He was old. Thus, he slept practically all day long. He had excellent health, thus his medical needs were next to zilch. He ate like clockwork thus he ran right outside lickety split all by himself, to finalize his digestion process. He was a beautiful dog. He never chewed on anything, he rarely barked, he was never demanding and was certainly one of the smartest dogs you'd ever meet. I mean it... anyone whoever met him fell absolutely madly in love with this dog.
Well, except me. I am so not an animal lover. I hated having to house him when Claudia was away. BUT... I did it, with only minimal bitching, since as I just said... this dog WAS the most perfect pet on earth. In fact, taking care of this dog was far easier than taking care of my house plants.
Which brings me to: last Easter. Almost a year ago, now. All I can you tell is... one minute the dog is prancing around happy as a lark... and the next minute I see him sprawled out on all fours, not able to get up. AT ALL! He can't stand. He can't walk. He can't move. Uh.. HE CAN'T BE A DOG! I took one look at him and decided: holy sh*t... this SO can't be good. And, it wasn't.
Okay... so this was on a Sunday, like I said. On Easter Sunday, no less. At dinner time. Yeah... GOOD LUCK FINDING A VET AT THAT HOUR. Bottom line: I did find an emergency hospital, I did have my neighbor come lift the dog up into the car and I did drive 40 mins. away to get some doctor's advice.
The advice wasn't happy. The dog was STILL in perfect health, mind you, regardless of his age. However, there WAS a problem: his brain was no longer telling his feet to hold him up and begin walking.
And, it never would. Which was pretty disheartening since faster than you can say 1-2-3, I clocked it out immediately that I'm NOT carrying the dog all over the place for the rest of his life. Soooo not happening.
Anyway, the doctor basically told me: Sorry Charlie... this dog will no longer have any quality of life, etc. etc. so bingo. I had to begin making a really difficult decision. All by myself, no less. Me?? Who is no animal lover in the first place? I'M THE ONE WHO HAS TO PUT HIM DOWN?? Oh geez... give me a break. I was an f-ing mess.
Uh... until I had to deal with the FUNERAL PLANS, THAT IS. OMG... you have no idea what I had to contend with. I swear... I thought I was burying the POPE for God's sake. Talk about putting me over the edge.
Case in point: Cremation or burial?? At home or at community cemetery? Spend time in the GOODBYE ROOM or say goodbye in the examining room? Witness the putting down or let the doctor do it alone? Paw print souvenir or merely hold on to your own memories? And most important of all.... Oh yeah, DEBIT OR CREDIT?? Trust me... tis NO cheapie deal to run medical tests and plan a funeral for pooches! Unfortunately, this dog was not on my medical plan.
Anyway I'll spare you all the details of this ordeal, but I do have to say... this dog was by FAR the most wonderful pet known to man. Which is why, one by one, I made each of the 47 decisions as I suspected my Dad would have wanted. And why I was also major sad on the drive home. AND further why, I couldn't even touch the dog's bed, food dish, etc. once I got home again. I let everything sit just as is, waiting for my housekeeper to come in, three days later, and do the deed for me. I DID keep the collar and dog tag however, and it's hanging nice and prominently right in my kitchen. I love looking at it actually, since there is no doubt in my mind: THIS dog was the most incredible pet, ever.
Was I sad about all this?? VERY. Do I wished I could still be taking care of him? Uh... not necessarily. Instead, I just REALLY REALLY hope the dog hooked up with my Dad once again, up in heaven. Man, would my father ever have been thrilled to death! I know.. sort of a tactless pun, but you get my drift.
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