Sydney.
First of all, thank you to everyone for all your sympathy -- I really appreciate it. I'm not really up to talking at the moment, but I probably will be soon.
The whole family went to the vet today to see Sydney for the last time. She hobbled in, looking so old and confused, but she still encouraged us to pat her. Even though I knew the best thing for her was to end her suffering, I still had/have a horrible sick feeling in my stomach, knowing that I'll never be able to pat her always-roaming tufts of hair, smell her doggy breath, or be woken up by her whining. It was obvious when we saw her that a peaceful goodbye would be much better than an aggressive one ruled by kidney disease.
We visited with her for a while, and made her comfortable. After a little while, the vet came in and we told him that we'd decided the best choice was to let her go peacefully. He explained everything that would/might happen after giving her an overdose of anesthetic. I could have left, but I wanted to stay. The whole time, I just kept thinking of that line from Donnie Darko, "Every living creature on Earth dies alone," and of Donnie's story of his dog, Callie, who went under the porch to be alone in death. I didn't want Sydney to die alone, and it ended up that she was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my dad, and myself -- a family that loves/loved her.
I hate crying because it doesn't really do anything productive, and it makes you feel horrible afterward, but I know it's important to the grieving process, and I couldn't/can't stop the tears from coming anyway.
It took about a minute for her body to give way, and then she wasn't breathing. She didn't look like she was in pain, or worse, that she was all of a sudden peppier and we had ended her life too soon -- she looked peaceful.
It's hard being at home without hearing her bark, or making her bed comfortable, or the rattle of the tags on her collar. We're all going to get through this, it's just going to be tough. I'm still going to wake up in the morning thinking she's laying down beside my bed, and I'm still going to read in the living room chair thinking she's curled up behind the sofa. It's a big transition.
After a few hours of watching TV in an attempt to take my mind off things, I helped my mom find some pictures of Syd. It turns out that we have quite a lot. Pictures of her as a fuzzy puppy -- when her head looked like it was much too small for that furry body ... pictures of her attacking toys, running outside, sleeping. I just wish that when I touch the pictures, I'd feel her warmth ... I really miss her. I'm always going to forget she's not really here, I know I'll automatically say that I have a dog when people ask me if I have an animal ...
I think what I'm most happy about is that I got to spend this time with her without worrying about the pressures of school. I was able to play with her a lot and bring her to the vet, and prepare myself better for this disease. None of us thought she had so little time since she had started with the Sub-Q treatments, but I guess that just shows you how quickly things can change. I'm proud of myself for being able to see her one last time and hopefully my presence made her feel loved. I'm even prouder of Sydney, who survived a month as a mostly spunky, peppy puppy, while over 80% of her kidneys failed. She had a strong will -- she was a fighter, and I love her for that.
We've decided to plant a tree in the yard for her, and bury her ashes there. I'd also like to get a memorial plaque to put there. I was thinking we could get a dogwood which would grow into our snooty neighbors' yard, so even in death, Sydney could still annoy them, LoL.
It's only 6:30 and I feel like it's 2 AM. Sleeping's going to be the hardest part, now. Maybe she'll visit me in my dreams -- I hope so.
Love you all,
Meg
The whole family went to the vet today to see Sydney for the last time. She hobbled in, looking so old and confused, but she still encouraged us to pat her. Even though I knew the best thing for her was to end her suffering, I still had/have a horrible sick feeling in my stomach, knowing that I'll never be able to pat her always-roaming tufts of hair, smell her doggy breath, or be woken up by her whining. It was obvious when we saw her that a peaceful goodbye would be much better than an aggressive one ruled by kidney disease.
We visited with her for a while, and made her comfortable. After a little while, the vet came in and we told him that we'd decided the best choice was to let her go peacefully. He explained everything that would/might happen after giving her an overdose of anesthetic. I could have left, but I wanted to stay. The whole time, I just kept thinking of that line from Donnie Darko, "Every living creature on Earth dies alone," and of Donnie's story of his dog, Callie, who went under the porch to be alone in death. I didn't want Sydney to die alone, and it ended up that she was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my dad, and myself -- a family that loves/loved her.
I hate crying because it doesn't really do anything productive, and it makes you feel horrible afterward, but I know it's important to the grieving process, and I couldn't/can't stop the tears from coming anyway.
It took about a minute for her body to give way, and then she wasn't breathing. She didn't look like she was in pain, or worse, that she was all of a sudden peppier and we had ended her life too soon -- she looked peaceful.
It's hard being at home without hearing her bark, or making her bed comfortable, or the rattle of the tags on her collar. We're all going to get through this, it's just going to be tough. I'm still going to wake up in the morning thinking she's laying down beside my bed, and I'm still going to read in the living room chair thinking she's curled up behind the sofa. It's a big transition.
After a few hours of watching TV in an attempt to take my mind off things, I helped my mom find some pictures of Syd. It turns out that we have quite a lot. Pictures of her as a fuzzy puppy -- when her head looked like it was much too small for that furry body ... pictures of her attacking toys, running outside, sleeping. I just wish that when I touch the pictures, I'd feel her warmth ... I really miss her. I'm always going to forget she's not really here, I know I'll automatically say that I have a dog when people ask me if I have an animal ...
I think what I'm most happy about is that I got to spend this time with her without worrying about the pressures of school. I was able to play with her a lot and bring her to the vet, and prepare myself better for this disease. None of us thought she had so little time since she had started with the Sub-Q treatments, but I guess that just shows you how quickly things can change. I'm proud of myself for being able to see her one last time and hopefully my presence made her feel loved. I'm even prouder of Sydney, who survived a month as a mostly spunky, peppy puppy, while over 80% of her kidneys failed. She had a strong will -- she was a fighter, and I love her for that.
We've decided to plant a tree in the yard for her, and bury her ashes there. I'd also like to get a memorial plaque to put there. I was thinking we could get a dogwood which would grow into our snooty neighbors' yard, so even in death, Sydney could still annoy them, LoL.
It's only 6:30 and I feel like it's 2 AM. Sleeping's going to be the hardest part, now. Maybe she'll visit me in my dreams -- I hope so.
Love you all,
Meg