Once again, Time Marches on...
My days are getting better. I still find it hard to believe that Buster is gone. He was such a big presence in the house, both literally and figuratively. I keep reliving his final moments. How heavy his head was and the fact that the same hands I am typing with are the ones that were holding him.
"They look like good, strong hands, don't they?" I still couldn't stop the Nothing.
I still wait to hear the clip-clomp of is limp coming towards me, and am still surprised at times when I look down to the right or left of me while studying. He was always a good, study buddy.
I'm sure there are some of you that think droning on and on about a dog is silly. I may have been inclined to agree with you before this experience. While I never thought my world would end without Buster, I certainly don't expect to feel as safe. There's something about walking around at night with a 120lb dog that is fairly comforting. Kia runs from rustling wind.
He was down to 105 for his final weight. He didn't want to stand long enough to eat, or cross the hardwood floors. I served him dinner many nights while he was sitting down. His body would shake as he lowered himself VERY slowly down. He had started to groan like an old man every time he rolled over. He never whimpered or whined though. Not once. How do you judge pain when he won't tell you?
Saturday was hard. It was as perfect a day that you could ask for in February. It was 45, bright and sunny. He got to chase a loose neighborhood dog. Well, bark at it might be a better description. We made sure to have pizza Friday night and fed him that for dinner as well as breakfast. He had cheese and peanut butter to boot. It was a good day. He wasn't limping as severely as the night before. It made it harder to go through with our decision. Seeing Hubby in my mind, having to carry Buster in with a broken leg to put him down, was all it took to continue on. Why "punish" Buster for breaking his leg?
The Vet was a bit surprised he could still walk on it. After he was gone, I wanted to touch his leg. I didn't want to mess with it before. I was afraid I'd cause damage. Even though what I was feeling was inflammation, it was hard like a basketball. It had very little give. The vet bent his 'wrist' a bit. It bent both ways. The unnatural way was less of an angle, but it was well.. unnatural. She said the breakage was coming soon. I'm not sure if she said it to make me feel better or if she was being honest. I don't really care. It did make me feel a bit better.
I was thankful that he didn't lose bowel or urinary control after going. I remember gasping "Oh God" when they said they were starting, and saying "You're such a good boy, Buster" over and over while stroking his head and ears. He got woozy and rested his head on my arms. He snored into what looked like a peaceful sleep. They told me his eyes might stay open. I couldn't bare to see them lifeless, so I made sure not to look at them. They asked (there were 2 techs and the vet in there. One of the techs was the one that always did Buster's blood draws) if I wanted to have a minute alone with him. That thought terrified me. I kissed the top of his huge head while saying "I love you, Bubba" and never looked back.
The ladies at the vet center have been SO fantastic with me and Buster. When I would go to pick up his meds every week or so, I would usually cry. I felt bad, but I was already so sad. I sent them some cookies from Cheryl & Company. They have been so compassionate. I am thankful that they got to know us and Buster before we had to make this terrible decision.
Hubby couldn't go in. I guess he knew that the same way I knew I couldn't *NOT* go in.
I still miss him.
"They look like good, strong hands, don't they?" I still couldn't stop the Nothing.
I still wait to hear the clip-clomp of is limp coming towards me, and am still surprised at times when I look down to the right or left of me while studying. He was always a good, study buddy.
I'm sure there are some of you that think droning on and on about a dog is silly. I may have been inclined to agree with you before this experience. While I never thought my world would end without Buster, I certainly don't expect to feel as safe. There's something about walking around at night with a 120lb dog that is fairly comforting. Kia runs from rustling wind.
He was down to 105 for his final weight. He didn't want to stand long enough to eat, or cross the hardwood floors. I served him dinner many nights while he was sitting down. His body would shake as he lowered himself VERY slowly down. He had started to groan like an old man every time he rolled over. He never whimpered or whined though. Not once. How do you judge pain when he won't tell you?
Saturday was hard. It was as perfect a day that you could ask for in February. It was 45, bright and sunny. He got to chase a loose neighborhood dog. Well, bark at it might be a better description. We made sure to have pizza Friday night and fed him that for dinner as well as breakfast. He had cheese and peanut butter to boot. It was a good day. He wasn't limping as severely as the night before. It made it harder to go through with our decision. Seeing Hubby in my mind, having to carry Buster in with a broken leg to put him down, was all it took to continue on. Why "punish" Buster for breaking his leg?
The Vet was a bit surprised he could still walk on it. After he was gone, I wanted to touch his leg. I didn't want to mess with it before. I was afraid I'd cause damage. Even though what I was feeling was inflammation, it was hard like a basketball. It had very little give. The vet bent his 'wrist' a bit. It bent both ways. The unnatural way was less of an angle, but it was well.. unnatural. She said the breakage was coming soon. I'm not sure if she said it to make me feel better or if she was being honest. I don't really care. It did make me feel a bit better.
I was thankful that he didn't lose bowel or urinary control after going. I remember gasping "Oh God" when they said they were starting, and saying "You're such a good boy, Buster" over and over while stroking his head and ears. He got woozy and rested his head on my arms. He snored into what looked like a peaceful sleep. They told me his eyes might stay open. I couldn't bare to see them lifeless, so I made sure not to look at them. They asked (there were 2 techs and the vet in there. One of the techs was the one that always did Buster's blood draws) if I wanted to have a minute alone with him. That thought terrified me. I kissed the top of his huge head while saying "I love you, Bubba" and never looked back.
The ladies at the vet center have been SO fantastic with me and Buster. When I would go to pick up his meds every week or so, I would usually cry. I felt bad, but I was already so sad. I sent them some cookies from Cheryl & Company. They have been so compassionate. I am thankful that they got to know us and Buster before we had to make this terrible decision.
Hubby couldn't go in. I guess he knew that the same way I knew I couldn't *NOT* go in.
I still miss him.