Dog Day Afternoon

[figmo]

I got to work around 10:45am. A message from Warren awaited me. The vet clinic where Fuzzball was euthanized finally, after a mistaken shipment to the last place I wanted them to go (the hospital that mistreated and neglected her, causing her to suffer irreparable brain damage), had her ashes back. Warren wanted to know if he should go pick them up. He had offered to, rather than trusting the U.S. Mail to ship them yet again. I told him to go ahead and get them.

I couldn't concentrate on anything the rest of the morning. My eyes kept tearing, and I kept trying to not be vocal as I cried.

At 11:50, one of my co-workers nabbed me to go to lunch. The tearing had stopped, and I was sitting in a daze, staring at my timecard, trying to add simple one-digit integers and failing.

After lunch there was another message on the phone. It was Warren; he was about to go, but he wanted me to call and make sure there were no further financial obligations. I called; there weren't. I called him back. I hung up, then cried some more.

I then went to dispose of an empty diet Coke can in the recycle bin in the break room, but got distracted when someone had his almost two-year-old poodle/shih-tzu mix in the hallway. The dog came up to me and started sniffing my shoes; clearly she still smelled Fuzzball. The dog's name was Betsy, and she was only slightly larger than Fuzzball had been.

Betsy's behavior was very similar to Fuzzball's; her owner and I were discussing logistics of air travel with a dog her size. He was trying to train her to walk without a lead -- just like Fuzzball used to.

I never made it to the break room. I went back to my cubicle and cried some more.

I then took a roundabout way to the break room so I wouldn't see Betsy and get all welled-up again. A part of me wanted to spend all day around her. I missed having my doggie soooooo much, and it was hitting home in a major way. I had just met this dog, but I wanted to pick her up and cuddle and snuggle her. I was resisting because I knew I'd look like a dork in front of all these guy engineers I didn't know from a hole in the wall.

Anyhow, I made one roundabout trip, got some work done, then went to make another roundabout trip, but this time Betsy and her owner were in that hall. They were also on the way to the break room. A small group was hanging around, so he started showing off her tricks. The first one was "high five." Fuzzball used to do that, too. Her "repertoire" and Fuzzball's were almost identical, except Fuzzball would pirouette on command. I was gripping the inside corners of my eyes to block the tear ducts and trying to be casual about wiping my eyes.

I went back to my cubicle and cried some more. I had done all the work expected of me for the day, so I mostly bided time till it was time to go. I got caught up reading other folks' LJ entries and that helped take my mind off things. Then Warren called. He was finally in San Francisco, the halfway point to Fuzzball's ashes.

After I got off the phone, I cried some more. I then realized I'd been at work two extra hours, so I made sure my boss saw I was still there so I could count the hours some other time when I needed them.

I drove home, then went into bed to rest before dinner. The phone rang; it was Warren. He'd just picked up the ashes and had to stop because he was losing it. He said they were in a box with a plaster cast of her pawprint on top. He then hung up so I could get going. Instead, I cried -- bawled -- for 20 minutes. I was barely able to compose myself enough to go out for dinner. In fact, I almost cancelled because I was barely able to see out of my (very red) eyes.

Dinner went okay; I only got misty once when we were talking about animals. The rest of the time we talked about lots of other things and people. I was able to cheer up enough to eat.

I got home from dinner, and no sooner had I settled into bed when the phone rang. Warren again. He said, "Fuzz and I went to Bodega Bay." I lost it. We got off the phone. I cried for another ten minutes. I called Diana, still sobbing. We talked for about ten minutes when my call waiting kicked in. It was Warren again. He was ordering dinner at a Burger King where the help didn't speak enough English to understand the difference between "chocolate" and "vanilla." Oy. He also wanted to know where to put Fuzzball's ashes when he got home.

After that call I got back on the phone with Diana. We talked for about an hour with me sobbing the whole time. She gets major style points for putting up with me when she was struggling with her homework and Microsoft's excuse for a programming environment.

Warren just called; he's in San Francisco, parked, watching a cruise ship disembark. He loves ships. I'm glad he's doing something fun; he deserves it, especially after the onerous mission he performed today.

Meanwhile, I still feel terrible about Fuzzball. She didn't want me to put her down and I knew it, which is why I feel so dirty about the whole thing. Yeah, she was in pain, yeah, she was seizuring non-stop, but she was counting on me to fix the pain and seizures. I was "mommy," the one who made all the boo-boos go away. I was her protector, only I couldn't protect her from this.

Comments

[khaosworks.livejournal.com]

I felt the same way when my cat Sneeze died. Sneeze was just over a year old, and she was called that because she basically had a cold from when my ex first found her. She was the sweetest, most docile thing you ever saw, and a complete stroke slut. Ultimately, she was so quiet and docile that we didn't notice it when she got worse and only realized how bad it was when we heard her wheezing. She actually stopped breathing once on the way to the vet's. The diagnosis was pneumonia, very far advanced, and one lung was completely congested. I can't remember what the vet said but they said they'd try to treat it and keep her overnight to see if her condition improved. I remember before they took her away I stroked her and told her that everything was going to be all right, and she looked back at me with those wide, confident eyes.

The next morning, the vet called and said Sneeze had passed away during the night. I told my ex this, and we cried and held each other. She went down to the vet to claim the body while I went to work. I couldn't work that day - I alternated between listlessness and tearing up. I just kept thinking to myself, the last thing I told Sneeze was a promise that I didn't keep and I didn't even have a chance to say good-bye. I made up some excuse and left early that day to go to the vet's, where we agreed they would bury Sneeze in the hospital's back yard.

The only thing that consoled us was that Sneeze felt no pain - she just stopped breathing and slipped away in her sleep. But I keep thinking (and oftentimes still do) that if her condition had been that bad, I should have kept her at home - at least she would have died among those she loved, rather than in an antiseptic cage.

I don't think this story will make you feel better - but I want you to know that as a pet owner, you are not alone. They are our children - nobody is born a parent, and all of us make it up as we go along. Sneeze and Fuzz knew they were loved in their lifetimes, all the way to the end, and that's something, at least. They may not have understood what was happening to them, but they knew that they were loved. Would that we all could be so lucky.

[cellio]

They are our children - nobody is born a parent, and all of us make it up as we go along. Sneeze and Fuzz knew they were loved in their lifetimes, all the way to the end, and that's something, at least. They may not have understood what was happening to them, but they knew that they were loved. Would that we all could be so lucky.

What he said. They really do understand that lifetime of love and care, even when things end. That you couldn't work miracles and restore Fuzz to her former self is not cause for guilt; you did the best you could.

[gingicat]

*hugs* Fuzz was a lovely dog, and deserving of your love and grief. But not your guilt.

I seem to recall that Steve Savitzky did a lovely song about pets who have gone "across the Rainbow Bridge" -- it might help you to hear it.

*more hugs*

Rainbow Bridge

[figmo.livejournal.com]

Actually, the song doesn't comfort me. The whole "rainbow bridge" concept makes me gag because it very much goes against my feelings regarding death and such. When you're dead, you're dead -- no bridge, no heaven, no hell. I can't stand sugar coating death like that.

Response

[figmo.livejournal.com]

Thanks to everyone who responded. It does help knowing I'm not alone.