So its been a strange one.
First and foremost, my precious dog Scruffy is no longer with me. I had to make the heartbreaking decision to put her down on August 6th.
Its been almost 2 weeks now without her and I'm still going through the grieving process. Its better than it was of course, and I find myself feeling guilty for getting more / better sleep these days and not having to worry about her like I did.
In her last month she went from being really pretty OK to not being able to breathe. It just seemed to happen so fast when it was finally time. Almost as if the day I made the call she gave up, and the rest of the week she just went down hill.
Shed even been through tooth surgery at the beginning of June, which I was convinced she wouldn't survive, but she did.
Then at the beginning of July, I stayed at my folks house for 5 days while they were out of town, and that was pretty rough on her. She wasn't eating well which meant she wasn't getting her medicine as regularly. I never really realized how important that medicine was for her to be OK, and i question myself constantly about not shoving it down her throat. I question if I did the right thing, but I also have to remind myself that she ate one handful of chicken in 7 days the last week she was alive.
I had made the decision on Monday after talking to the vet, and was so upset all week waiting for the day of her death on that coming Friday that I also wonder if she felt like Id finally given up on her, so she gave up too. I just don't know.
On her last day I woke with her and was a bundle of sobs and nerves. I spent the morning cleaning the house, taking breaks to sit with her and pet her head. I did things like put the rugs back down that had been rolled up for months because of her peeing. Later I felt bad for not waiting for her to actually die before doing that.
In her final hour before the vet arrived to put her to sleep, I took her outside in my arms. She wasn't able to walk very well but I put her down in the yard in a good sunny spot. She sniffed the air and seemed to enjoy the warmth. I cried and waited for her to try to walk around a bit. She turned, looked at me and wagged her little tail. It warmed and broke my heart at the same time. More tears.
I again questioned if I was making the right decision, and had to remind myself that she was struggling to breathe and had not eaten more than that handful of chicken in more than a week.
I picked her up again and walked her around her yard. I don't know, but it seems like she knew. She was always a smart, very intuitive dog. She knew something was going on, but instead of acting scared, she was very calm. Maybe she was ready. I don't know.
When we went back inside, I laid her on the sofa on her favorite blanket and sat in silence with her. Talked to her, told her I loved her. Said the Lords Prayer, and tried to remember the verse about walking through the valley of the shadow of death but couldn't quite recall it.
My parents were coming to be with me and were late ( of course). The had asked their gardener to make a place for her in their back yard next to Max the day before, and they would take her home and handle the burial themselves.
When they pulled up my heart was in a panic, I felt like I couldn't move. It was 11:50, and the vet was due to be there at noon. I let them in and there were tears, even from my dad.
Sooner than we thought, the vet pulled up. I was numb and stared to sob as quietly as I could. I was trying not to upset her. I held her close to me kissing her head. The vet came in and softly stroked her head, asking her name and a few questions about her condition. She was quiet, professional, sympathetic. The right choice. She had me hold her and gave her a shot in her back leg muscle. I know it hurt her because she snapped at the vet. I had not been prepared for that and broke down sobbing "I'm So Sorry!" I held her tight and she stared to fade. Falling into a deep sleep in my arms, her little head slowly dropped and came to rest on my arm.
The vet asked me to lay her in a way that she could get to her back leg to give her the final shot. I asked for a minute. Held her. Feeling her warmth and knowing she was still alive, but that it was time.
I was shocked when I finally let go of her a little to move her into position. She was already dead weight. I had not realized the sedative she had given her was basically like being under anesthesia.
The vet then shaved her little leg, gave her the shot, and in a matter of seconds, ( although it seems much longer) she was gone.
Those seconds did drag out, and I remember the silence being broken by my moms attempt at casual conversation, which made me angry for a second. Later I realized she was doing her best to deal with a very sad and difficult situation in the only way she knew how.
The vet listened for her heartbeat and said, "shes gone". I held her close and cried.
It was over.
Finally I laid her back down on her blanket and started to wrap her up. I wasn't trying to rush it, I just wanted to get it over with and felt like I needed to have her buried as soon as possible. My parents didn't want to go, but I asked them to please take her home and bury her right away. Please don't let her stay like this long.
She was still warm when I put her in the back seat of their car.
I came back in, my dad following me to make sure I was OK. I wasn't crying anymore.
I sent him on his way.
I was numb.
I was waiting to freak out. To scream and cry, but it didn't come. I sat in my house, on my sofa in complete silence. I couldn't watch TV, I didn't turn on the stereo, I didn't get on the computer.
I got up at some point and packed up her food and treats, gave my neighborer Luke a call and told him to please come get them for his dogs. I cleaned up her food bowls and put them up on a table along with her toys.
A few small tears, but no breaking crying.
Still numb.
I was walking around my very quiet, very empty feeling house in circles. Every time I passed the kitchen and saw the spot where her food bowl used to be it looked so empty that I finally tried to put something there in its place. A stool, a table. Nothing fit.
Empty.
The rest of that day and the next went by in a buzz, literally. I started drinking Friday afternoon about 2:00 pm and pretty much didn't stop until Saturday night when I finally went to sleep. I had a little wine Sunday but woke up feeling bad to begin with and decided not to drink. That was the hardest day.
Finally alone all day and sober. No one called me to check on me. I guess they all assumed I was OK.
I didn't call for help. I felt like I wanted to be sad, and boy was I. The sense of loneliness was overwhelming. The sense of loss was more than I had even known. Ridiculous as it may seem to some, I felt more loss for my dog that any human that Ive lost. Ive been depressed, and felt sad but this was huge.
Since then my racking sobs have dwindled down to bursts of tears here and there over silly memories, or a habit to do something at home that I just did unconsciously for her, and reminds shes not here anymore.
One day at a time.
Writing this has been the first time in a week that Ive had a really big, unexpected cry. I'm at work and didn't expect to get into this today but here I am, tears streaming down my face as I write this. Recounting the last moments of my dear dear puppies life.
I guess it was good to get it out.
So heres to my Scruffy, who I lovingly called my bubba, tiny bubba, the tiny, hunny bunny, and finally my lumpy lump.
I miss you my sweet baby. See you soon.
