and so it goes
Koda
(2004-2009)
My mom found this guy shivering and cold outside an elementary school on south side San Antonio. She took him home, we washed him up, fed him for a couple of weeks, and my brother decided to take him in. I didn't really get to see him much after that, because it's about the time that my brother dropped out of our lives completely, but I know that he was energetic and friendly, that he was fierce and loyal and everything you want a dog to be.
Unfortunately, he was also aggressive. Not so much that he attacked other people, although my sister in law swears up and down that he's a vicious killer. That's mostly because my sister in law is a massively, criminally stupid. And so, because my sister in law refuses to do more than feed and occasionally walk dogs, and because my brother has everything else on his plate and no time (literally, no time) to take care of this dog, the decision was made last week to put him down.
Koda hadn't bitten anyone. He hadn't killed any of the neighbors cats. He was pretty well trained, but my sister in law lacks the discipline to follow through with anything involving their dogs, and the fighting between the two dogs had gotten bad enough that they were worried about Koda being around my nephew.
It's easy to place all of the blame for this on my sister in law, and that is possibly immensely unfair, but I just don't care right now. I can't help but feel that the world has failed this dog, that he didn't deserve to die because his owners didn't have the time or the inclination to work with him. And I can't help but feel a part of the whole thing, that if I could have done anything to make sure this dog lived, I would have. But I didn't even know putting him down was on the table.
He was buried on my parents ranch, next to Huck. My brother put his favorite toy in with him. I just can't stop crying every time I think about him. It's just so unfair.