Currently reading - Well, I just can't bring myself to read anything right now.
I'd planned on writing a pithy blog for today, but yesterday sucked.
DH and I were smacked upside the head with a decision we'd been avoiding for the past few months. We had to put Haley to sleep.
We adopted Haley from the county pound in December of 1995. She had such a friendly, sweet personality, and best of all, she got along great with our beagle, Winona.
The girls working at the pound had named her Haley. She responded to that name, so she'd the only pet in my adult life who wasn't named after a Star Trek character. Lucky dog, huh?
When we got her home, the first thing I did was cut the burrs out of her fur (she been found by Animal Control along one of the highways) and give her a bath. It took three shampooings to get the crud out of her fur, but she suffered through it.
She loved car rides, white cake and cheese, but was never much of a cuddler thanks to the asshole who abused her.
How do we know she was abused? Every time DH picked up the kitchen broom, poor Haley would pee on the spot and start shaking uncontrollably. It took us a couple of incidents before we figured out what the trigger was. And DH was a lot more careful around her after we did.
But she was a friendly dog despite what was done to her. Maybe a little too friendly. We had to warn friends and family about her penchant for French kissing. And she patiently let the little kids in the neighborhood tug on her fur.
But she was sixteen (based on the vet's guesstimate of her age when we brought her home) when last October something happened. We don't know if she had a stroke or seizure that we didn't see happen, but her personality suddenly changed. She didn't want to be touched. She bit me for the first time ever when I picked her up to take her outside to do her business.
A few days later, even though we'd warned GK not to touch her, she brushed against his legs and he automatically reached down to pet her. Thank Goddess, her teeth didn't connect, but it scared the crap out of all of us. My sweet little dog had disappeared.
DH and I had a long talk about what to do. A day later new things started happening. Old age things. We decided to let her die peacefully at home.
Except she didn't. We realize now we were looking for the chicken-shit way out. We didn't want to have to take Haley to the vet for the pink shot the way we had to with Winona.
Yesterday, around four AM, I woke up to the sound of Haley getting sick. Shit was every where. All over her. All over the bedroom carpet. And ironically, my sweet little dog was back. She looked so pathetic and gave a half-hearted wag of the tail.
She didn't fight when DH took her into the bathroom to clean her up while I tackled the carpet, crying. Even our newest addition, Dax whimpered as I worked. After DH dried Haley, he and I petted her for a while. When we all tried to go back to sleep, DH said, "We need to make the call."
So yesterday morning, the five of us bundled into the car for Haley's last ride. Even though we rolled down the windows for her, she couldn't muster the energy to sniff the breeze. Once inside the vet's, we petted our goodbyes. Haley licked hers.
And then it was over. Dr. Price hadn't even finished administering the drug.
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