Saturday, 23 January 2016

Sentiment about Dirt & Drool stains.

My dog died today at round 9.50pm to 10pm. He was 14 years old, so old for a dog. Lived past the typical livespan of a Border Colin by two years. I knew he was going to live for long on Friday, he couldn't get up by himself anymore. He wobbled down to the burn, but falling down only having the strength of his front legs. He seemed a little deflected. He wasn't eating and had lost weight, which had cause the rest of the muscles in his legs to go.

His brain was mostly still there. He was going sightly senile in his old age. He still tried to get up and go outside when he needed to go. We had decided that we put him down on Monday, if he didn't magically improve. Two more days so my brother could come and see him, instead of putting him down the first time we went to the vet today. But instead of getting better, he stay the same. Only being able to lie his on what ever side we would put him. It's been too uncomfortable for him to lie any other way for a while.

I missed him so much. It just feels odd that he's not here. I'm going back to the uni dorms tomorrow. I'm not sure whether that will be a good thing because he's only ever been there once or its going to be a terrible thing as the campus doubles as a dog park.

This month has been terrible. People keep dying, not just celebrities but in real life as well. Shep was up at the dorms on Thursday because my parents went to Funeral near where uni is and didn't want to leave a sick sleep by himself, but also wanted us all to go to Lunch? Parents are weird.

I still feel him in my arms. He had fit so my dad called the emergency vet number and we took him to the vet. He had a stoke and was paralysed down one side so it was definitely right decision. Mum wanted him to die by himself, in sleep but that so rarely happens. It wouldn't be peacefully with him so far gone. I think deciding when to let a pet go is so hard. Because even knowing their quality life was so low and that there not going to get better doesn't make it easy.

It was weird crying in front of a complete stranger when crying in a group. Being a vet must be weird and hard. Peting him as he dyed was weird, because I wasn't sure when he dyed though the vet checked right after I sort of stopped petting and he was dead. We getting him cremated so we can a little box of him because burying him would be too hard.

Of course, Shep's body decided to act out a zombie role with postmortem spasms and a last gasp (there is a term but I can't find it). I would have rather not seen that, especially with my mum still petting him. I didn't really want to pet him after that. Before we left, mum said don't you want to say goodbye, but I already had. He was gone, he felt gone. I did pet him and he felt colder, but still warm. I guess not right is the word.

My mum seems to be the one who took it the hardest. For me crying stopped being therapeutic and I just felt numb. I missed my dog.

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