(no subject)
kropka needs a hysterectomy. she is profusly bleeding eggs from her vagina out of old age.
my sister calls me, on my cel phone, that kropka is less and less enthusiastic about the few things that bring her joy, such as walks and heavily salted bacon shaped treats.
they tell me to come visit soon, for they feel it is her last days.
i call up my mother, telling her i think kropka needs euthasnasia. my mom quickly says its between me and my father, and quickly ends the conversation.
i think of the young puppy i held in my arms as a youth. remebering how scared she was, shivering in my hands on the could winter night we accepted her into our lives, i held her tight to give her warmth from the lone indiana rest stop we picked her up from.
shes been a center-piece for the emptiness of our conversations and simultaneously the only resort when topics of "importance" grew too heavy.
i call up my father, asking him of kropka's condition, telling him i think she needs euthanasia. he immediatetly asks me if im willing to do it. he then tells me about how he and i were raised with her, then again asking me if i can do it.
i'd been fighting tears since noon, when my crying sister told me to come visit kropka. that shes not eating or drinking, and regurgitating tablets.
my tears began to flow, without my voice tearing, that i would do it.
"you will?" asked my dad.
"with no pleasure will i accept this, what must be done."
he proceeded with optimism that kropka will get over this.
she will not. she will continue to bleed and not eat. im the only person in my family who can help my dog.
my sister calls me, on my cel phone, that kropka is less and less enthusiastic about the few things that bring her joy, such as walks and heavily salted bacon shaped treats.
they tell me to come visit soon, for they feel it is her last days.
i call up my mother, telling her i think kropka needs euthasnasia. my mom quickly says its between me and my father, and quickly ends the conversation.
i think of the young puppy i held in my arms as a youth. remebering how scared she was, shivering in my hands on the could winter night we accepted her into our lives, i held her tight to give her warmth from the lone indiana rest stop we picked her up from.
shes been a center-piece for the emptiness of our conversations and simultaneously the only resort when topics of "importance" grew too heavy.
i call up my father, asking him of kropka's condition, telling him i think she needs euthanasia. he immediatetly asks me if im willing to do it. he then tells me about how he and i were raised with her, then again asking me if i can do it.
i'd been fighting tears since noon, when my crying sister told me to come visit kropka. that shes not eating or drinking, and regurgitating tablets.
my tears began to flow, without my voice tearing, that i would do it.
"you will?" asked my dad.
"with no pleasure will i accept this, what must be done."
he proceeded with optimism that kropka will get over this.
she will not. she will continue to bleed and not eat. im the only person in my family who can help my dog.