The difference was that she depended on me more. I now had to carry her. Help her go to the bathroom. Help her sleep. Help her eat, if she could. Give her her medicine, read up on all her problems. Love her. Hug her. Try to get her to play, smile, wag her tail, anything. Give her toys, give her treats. Make her comfortable. She was full of life, ready to face this new problem of paralysis. It would be tough, but we could get through this. It made us closer.
Our inside jokes. "Banana smoothie" song, Jaws theme song, oobi the hand puppet, spiderhand, "tickletickletickle" "booglyb ooglyboogly" "single-digit" "SummerBummer"
Tricking her by saying "wanna go outside?" or "wanna treat?", chasing her around the neighbor's yards, barking at the doorbell to get her to, hiding in the caves of Arkansas, playing tag, chasing Geese, chasing our cat Lucy, playing with Dante until things went downhill. Licking the heck out of BootyBoy's ears, scuttling under the covers, going reluctantly down the slide, jumping hurdles, her obedience class. Learning to roll over, how to sit up, and doing both repeatedly when she didn't know what trick you wanted her to do.
She never got to learn "stand".
Those times she almost got hit by a car and I cried with her in my arms. I just about offered my life for her. Fighting with Andrew to see who got to sleep with her. Getting her to swim with us, her jumping in the lake to follow us in our paddle boat and scaring us, and of course her husband "Cole Maxamillion", a buildabear and his look-a-like miniature that she ripped up both.
Little did she know she'd be buried with them later that day.
We went to the vet for a check-up, to see how her back was doing.She was losing the ability to move her front legs, which meant she'd never walk. Not even with a wheelchair. She could only control her head the rest of her life. We decided that life was awful.
I changed my mind.
She looked up at me, still very alive and loving me. I had just signed her soul over to death. We cried and held her, her not knowing what was going to happen. I got her to lick me. I pet her and seldom let her go.
They gave her a sedative, and she fell peacefully asleep in my arms. I pet her and watched as she died. It was scary. She was leaving, and I'd never see her again. When she died, she still looked alive.
She felt alive.
She was limp--but she had been like that recently anyway. I kept thinking "She's still alive...if I pet her, she'll feel it. It will be the last thing she feels."
We took her home to bury her...it was still all too quick. She was alive just an hour ago, I thought. How could she be dead? Even as we dug her grave, I pet her and sang to her, not believing she was dead. I couldn't. She was still warm. She was the same weight. She didn't look sick. She was staring at me. I hugged her and a noise came out...my dad said it was the last of her air.
We put her in the grave, with Cole hugging her and her mini sitting on her.... As we shoveled dirt on her, I felt cruel. She HAD to be still alive. I woke up next to her. She kissed me. I hugged her. We loved eachother. How could it be she would never wake again? Never kiss me again? I could never hug her again, or atleast without her knowing? And how could I lover her forever, but she NEVER love me again?
I pray there are animals in heaven.
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I'm really sorry...It's so weird to have a pet die...I had a mixed Siamese that died a couple years ago. I'm not really sure what to say other than things will get better and I'll be praying for you.
