As a pet owner you question your ways of doing things. Much as people scoff when you say it, your pets are like your kids. You bring them up from a very young age, teach them the ways of the world, hold them close to your heart and spend your days with them asking only one thing: Love.
When you find out that you will be losing one of those children at an age much too young for any sense to be made, you find yourself lost. You tell your family and your friends that the pup they have grown to love and cherish won’t be with you much longer. Granted, you have your time to say goodbye and you have the moments leading up to the inevitable. Nobody can take that away from you. But you always have, deep in the back corner of your brain and heart, that acknowledgment that today may be the last day that your friend spends with you in a normal manner.
As a pet owner, you question your disciplinary actions over the years. You question whether or not you were too harsh when you told them not to bark at sounds that, to you, were normal but to them sounded like a threat. You question your methods while you were teaching them that to go to the bathroom in the house is just not the proper thing for civilized children to do. You wonder if you played with them as often as you could have. You can’t help but think that maybe you shouldn’t have spent those afternoons after work sitting at a computer while your pups slept in the other room, or dropped a toy on your toe, just waiting for you to spend time with them. Maybe you should have skipped the three-movie Blockbuster marathon and gone out into the yard to throw the ball again.
A dog is a friend that asks only a few simple things of you: A loving home where they can feel safe. Food for sustenance. Water for the same. A warm body to lay up against at night. A master who is also a friend and companion.
You bring that little bundle of fur with the big ears home and immediately she steals your heart. When she learns that it’s fun to run and grab a ball and bring it back to you it gives you great laughs. You hold that friend close to you and talk to her, whispering in her ear that you will do everything within your power to protect her and keep her happy. You let her know that you adore her and don’t feel that you can live without her. You know deep in your heart that the greater chance is that she will not outlive you. You know that she will stay around for 15 or so years at best, working her way into your very soul and becoming an integral part of your life. When she goes you know you will miss her and you know that your heart will ache like a railroad spike has been driven deep. You hope beyond all hope that she’ll live a long, normal, natural life and that eventually she will grow old like a normal creature is supposed to and pass away of natural causes. You never dream that cancer will invade her young, beautiful body and steal her away like a bold thief.
But it happens. And when it does nobody knows what to say. What is there one can say? Not a whole lot, but the words of comfort are precisely that. They comfort you and let you know that you are not on an island all by yourself. Those words let you know that others love your friend almost as much as you do. They show that people care what happens in your life and your friend’s life.
Your friends won’t be around forever. The best you can hope is that you did everything right and gave them the happiest life that is humanly possible. Though they’ve only been with you for four years, and you’re angry at the world for taking them away so young, you hope beyond all hope that the rest of their days are as happy as they seem to have been to this point.
As a pet owner, making every effort to make those days a joy becomes an all-consuming goal. Though she may act differently as the cancer takes over her body and eats her from the inside out, you watch closely to make sure there is no discomfort. You analyze every movement out of a constant concern for their well-being. It may seem like a death watch for some. For others it may seem like a vigil. But for you, it’s more of an unflappable love for a creature that has become a member of the family. It’s caring for someone so much that you don’t want them to suffer, just because you are selfish and don’t want them to leave.
That moment comes, and you cry. She is obviously no longer the happy-go-lucky pup you once knew. She’s uncomfortable, feverish and in pain. So you take her to the vet and you make a decision that nobody should ever have to make, but it’s a decision that must be made. You question whether you are doing the right thing, but in your heart you know that you are strong enough to make that decision and know that though your heart tells you not to, your soul knows the right path to follow. As you hold them, and the doctor gives them that lethal dose of phenobarbitol, you watch them slowly go to sleep. It’s a peaceful sleep like she hasn’t had in months. Then you realize what has just happened, and the tears flow again. She’s better off, you tell yourself. You know that it’s the truth. It doesn’t change the fact that you want them back. You want them in your arms with the warm smell of puppy bathing over you, but there’s no turning back. She’s gone from this Earth, but she’ll never leave your soul.
We’ll always miss you Wickett. You were the People Pup. Our little Tube and the most precious thing to many different people. Everybody loves you and we’re all going to long for you for the rest of our lives. I’m sorry it had to end this way, but I’m happy that you don’t hurt anymore.
When you find out that you will be losing one of those children at an age much too young for any sense to be made, you find yourself lost. You tell your family and your friends that the pup they have grown to love and cherish won’t be with you much longer. Granted, you have your time to say goodbye and you have the moments leading up to the inevitable. Nobody can take that away from you. But you always have, deep in the back corner of your brain and heart, that acknowledgment that today may be the last day that your friend spends with you in a normal manner.
As a pet owner, you question your disciplinary actions over the years. You question whether or not you were too harsh when you told them not to bark at sounds that, to you, were normal but to them sounded like a threat. You question your methods while you were teaching them that to go to the bathroom in the house is just not the proper thing for civilized children to do. You wonder if you played with them as often as you could have. You can’t help but think that maybe you shouldn’t have spent those afternoons after work sitting at a computer while your pups slept in the other room, or dropped a toy on your toe, just waiting for you to spend time with them. Maybe you should have skipped the three-movie Blockbuster marathon and gone out into the yard to throw the ball again.
A dog is a friend that asks only a few simple things of you: A loving home where they can feel safe. Food for sustenance. Water for the same. A warm body to lay up against at night. A master who is also a friend and companion.
You bring that little bundle of fur with the big ears home and immediately she steals your heart. When she learns that it’s fun to run and grab a ball and bring it back to you it gives you great laughs. You hold that friend close to you and talk to her, whispering in her ear that you will do everything within your power to protect her and keep her happy. You let her know that you adore her and don’t feel that you can live without her. You know deep in your heart that the greater chance is that she will not outlive you. You know that she will stay around for 15 or so years at best, working her way into your very soul and becoming an integral part of your life. When she goes you know you will miss her and you know that your heart will ache like a railroad spike has been driven deep. You hope beyond all hope that she’ll live a long, normal, natural life and that eventually she will grow old like a normal creature is supposed to and pass away of natural causes. You never dream that cancer will invade her young, beautiful body and steal her away like a bold thief.
But it happens. And when it does nobody knows what to say. What is there one can say? Not a whole lot, but the words of comfort are precisely that. They comfort you and let you know that you are not on an island all by yourself. Those words let you know that others love your friend almost as much as you do. They show that people care what happens in your life and your friend’s life.
Your friends won’t be around forever. The best you can hope is that you did everything right and gave them the happiest life that is humanly possible. Though they’ve only been with you for four years, and you’re angry at the world for taking them away so young, you hope beyond all hope that the rest of their days are as happy as they seem to have been to this point.
As a pet owner, making every effort to make those days a joy becomes an all-consuming goal. Though she may act differently as the cancer takes over her body and eats her from the inside out, you watch closely to make sure there is no discomfort. You analyze every movement out of a constant concern for their well-being. It may seem like a death watch for some. For others it may seem like a vigil. But for you, it’s more of an unflappable love for a creature that has become a member of the family. It’s caring for someone so much that you don’t want them to suffer, just because you are selfish and don’t want them to leave.
That moment comes, and you cry. She is obviously no longer the happy-go-lucky pup you once knew. She’s uncomfortable, feverish and in pain. So you take her to the vet and you make a decision that nobody should ever have to make, but it’s a decision that must be made. You question whether you are doing the right thing, but in your heart you know that you are strong enough to make that decision and know that though your heart tells you not to, your soul knows the right path to follow. As you hold them, and the doctor gives them that lethal dose of phenobarbitol, you watch them slowly go to sleep. It’s a peaceful sleep like she hasn’t had in months. Then you realize what has just happened, and the tears flow again. She’s better off, you tell yourself. You know that it’s the truth. It doesn’t change the fact that you want them back. You want them in your arms with the warm smell of puppy bathing over you, but there’s no turning back. She’s gone from this Earth, but she’ll never leave your soul.
We’ll always miss you Wickett. You were the People Pup. Our little Tube and the most precious thing to many different people. Everybody loves you and we’re all going to long for you for the rest of our lives. I’m sorry it had to end this way, but I’m happy that you don’t hurt anymore.
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