinged me - they do get passed along, and they do mean a lot. Some people think it's silly to get this worked up over a dog, but I am, and my stepfather is, the type of person to whom dogs become more. They're family. For Jack, they are his children. Same for me. They have personalities and big hearts and will always love you and trust you. And I tell myself, it's one of life's small mercies that, for all they do for you, when they're sick like he was, you can do the right thing for them and end their suffering.
Bear and Leto knew what was happening. Usually, when Buck left to go anywhere, to the vet, to the groomer alone, whatever, the other two would explode and freak out and bark their stupid heads off. Today they just stood and watched. They probably knew how sick he was better than we did. And Buck knew, too.
I believe in heaven and hell. I believe that when you die, all the people who you loved, and all the people who loved you, are there with you.
I believe that dogs have souls, too, and that all dogs go to heaven. I believe Buck will be there, if I get to go there.
There is no dog on God's green earth that deserves to be in heaven more than Buck. He was the gentlest dog I've ever known, so empathetic, so loving and patient. He could be a stubborn bastard, sometimes, but it was impossible to be mad at him when he was pretending to eat out of his empty bowl to avoid going outside or when he was ignoring my mother as she yelled at him to get off the couch. There is a hole in this family that will never be filled.
We're going to spread his ashes out under some of the pine trees in the front yard.
I'm just happy he's not hurting anymore.
He will be missed.
I'm doing better than I was this morning. I signed all the paperwork for my parents, and took care of everything, trying not to cry as I went. I lost it a little when Dr. McMahon told me not to worry about it, to let someone else do it, and I said, "No, I have to do this. I have to."
Thank you for all the kind words, everyone who's commented or plinged me - they do get passed along, and they do mean a lot. Some people think it's silly to get this worked up over a dog, but I am, and my stepfather is, the type of person to whom dogs become more. They're family. For Jack, they are his children. Same for me. They have personalities and big hearts and will always love you and trust you. And I tell myself, it's one of life's small mercies that, for all they do for you, when they're sick like he was, you can do the right thing for them and end their suffering.
Bear and Leto knew what was happening. Usually, when Buck left to go anywhere, to the vet, to the groomer alone, whatever, the other two would explode and freak out and bark their stupid heads off. Today they just stood and watched. They probably knew how sick he was better than we did. And Buck knew, too.
I believe in heaven and hell. I believe that when you die, all the people who you loved, and all the people who loved you, are there with you.
I believe that dogs have souls, too, and that all dogs go to heaven. I believe Buck will be there, if I get to go there.
There is no dog on God's green earth that deserves to be in heaven more than Buck. He was the gentlest dog I've ever known, so empathetic, so loving and patient. He could be a stubborn bastard, sometimes, but it was impossible to be mad at him when he was pretending to eat out of his empty bowl to avoid going outside or when he was ignoring my mother as she yelled at him to get off the couch. There is a hole in this family that will never be filled.
We're going to spread his ashes out under some of the pine trees in the front yard.
I'm just happy he's not hurting anymore.
He will be missed.