I guess I should clean the blood off the walls at some point. First we should probably dig the grave though.
We were going to bury the body in the far back of the yard but it was too damp once you dug so we decided that the area that is to be my "oasis" garden will be the spot.
I can see my dog's freshly dug grave from my study window. The gaping maw with the requisite mound of dirt next to it foreshadows the end of our canine friend's life this afternoon. By tomorrow a tree will be buried over top of him. Magnolia, possibly crepe myrtle. Eventually there will be flowers and a bench, bushes and peace.
I have never put a pet to sleep, never really lost a pet that was still part of my daily life. Cancer has stolen our friend and left us only with a shadow of who he was and with a terrible decision to make. Our vet was certain 2 weeks ago it was an infection, not cancer, but Friday the nurse gave Mark the biopsy report . With tears in his eyes, Mark turned away and left the room as he handed me the results. Stage V Lymphoma. With the hell that is chemo (so not an option we care to exercise) he will live maybe a few more painful, exhausting months, limbs growing weaker, blood seeping from his tumor riddled eyes. No, no, one last weekend to chase life and then we would let him go.
I made the appointment this morning and we have dug the grave and made a stretcher to carry him out with. Everything is ready except of course us. I spent most of the night on the floor next to him. He is not interested in the bed or the sofa anymore so I did my best to comfort him on the ground but he was not interested. I think he is mostly animal now, Sirius our friend has departed already and what is left is an animal that only cares about rubbing his bloody, itchy eyes on my leg or the walls, and eating everything in sight due to the prednisone. This morning he was not even interested in food he would normally sell him mother for.
And he growled at me. Never before has he done that. I have stepped on him, yelled at him, held him while he got shots, stuffed pills down his throat and never has he growled at me. Our friend is gone and what is left is walking cancer.
It's hard to believe we only have 2 hours left with him when we have only had him 16 months. Dogs do not die of cancer at 16 months, but that is a whole different story.
Mark is fully groomed and wearing his nicest casual clothes. I look like a rolled out of bed and haven't washed in a week. Not too far from the truth. I am dreading the time we drive there and have to hold him while we kill him.
I need to talk to him first though . I must tell him we love him, that it's okay to pass over, that we will miss him but will go on, and he must go on, to wherever it is that souls go. He must know he was a loyal, faithful, entertaining companion, a balm to Mark and his troubles, a warrior who protected us in sickness and in danger. I have to make him understand there never was nor ever will be another Sirius. I have to thank him for his service.
I am not sure I have felt this scared and alone in a long time. Scared because I know that every second of this day will be etched in my brain forever, that all the other horrifying memories will have to move a seat down for these. I am mostly alone. In times like these we all do whatever we can just to cope and Mark and I tend to retreat to our corners during the worst of it. Later we will take to comforting each other. We can count on each other for that.
Next step, to the vet. Sirius loves the car, always has. You open a car door near him and he is right there inside in a flash. He doesn't care if it's the beach or the vet, he's going out! This time his weak limbs couldn't make it into the car and with a howl of pain Mark had to pick him up to get him in the car. I think it was then Mark realized how bad off he really was and how right it is that today is the day. The pain in Mark's eyes I saw in that moment I never want to see again. Our vet is a saint. He did everything in his power to save our Sirius. He consulted with many other vets, did lots of tests, researched different illnesses, lord knows he tried like it was his own dog.
So when he came into the back room where the euthanasia happens the concern and sadness on his face was real. Mark was smart enough to wear sunglasses while I just balled like a two year old. He told us what to expect and left us to say our final goodbyes. I made sure Sirius knew he was a good boy, the best dog Mark or I had ever had , and it was okay to leave us, we would miss him but he was to go where he belongs now. I wanted to beg him to come back if he could, even his spirit being better than nothing, but that's not where he is supposed to be right now. There has to be a reason why his life was cut so short. I believe there is a reason for everything. Damned if I can figure it out right now.
The nurses came to inject a sedative into him. Doc said it would calm him down and make him "drunk" before the actual lethal injection. As I saw his eyes closing I was beginning to feel a small sense of relief. I knew in this state his pain and suffering were not as acute. Any relief for him was a relief for me. We sat on the floor with him for what seemed like an eternity that was too short. Two nurses and the doctor came in after that and we comforted our baby boy as we set him free. He gasped his last a few times, Mark wild eyed with grief and a sort of panic. He has had many dogs and he has always said Sirius was by far the best one he had. I didn't think my heart could break into smaller pieces until I looked at Mark's face.
When Sirius was "gone" doc left us to prepare him for the trip home. I hugged his lifeless shell then, sucking out the last bit of Sirius' warmth I could get, trying desperately to burn that feeling into my mind. That, and how it felt to sit and talk to him, foreheads together, like we used to.
Mark sewed the shell that was Sirius into a canvas cloth, my twisted mind seeing him as a giant burrito. At this point Mark said "At sea this is where we push them over the side" and it hit me. The haircut, the clothes, the cologne, the canvas cloth...Mark was preparing him for a burial at sea, like he has done dozens of times before in his years as a sailor. At that moment I saw him through the eyes of a woman so in love, so blessed to have this man as her husband, that for that time Sirius was gone and I was with my Senior Chief, my brave hero. MY Mark.
He and Doc took him via our makeshift stretcher to the car and we went home, but not before Doc asked how Jake was doing on the medicine he gave us (our cat) and reminding me to bring Maggie in to meet everyone (my puppy). Amazing man.
We had a bit of road rage on the way, this selfish, horrible woman screaming some gibberish over and over at Mark, too busy swiveling her head around and jabbing her finger to hear Mark telling her his is going home to bury his dog. I hope she gets a flat in a neighbor filled with people as ugly inside as she is.
By the time we got home the numbness had set in. Part of it was relief the ordeal was over, part of it was relief Sirius was no longer in pain, and part was simply sensory overload. We took turns filling in the hole but said no words over the grave. I think we had already said all there was to say at the vets and I don't think we had it in us to say any more.
As we walked back to the house I looked down the length of our huge back yard. So empty without him. This is not right, He is supposed to be chasing lizards by the old shed, or running up and down the fence with George, his half brother next door. He is supposed to come running when he see Mark, his great paws sounding like Secretariat in the home stretch. This empty acreage was wrong. And I lost it. I cried all the dirt out of my soul right there on Mark's shirt. Cried and cried like a child. I didn't cry for Sirius. His suffering has ended. I cried because ours was just beginning.
Goodbye Sirius. We have your tags. We have your hair. We have your pictures and movies and we even will have a tree for you. But we will never have another you. So now we have to allow ourselves to grieve. much as I hate it , it's the only way to get the poison out of our system, the only healthy, human way to react.
But I have to make it quick. I have an innocent little face named Maggie looking up at me with cockeyed ears and a tail going a mile a minute behind her. She needs me now. She will never be Sirius but then I wouldn't want her to be.
We were going to bury the body in the far back of the yard but it was too damp once you dug so we decided that the area that is to be my "oasis" garden will be the spot.
I can see my dog's freshly dug grave from my study window. The gaping maw with the requisite mound of dirt next to it foreshadows the end of our canine friend's life this afternoon. By tomorrow a tree will be buried over top of him. Magnolia, possibly crepe myrtle. Eventually there will be flowers and a bench, bushes and peace.
I have never put a pet to sleep, never really lost a pet that was still part of my daily life. Cancer has stolen our friend and left us only with a shadow of who he was and with a terrible decision to make. Our vet was certain 2 weeks ago it was an infection, not cancer, but Friday the nurse gave Mark the biopsy report . With tears in his eyes, Mark turned away and left the room as he handed me the results. Stage V Lymphoma. With the hell that is chemo (so not an option we care to exercise) he will live maybe a few more painful, exhausting months, limbs growing weaker, blood seeping from his tumor riddled eyes. No, no, one last weekend to chase life and then we would let him go.
I made the appointment this morning and we have dug the grave and made a stretcher to carry him out with. Everything is ready except of course us. I spent most of the night on the floor next to him. He is not interested in the bed or the sofa anymore so I did my best to comfort him on the ground but he was not interested. I think he is mostly animal now, Sirius our friend has departed already and what is left is an animal that only cares about rubbing his bloody, itchy eyes on my leg or the walls, and eating everything in sight due to the prednisone. This morning he was not even interested in food he would normally sell him mother for.
And he growled at me. Never before has he done that. I have stepped on him, yelled at him, held him while he got shots, stuffed pills down his throat and never has he growled at me. Our friend is gone and what is left is walking cancer.
It's hard to believe we only have 2 hours left with him when we have only had him 16 months. Dogs do not die of cancer at 16 months, but that is a whole different story.
Mark is fully groomed and wearing his nicest casual clothes. I look like a rolled out of bed and haven't washed in a week. Not too far from the truth. I am dreading the time we drive there and have to hold him while we kill him.
I need to talk to him first though . I must tell him we love him, that it's okay to pass over, that we will miss him but will go on, and he must go on, to wherever it is that souls go. He must know he was a loyal, faithful, entertaining companion, a balm to Mark and his troubles, a warrior who protected us in sickness and in danger. I have to make him understand there never was nor ever will be another Sirius. I have to thank him for his service.
I am not sure I have felt this scared and alone in a long time. Scared because I know that every second of this day will be etched in my brain forever, that all the other horrifying memories will have to move a seat down for these. I am mostly alone. In times like these we all do whatever we can just to cope and Mark and I tend to retreat to our corners during the worst of it. Later we will take to comforting each other. We can count on each other for that.
Next step, to the vet. Sirius loves the car, always has. You open a car door near him and he is right there inside in a flash. He doesn't care if it's the beach or the vet, he's going out! This time his weak limbs couldn't make it into the car and with a howl of pain Mark had to pick him up to get him in the car. I think it was then Mark realized how bad off he really was and how right it is that today is the day. The pain in Mark's eyes I saw in that moment I never want to see again. Our vet is a saint. He did everything in his power to save our Sirius. He consulted with many other vets, did lots of tests, researched different illnesses, lord knows he tried like it was his own dog.
So when he came into the back room where the euthanasia happens the concern and sadness on his face was real. Mark was smart enough to wear sunglasses while I just balled like a two year old. He told us what to expect and left us to say our final goodbyes. I made sure Sirius knew he was a good boy, the best dog Mark or I had ever had , and it was okay to leave us, we would miss him but he was to go where he belongs now. I wanted to beg him to come back if he could, even his spirit being better than nothing, but that's not where he is supposed to be right now. There has to be a reason why his life was cut so short. I believe there is a reason for everything. Damned if I can figure it out right now.
The nurses came to inject a sedative into him. Doc said it would calm him down and make him "drunk" before the actual lethal injection. As I saw his eyes closing I was beginning to feel a small sense of relief. I knew in this state his pain and suffering were not as acute. Any relief for him was a relief for me. We sat on the floor with him for what seemed like an eternity that was too short. Two nurses and the doctor came in after that and we comforted our baby boy as we set him free. He gasped his last a few times, Mark wild eyed with grief and a sort of panic. He has had many dogs and he has always said Sirius was by far the best one he had. I didn't think my heart could break into smaller pieces until I looked at Mark's face.
When Sirius was "gone" doc left us to prepare him for the trip home. I hugged his lifeless shell then, sucking out the last bit of Sirius' warmth I could get, trying desperately to burn that feeling into my mind. That, and how it felt to sit and talk to him, foreheads together, like we used to.
Mark sewed the shell that was Sirius into a canvas cloth, my twisted mind seeing him as a giant burrito. At this point Mark said "At sea this is where we push them over the side" and it hit me. The haircut, the clothes, the cologne, the canvas cloth...Mark was preparing him for a burial at sea, like he has done dozens of times before in his years as a sailor. At that moment I saw him through the eyes of a woman so in love, so blessed to have this man as her husband, that for that time Sirius was gone and I was with my Senior Chief, my brave hero. MY Mark.
He and Doc took him via our makeshift stretcher to the car and we went home, but not before Doc asked how Jake was doing on the medicine he gave us (our cat) and reminding me to bring Maggie in to meet everyone (my puppy). Amazing man.
We had a bit of road rage on the way, this selfish, horrible woman screaming some gibberish over and over at Mark, too busy swiveling her head around and jabbing her finger to hear Mark telling her his is going home to bury his dog. I hope she gets a flat in a neighbor filled with people as ugly inside as she is.
By the time we got home the numbness had set in. Part of it was relief the ordeal was over, part of it was relief Sirius was no longer in pain, and part was simply sensory overload. We took turns filling in the hole but said no words over the grave. I think we had already said all there was to say at the vets and I don't think we had it in us to say any more.
As we walked back to the house I looked down the length of our huge back yard. So empty without him. This is not right, He is supposed to be chasing lizards by the old shed, or running up and down the fence with George, his half brother next door. He is supposed to come running when he see Mark, his great paws sounding like Secretariat in the home stretch. This empty acreage was wrong. And I lost it. I cried all the dirt out of my soul right there on Mark's shirt. Cried and cried like a child. I didn't cry for Sirius. His suffering has ended. I cried because ours was just beginning.
Goodbye Sirius. We have your tags. We have your hair. We have your pictures and movies and we even will have a tree for you. But we will never have another you. So now we have to allow ourselves to grieve. much as I hate it , it's the only way to get the poison out of our system, the only healthy, human way to react.
But I have to make it quick. I have an innocent little face named Maggie looking up at me with cockeyed ears and a tail going a mile a minute behind her. She needs me now. She will never be Sirius but then I wouldn't want her to be.
