Random Doggedness.
Feb. 21st, 2014 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anigoSome of you may know I have dogs. 
Chester is a big 'ol stupid-head. He has the most gentle disposition. He's easily the biggest dog of the three and the most passive. It took him a month before he'd stop peeing on the floor every time somebody walked in the room. If you approach him he'll lay down and show you his belly (and his weenis). We call him the porn star because he's always showin' you his junk.
Zoe is a princess. She the quintessential youngest child who has been upstaged by a baby. Neither Zoe nor Chester have a mean bone in their body. Not even a mean capillary, however Zoe does get put out if she doesn't feel she's getting the attention she deserves. Both Zoe and Chester have been genetically wired to wag their tails if you do anything over and above breathe.
And then there's Lucy.
Lucy came to us about 10 years ago after our black lab Gunner passed away. Lucy has been an "old dog" since she was about 3 years old. She's had a mature disposition and old joints and a white face for as long as I can remember (though I have photo evidence, as shown in my user pic above, to the contrary.) We got Zoe three years ago because we, quite honestly, didn't expect Lucy to be around that much longer. And here we are three years later. In truth though, I've been noticing some subtle (and not so subtle) changes lately. She never bounded up stairs, but lately they're harder than usual. And she's panting more than usual. And she wants out in the middle of the night. And yesterday Jess came home to a mess on the floor.
And it makes me sad.
With luck there are another 3 years left of old dog. What I'm afraid of the most is the end. Not of the fact it's coming, but of the actual mechanics of it. As sad as it is, I would much rather she come down with something like cancer and the vet tell us to take her home for a couple of days and then bring her back and have her quietly and comfortably go across the rainbow bridge. I'd much rather that than wake up and find her already gone (and to be clear, if that should happen I will not have one sweet clue what to do with myself or with her.) or the worst of the three, to have her slowly deteriorate and leave it up to me to decide that today should be the day. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Because to be clear, that's a shitty decision to have to make.
Ok this post is making me sad. I think I'll stop now and go watch Canada whup some Oympic hockey ass. That's always cheering.
As you were.
Chester is a big 'ol stupid-head. He has the most gentle disposition. He's easily the biggest dog of the three and the most passive. It took him a month before he'd stop peeing on the floor every time somebody walked in the room. If you approach him he'll lay down and show you his belly (and his weenis). We call him the porn star because he's always showin' you his junk.
Zoe is a princess. She the quintessential youngest child who has been upstaged by a baby. Neither Zoe nor Chester have a mean bone in their body. Not even a mean capillary, however Zoe does get put out if she doesn't feel she's getting the attention she deserves. Both Zoe and Chester have been genetically wired to wag their tails if you do anything over and above breathe.
And then there's Lucy.
Lucy came to us about 10 years ago after our black lab Gunner passed away. Lucy has been an "old dog" since she was about 3 years old. She's had a mature disposition and old joints and a white face for as long as I can remember (though I have photo evidence, as shown in my user pic above, to the contrary.) We got Zoe three years ago because we, quite honestly, didn't expect Lucy to be around that much longer. And here we are three years later. In truth though, I've been noticing some subtle (and not so subtle) changes lately. She never bounded up stairs, but lately they're harder than usual. And she's panting more than usual. And she wants out in the middle of the night. And yesterday Jess came home to a mess on the floor.
And it makes me sad.
With luck there are another 3 years left of old dog. What I'm afraid of the most is the end. Not of the fact it's coming, but of the actual mechanics of it. As sad as it is, I would much rather she come down with something like cancer and the vet tell us to take her home for a couple of days and then bring her back and have her quietly and comfortably go across the rainbow bridge. I'd much rather that than wake up and find her already gone (and to be clear, if that should happen I will not have one sweet clue what to do with myself or with her.) or the worst of the three, to have her slowly deteriorate and leave it up to me to decide that today should be the day. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Because to be clear, that's a shitty decision to have to make.
Ok this post is making me sad. I think I'll stop now and go watch Canada whup some Oympic hockey ass. That's always cheering.
As you were.