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Rainbow Bridge (long)
Well, what to say. This morning seems like a hundred years away but I didn't want to type about it until I was sure I had a few uninterrupted minutes to type and cry as I saw fit.
This is how I handled things. Richard and Jess were there, and were very supportive and very upset, but I want this entry to be my perceptions. Self centered? Perhaps, but I want to remember what I felt.
Like I has said earlier, Gun put in a pretty bad day yesterday and an even worse night. Though she did get up and move around a couple of times, there was more than one occasion where I got out of bed to see if she was still with us only to find her cold and barely breathing. I was certain she wasn't going to make it.
I slept not a wink.
In the morning I called the vet as soon as they were open to make an appointment. It was time. Jess, Richard and I took Gunner to the vet (by the way, I love my vet and will get another dog if for no other reason than to have it treated by these people). Dr Sharon took me by myself into one room to fill out the paperwork. (more on this later, but not in this post) She was INCREDIBLY supportive and close to tears even though I'd only known her because she's the vet to my sister's dogs. I've never actually met her before today. Then Richard, Jessica and Gunner joined me and they said their goodbyes.
Richard and Jess didn't stay to the end, and when they left Dr. Barry and a technician came in and explained what I could expect. Gunner had been pretty lethargic all day, barely getting up at all, however she was pretty active in the room. I suspect it was probably fear. Dr. Barry told me that it was the right thing to do as she would only deteriorate quickly and that operating with evidence that it had spread would only be painful and prolong the enevitable. I was comforted by that.
They picked Gun up and put her on the table (I was no use, as I was a bawling mess at this time.) I held her head, looked into her eyes, caressed her ears, and kept reassuring her while Dr. Barry injected the anestetic. She breathed deeply a few times and then Dr. Barry listened to her heart and told me she was gone. I held her for a little while longer (of course crying all the time), closed her tired eyes, and then I removed her collar and headed for the car. I thought how wonderful it was that the collar was still warm in my hand. I could still feel her life. It was that quick. It seemed I was there a long time, but from start to finish, including waiting in the office for Dr. Barry, it was no more than 20 minutes. God, reading it, it sounds so fast, but it's a memory that seems to have lasted 100 years in my head. I'm trying to think about what I've forgotten, the fact that the fluid he injected was purple? There was no garbage can for the kleenex I kept going through? Things like that aren't important, but I can't for the life of me describe the things that were.
When I left I actually felt the best I had since Saturday when the whole thing started. I was UNBELIEVABLY comforted by the fact that our last minutes together - her last minutes on this earth - were spent looking into each others eyes. She knew I loved her and I knew she had gone to a better place peacefully.
Richard and I went for a long drive to stay away from the house until we felt better. And eventually we actually did.
However.
I am home now and the stupidest things make me cry.
When I got back into the car, there was a dusty paw print on the seat.
When we first got home, there was a cable repair guy going up a ladder on the neighbour's house. As I was going up the driveway the jingle of his belt was EXACTLY the same as the jingle of her collar. She always got up and stretched when she heard us come home and you could hear it from outside with the windows open. For a split second I thought she was home. My happy thought is that it was really her somewhere, and not the tool belt.
When I came in the entryway, there was a big ball of her fur. She sheds like crazy and its everywhere.
I tripped over her ball in the middle of the kitchen floor.
The doorbell rang and I assumed the "dog-crash" position. She never jumped on people, but she always wanted to know who was at the door - and know in a hurry.
When I came in a second time, into the basement entrance, she wasn't in her usual comfy place on the couch.
Damn, I miss her, but the pain is me missing her now, not the pain of: did I do the right thing, or when will it happen, or how will I feel when it does. Those pains were an incredible physical ache. This pain is something I can live with. I still bawl. Hell, I bawled through most of this post. But's still the first day, and already there are more pauses between sessions now. (Shit, even typing that makes me cry because I'm worried that I'll forget her.) However, I know the pain will only get easier now. But Damn, I say again. I want more than anything in the world right now to take her for a walk.
This week has been more horrible than I ever imagined it could be, and all over a dog.
It's amazing to me that only two weeks ago I was saying that I have experienced the best week of my life. I am awed that I have experienced the best and the worst, all in the same month.
This is how I handled things. Richard and Jess were there, and were very supportive and very upset, but I want this entry to be my perceptions. Self centered? Perhaps, but I want to remember what I felt.
Like I has said earlier, Gun put in a pretty bad day yesterday and an even worse night. Though she did get up and move around a couple of times, there was more than one occasion where I got out of bed to see if she was still with us only to find her cold and barely breathing. I was certain she wasn't going to make it.
I slept not a wink.
In the morning I called the vet as soon as they were open to make an appointment. It was time. Jess, Richard and I took Gunner to the vet (by the way, I love my vet and will get another dog if for no other reason than to have it treated by these people). Dr Sharon took me by myself into one room to fill out the paperwork. (more on this later, but not in this post) She was INCREDIBLY supportive and close to tears even though I'd only known her because she's the vet to my sister's dogs. I've never actually met her before today. Then Richard, Jessica and Gunner joined me and they said their goodbyes.
Richard and Jess didn't stay to the end, and when they left Dr. Barry and a technician came in and explained what I could expect. Gunner had been pretty lethargic all day, barely getting up at all, however she was pretty active in the room. I suspect it was probably fear. Dr. Barry told me that it was the right thing to do as she would only deteriorate quickly and that operating with evidence that it had spread would only be painful and prolong the enevitable. I was comforted by that.
They picked Gun up and put her on the table (I was no use, as I was a bawling mess at this time.) I held her head, looked into her eyes, caressed her ears, and kept reassuring her while Dr. Barry injected the anestetic. She breathed deeply a few times and then Dr. Barry listened to her heart and told me she was gone. I held her for a little while longer (of course crying all the time), closed her tired eyes, and then I removed her collar and headed for the car. I thought how wonderful it was that the collar was still warm in my hand. I could still feel her life. It was that quick. It seemed I was there a long time, but from start to finish, including waiting in the office for Dr. Barry, it was no more than 20 minutes. God, reading it, it sounds so fast, but it's a memory that seems to have lasted 100 years in my head. I'm trying to think about what I've forgotten, the fact that the fluid he injected was purple? There was no garbage can for the kleenex I kept going through? Things like that aren't important, but I can't for the life of me describe the things that were.
When I left I actually felt the best I had since Saturday when the whole thing started. I was UNBELIEVABLY comforted by the fact that our last minutes together - her last minutes on this earth - were spent looking into each others eyes. She knew I loved her and I knew she had gone to a better place peacefully.
Richard and I went for a long drive to stay away from the house until we felt better. And eventually we actually did.
However.
I am home now and the stupidest things make me cry.
When I got back into the car, there was a dusty paw print on the seat.
When we first got home, there was a cable repair guy going up a ladder on the neighbour's house. As I was going up the driveway the jingle of his belt was EXACTLY the same as the jingle of her collar. She always got up and stretched when she heard us come home and you could hear it from outside with the windows open. For a split second I thought she was home. My happy thought is that it was really her somewhere, and not the tool belt.
When I came in the entryway, there was a big ball of her fur. She sheds like crazy and its everywhere.
I tripped over her ball in the middle of the kitchen floor.
The doorbell rang and I assumed the "dog-crash" position. She never jumped on people, but she always wanted to know who was at the door - and know in a hurry.
When I came in a second time, into the basement entrance, she wasn't in her usual comfy place on the couch.
Damn, I miss her, but the pain is me missing her now, not the pain of: did I do the right thing, or when will it happen, or how will I feel when it does. Those pains were an incredible physical ache. This pain is something I can live with. I still bawl. Hell, I bawled through most of this post. But's still the first day, and already there are more pauses between sessions now. (Shit, even typing that makes me cry because I'm worried that I'll forget her.) However, I know the pain will only get easier now. But Damn, I say again. I want more than anything in the world right now to take her for a walk.
This week has been more horrible than I ever imagined it could be, and all over a dog.
It's amazing to me that only two weeks ago I was saying that I have experienced the best week of my life. I am awed that I have experienced the best and the worst, all in the same month.
no subject
Here's to the dream of balls and bones, great green fields and biscuits.
*hugs* if you want them
Me bawling too
Now I miss Franny Cat AND Rowdie Pup, the sweetest dog that ever walked the earth, so sweet he could even be buddies with a porcupine and not get quilled. The dog who used to walk my girl friends back to their apartments across campus, and then run home to me. So sweet, he'd always leave the pack to go back and stay with the Golden mutt who was missing a leg and couldn't keep up.
I'm sorry you lost Gunner so unexpectedly. I'm glad she's not in pain anymore. You did the right thing.