Love for a Noble Dog
It just hasn't been a very good week for me emotionally...
I talked to my dad at lunch today, and he told me that my dog, Worf, was dying. He had lost 30% of his body weight, and had hard masses (probably cancer) in his lungs and prostate. The vet he was taken to suggested euthanasia, because he couldn't breathe, and even if they did extensive work on him, there was very little chance he would survive. So, as I'm writing this, I'm assuming that poor Worfie has passed away already (no one's told me for sure). And what's worse is that he'd been in a kennel for the past several weeks while my dad helped finalize the selling of the house, and my parents would have been picking him up from there in less than a week.
He and his brother Bubbles have had a hard year, what with all the renovations and showings of the house that meant they were confined for most of the day, every day, except when they went out for walks. And then there was the big move from the home they had lived their entire lives in, to a new house in a new state, a couple thousand miles away. Then my dad had to leave again, and left them in a kennel that, while it sounded nice and spacious, was not a home with people who would spend time with them and give them attention. It breaks my heart to think that Worf died alone.
He wasn't the favorite dog in our family. And that's not his fault. We did love him very much. He was sweet and incredibly affectionate, but often jealous and a little bit of a bully. He was playful, but a little shy, and a fraidy-cat despite his warrior name. He was silly and liked to bark, and loved to go on long walks. It must've been hard for him to be not-the-favorite. Maybe he didn't notice, because he's a dog, and dogs are good natured about these sorts of things. But I felt sorry for him, that he wasn't the one people reached down to pet first. He got as much petting as his brother did, I think - we took care to make sure of that. But he wasn't the favorite. And I think it's both a sad and noble condition. Because he loved us wholeheartedly all the same.
I hope that he's happier now, playing with Kes and Cotton, peeing on cloud-shaped furniture, getting belly scratches from God, and barking at birds. He deserves so much more than what he got from us. And I hope that, somehow, he knows that I do love him very much.
I talked to my dad at lunch today, and he told me that my dog, Worf, was dying. He had lost 30% of his body weight, and had hard masses (probably cancer) in his lungs and prostate. The vet he was taken to suggested euthanasia, because he couldn't breathe, and even if they did extensive work on him, there was very little chance he would survive. So, as I'm writing this, I'm assuming that poor Worfie has passed away already (no one's told me for sure). And what's worse is that he'd been in a kennel for the past several weeks while my dad helped finalize the selling of the house, and my parents would have been picking him up from there in less than a week.
He and his brother Bubbles have had a hard year, what with all the renovations and showings of the house that meant they were confined for most of the day, every day, except when they went out for walks. And then there was the big move from the home they had lived their entire lives in, to a new house in a new state, a couple thousand miles away. Then my dad had to leave again, and left them in a kennel that, while it sounded nice and spacious, was not a home with people who would spend time with them and give them attention. It breaks my heart to think that Worf died alone.
He wasn't the favorite dog in our family. And that's not his fault. We did love him very much. He was sweet and incredibly affectionate, but often jealous and a little bit of a bully. He was playful, but a little shy, and a fraidy-cat despite his warrior name. He was silly and liked to bark, and loved to go on long walks. It must've been hard for him to be not-the-favorite. Maybe he didn't notice, because he's a dog, and dogs are good natured about these sorts of things. But I felt sorry for him, that he wasn't the one people reached down to pet first. He got as much petting as his brother did, I think - we took care to make sure of that. But he wasn't the favorite. And I think it's both a sad and noble condition. Because he loved us wholeheartedly all the same.
I hope that he's happier now, playing with Kes and Cotton, peeing on cloud-shaped furniture, getting belly scratches from God, and barking at birds. He deserves so much more than what he got from us. And I hope that, somehow, he knows that I do love him very much.