And it's kinda sad.
One of my dogs had to be put down this morning. Blazer was twelve and a half, which is old in Siberian Husky Years. I hadn't seen him since January, when I gave him a goodbye snuggle and admonished him not to die before I saw him again. A week or two ago my mother let me know that things weren't looking good -- his eyesight was going, he whined all the time and slept very little, and he'd gotten too weak to walk up the stairs to go to bed at night (which led me to imagine my father carrying a 60lb Sibe up the stairs, and it's a pretty funny image, especially because I'm sure Blaze would have fought it the whole time).
I found out when I called this morning to leave a message for my parents, both of whom I knew would be at work, and my 17 year old sister answered. I was, of course, walking down the street on my way to a coffee shop to write for a while when she told me. I stood still on the sidewalk, trying to keep it together, and managed until I tried to say goodbye. I hung up, cried, was embarrassed to be crying in public and over a dog (when so many people wouldn't understand), pulled it together, called Beau and started crying all over again when I heard his voice on his voicemail message.
Blazer was the Alpha Male, although he started to lose that position in the group towards the end. Koda will take over now, I'm sure -- he's one of the smartest dogs I've ever known. I asked my sister how Hoover was handling it -- Hoover is a little slow(to say the least), and he really loved and relied on Blazer. Ab said she was pretty sure Hoover didn't get it; he stood there wagging his tail at Blazer's body as if to say "come on, get up, come play!" Tucker, on the other hand, apparently got it right away -- the first thing he did was find and sniff the injection site. When they took the rest of the dogs back into the house, Hoover tried to slip his collar to go back out and be with Blazer.
Needless to say, I'm finding it a little hard to write about sex right now. This is the problem with being a Big Girl and moving away from home; animals, and eventually people, will die, and I won't be there when it happens.
Blaze is the one in the photo who's trying to jump out of my dad's Lemans. He's furious that my mother put a pink scarf on him for the christmas photo.
5 comments:
::hugs::
I hear you, man. My border collie/golden retriever mix, Peaches, died mid-January. I always feel guilty when a pet dies, like I shouldn't be upset, because it's not a person, just a pet, but the truth is-- we have connections to pets, too. And it's ok to be sad.
hugs amanda, moving away from family and pets is hard enough, having them pass while gone is a bitch. have a few, beers and tears.
I'm sorry for your loss. If it makes you feel any better, I just gushed about your blog on mine.
Amanda, It as preheated blog that brought me over to read through your posts for the first time. They are incredible, fun, enlightening and I can't wait to read through so more of them, but first let my say how sorry I am that your great dog has died. When we lost our 16 year old dog I certainly learned that a loss of such a friend is as much of a true and proud loss as any can have. In fact, maybe more, because few friends or family really provide that unquestioning support and love. On top of it all, our dog certainly thought she was a human...and quite frankly I would be surprised if if in some previous life she had been. No, anyone who would fail to understand your feelings has not benefited from having the love or feeling the love having a dog. Personally I hate cats (but I guess it might be the same for some people and the loss of a cat), but the loss of a great dog is a loss worth grieving about...and, of course, a time to celebrate all of those good times, memories and growth that came with loving and being loved by that friend.
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