an epitaph
Tonight is my dog's last night of pain.
We got her 14 years ago, when she was just a puppy, from a house around the block from us. For days we tried to come up with a name for her to no avail. While playing I or my brother or someone called her a little Rascal...and so that became her name.
She was a remarkable dog, house-trained in a day after one "accident" and forever after quick to learn new tricks. She had a guilt-complex like no other dog I've ever know...unwilling even to take food from your hand unless you told her she could. She was playful and loved the sun and the grass and the water...we were never able to keep her out of the river behind our house growing up.
But over the years she didn't seem to age. My Freshman year in college she came down with some intestinal bug that nearly cost her her life. One night my mom called me, telling me that she was going to have to put Rascal down because she wasn't responding to treatment and there was little hope that she would in the future. I cried a lot that night. But the next morning, when I was to go home to say goodbye to her, my mom called again and said that she had finally begun to respond, that the vets thought she would make it through it all...though it would probably shorten her lifespan by years.
Rascal didn't die. SHe continued to be my best friend when very few humans would be my friend. She would listen to me, lay with me, rest her head on my lap as I sat in the dark thinking about where life was taking me. When my mom died, she came to live with me for a year, and she was the greatest roommate I've ever had.
But as the years moved on she started to slow down a bit. Though still rambuncious for a 10, 11, or 12 year old dog (acting mor like a 6 or seven year old), she didn't have the spunk that she did. Playtime was followed by longer periods of rest...but that didn't stop her from catching her first rabbit when she was 11. She brought it home and plopped it down as proud as any puppy would do.
The last two years have found her in increasing pain though. Arthritis set on very quickly and within a few month period she went from spry to still. She'd try to run about the yard, still chasing, still playing, still pouncing, but the sparkle in her eye had begun to fade behind the cataracts. The last year she has been mostly still.
We didn't think she'd make it through the winter last year, then the spring, then the summer of this year...but she did. The arthritis was putting her in pain, but the drugs that she was being given seemed to help out a lot at first. But their powers have started to diminish too...and she walks with a frail step, leaning against walls, and standing with a look on her face that screams dread for the agony of laying down. We can't stand it anymore...to see her in pain...to see such a wonderful, amazing, beautiful, faithful dog suffer so damn much. And so my dad is bringing her to the vet tomorrow...one last road trip.
I only wish that she had the strength to sit up in the front seat so that she could stick her head out of the window to feel that rush that dogs love so much. I only wish that her stomach was not so feeble so that my dad could take her through McDonalds for one last taste of her favorite double cheeseburger. I only wish that she was able to jump up onto a bed to spend her last night laying next to a warm body of someone that loved her like I do...but if all those things were the case, she wouldn't be going tomorrow. I only wish that dogs lived forever. Or at least Rascal.
I will miss that dog. I will miss her to death. The pain of the possibility of losing her has built up over the last year even though I view the last seven years as a gift from God in letting her stick around after her illness. I've seen it coming, I've gotten myself as prepared as I could be. But I'm still crying right now.
Rest in Peace, Rascal.
We got her 14 years ago, when she was just a puppy, from a house around the block from us. For days we tried to come up with a name for her to no avail. While playing I or my brother or someone called her a little Rascal...and so that became her name.
She was a remarkable dog, house-trained in a day after one "accident" and forever after quick to learn new tricks. She had a guilt-complex like no other dog I've ever know...unwilling even to take food from your hand unless you told her she could. She was playful and loved the sun and the grass and the water...we were never able to keep her out of the river behind our house growing up.
But over the years she didn't seem to age. My Freshman year in college she came down with some intestinal bug that nearly cost her her life. One night my mom called me, telling me that she was going to have to put Rascal down because she wasn't responding to treatment and there was little hope that she would in the future. I cried a lot that night. But the next morning, when I was to go home to say goodbye to her, my mom called again and said that she had finally begun to respond, that the vets thought she would make it through it all...though it would probably shorten her lifespan by years.
Rascal didn't die. SHe continued to be my best friend when very few humans would be my friend. She would listen to me, lay with me, rest her head on my lap as I sat in the dark thinking about where life was taking me. When my mom died, she came to live with me for a year, and she was the greatest roommate I've ever had.
But as the years moved on she started to slow down a bit. Though still rambuncious for a 10, 11, or 12 year old dog (acting mor like a 6 or seven year old), she didn't have the spunk that she did. Playtime was followed by longer periods of rest...but that didn't stop her from catching her first rabbit when she was 11. She brought it home and plopped it down as proud as any puppy would do.
The last two years have found her in increasing pain though. Arthritis set on very quickly and within a few month period she went from spry to still. She'd try to run about the yard, still chasing, still playing, still pouncing, but the sparkle in her eye had begun to fade behind the cataracts. The last year she has been mostly still.
We didn't think she'd make it through the winter last year, then the spring, then the summer of this year...but she did. The arthritis was putting her in pain, but the drugs that she was being given seemed to help out a lot at first. But their powers have started to diminish too...and she walks with a frail step, leaning against walls, and standing with a look on her face that screams dread for the agony of laying down. We can't stand it anymore...to see her in pain...to see such a wonderful, amazing, beautiful, faithful dog suffer so damn much. And so my dad is bringing her to the vet tomorrow...one last road trip.
I only wish that she had the strength to sit up in the front seat so that she could stick her head out of the window to feel that rush that dogs love so much. I only wish that her stomach was not so feeble so that my dad could take her through McDonalds for one last taste of her favorite double cheeseburger. I only wish that she was able to jump up onto a bed to spend her last night laying next to a warm body of someone that loved her like I do...but if all those things were the case, she wouldn't be going tomorrow. I only wish that dogs lived forever. Or at least Rascal.
I will miss that dog. I will miss her to death. The pain of the possibility of losing her has built up over the last year even though I view the last seven years as a gift from God in letting her stick around after her illness. I've seen it coming, I've gotten myself as prepared as I could be. But I'm still crying right now.
Rest in Peace, Rascal.
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