Time
This has been an especially hard time for me, in the wake of putting Dillon down.
I've had a few dogs over the years (I haven't been without one since 1997, and we still have Eddie, bless 'im) and with their unfortunately short lives, I've grieved for all but Eddie. It's never easy.
But here's the thing: all of the ones who came before - ALL of them - were ready to go when the call came. Maybe it was on very short notice, but they were ready, and none of this "letting them linger on and on" nonsense, either. I've been very lucky, actually, in this regard - the final day, when it had to be decided, was clear.
Not with Dillon.
Dillon did not want to go. And I didn't want to send him away. And I am wracked with guilt.
He wasn't eating, and when we could finally coax him into eating (just cooked chicken, at that point, hand-fed), he would throw it up after.
That sounds like the end to me. It sounded like the end to Clay several days earlier than than, when he wouldn't eat unless hand-fed, and then only a little. He was long past being himself.
But when I took him to the vet, he wanted nothing more than to be outta there. He was nervous (he was kinda nervous any time we were there, to be honest), and had to be given a sedative. That made him lay down, but it didn't calm him.
And then I petted him while he was given the injection, and the life (what of it there was) left his eyes.
I feel horrible, and have been plagued with guilt and bad dreams since.
I've had a few dogs over the years (I haven't been without one since 1997, and we still have Eddie, bless 'im) and with their unfortunately short lives, I've grieved for all but Eddie. It's never easy.
But here's the thing: all of the ones who came before - ALL of them - were ready to go when the call came. Maybe it was on very short notice, but they were ready, and none of this "letting them linger on and on" nonsense, either. I've been very lucky, actually, in this regard - the final day, when it had to be decided, was clear.
Not with Dillon.
Dillon did not want to go. And I didn't want to send him away. And I am wracked with guilt.
He wasn't eating, and when we could finally coax him into eating (just cooked chicken, at that point, hand-fed), he would throw it up after.
That sounds like the end to me. It sounded like the end to Clay several days earlier than than, when he wouldn't eat unless hand-fed, and then only a little. He was long past being himself.
But when I took him to the vet, he wanted nothing more than to be outta there. He was nervous (he was kinda nervous any time we were there, to be honest), and had to be given a sedative. That made him lay down, but it didn't calm him.
And then I petted him while he was given the injection, and the life (what of it there was) left his eyes.
I feel horrible, and have been plagued with guilt and bad dreams since.