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Lovers & Losers...
Singing, whinging, ranting, raving, swinging and all things inbetween. This is adult content. Be of age, eh?
The Hard Death of Ozzy The Dog
After a week of pain, suffering and overwhelming stench, the dog is dead.
This has probably been one of the worst weeks of my life. Living with a pet you can't stand only makes it worse as you start to feel sorry for it. For it's agony and suffering. Knowing that it hates shitting and pissing on itself.
The dog and I made up as far as a human and animal can make up. The dog stopped growling at me, allowing me to touch him, pet him, take care of his bodily fluids, cleaning him off and around him, dragging him around by his dead legs or on his afghan. Sometimes he would snap at me, but he would do the same to the Warden.
He died in the wee hours of this morning, on his afghan, next to the Warden's chair by the TV. That was his favourite spot.
The Warden stayed up with him and Ozzy was surprisingly alert much of the night. He ate a bit of Roast Beef I'd cooked for dinner and half of a dietetic chocolate mini egg and that was all. He intermittantly slept and then was awake, responding to the Warden's voice. At one point he tried to stand up. The Warden tried to help him, but the back legs no longer worked and he couldn't stay up for long.
He had a convulsion, his mouth foaming, chest and belly heaving and went into a coma.
After I proclaimed him dead a couple hours later we rolled him onto a piece of black plastic tarp, bundled him up, and carried him out to the wheelbarrow. We pulled up the rug in the front door area and took it out for cleaning. I bleach cleaned the floor under it where the dog had been living the past few days. The Warden cleaned up the TV area and washed the afghan and his clothing.
Then we took the dog to the car and put him in the trunk. We drove him to the Vet's office so he could be taken to Auburn for cremation.
Then we went to McDonalds and had breakfast.
When we got home, we went to bed. We'd been up all night. And then there was a knock on the door. I was not clothed so the Warden got out of his bedroom and answered the door. The vet's office sent us a lovely arrangement of bulb flowers. It wasn't something we expected, so it only made us tear up.
After we slept the day away, I heard the carpet cleaner running. The Warden had decided to clean the TV area of the carpet and in his room and in other places the dog had been. I knew better than to bother him, so I stayed away in my room.
It smelled so much better in there. The scent of the bleached tiles and warm clean carpet was relaxing to me. I went to the kitchen and cleaned out the dishwasher and started to put the other dirty dishes in. I cooked up some liver for my cat and made a hot cuppa instant cappucchino.
It's almost harder when a pet dies. The helpless and sorrowful look on their faces as they slowly waste away is so pitiable. Humans, when dying, can usually talk back. Can tell you what's wrong and what you should do. An animal doesn't have that luxury. They can't decide to die or what you should do their belongings. They only have unconditional love to give, and they only hope for the same. Not so with humans. Too many complex variables with humans.
I think I'm just rambling on now. I am glad the dog has moved on to where ever creatures go when they die. It's going to be a sad house for awhile.
This has probably been one of the worst weeks of my life. Living with a pet you can't stand only makes it worse as you start to feel sorry for it. For it's agony and suffering. Knowing that it hates shitting and pissing on itself.
The dog and I made up as far as a human and animal can make up. The dog stopped growling at me, allowing me to touch him, pet him, take care of his bodily fluids, cleaning him off and around him, dragging him around by his dead legs or on his afghan. Sometimes he would snap at me, but he would do the same to the Warden.
He died in the wee hours of this morning, on his afghan, next to the Warden's chair by the TV. That was his favourite spot.
The Warden stayed up with him and Ozzy was surprisingly alert much of the night. He ate a bit of Roast Beef I'd cooked for dinner and half of a dietetic chocolate mini egg and that was all. He intermittantly slept and then was awake, responding to the Warden's voice. At one point he tried to stand up. The Warden tried to help him, but the back legs no longer worked and he couldn't stay up for long.
He had a convulsion, his mouth foaming, chest and belly heaving and went into a coma.
After I proclaimed him dead a couple hours later we rolled him onto a piece of black plastic tarp, bundled him up, and carried him out to the wheelbarrow. We pulled up the rug in the front door area and took it out for cleaning. I bleach cleaned the floor under it where the dog had been living the past few days. The Warden cleaned up the TV area and washed the afghan and his clothing.
Then we took the dog to the car and put him in the trunk. We drove him to the Vet's office so he could be taken to Auburn for cremation.
Then we went to McDonalds and had breakfast.
When we got home, we went to bed. We'd been up all night. And then there was a knock on the door. I was not clothed so the Warden got out of his bedroom and answered the door. The vet's office sent us a lovely arrangement of bulb flowers. It wasn't something we expected, so it only made us tear up.
After we slept the day away, I heard the carpet cleaner running. The Warden had decided to clean the TV area of the carpet and in his room and in other places the dog had been. I knew better than to bother him, so I stayed away in my room.
It smelled so much better in there. The scent of the bleached tiles and warm clean carpet was relaxing to me. I went to the kitchen and cleaned out the dishwasher and started to put the other dirty dishes in. I cooked up some liver for my cat and made a hot cuppa instant cappucchino.
It's almost harder when a pet dies. The helpless and sorrowful look on their faces as they slowly waste away is so pitiable. Humans, when dying, can usually talk back. Can tell you what's wrong and what you should do. An animal doesn't have that luxury. They can't decide to die or what you should do their belongings. They only have unconditional love to give, and they only hope for the same. Not so with humans. Too many complex variables with humans.
I think I'm just rambling on now. I am glad the dog has moved on to where ever creatures go when they die. It's going to be a sad house for awhile.
2006-03-26 06:42:27 GMT
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