This should be a happy day. I've been looking forward to this for the better part of five years. So why do I feel so horrible?
Today is the day that I finally have to put my dog down. After half a decade of battling that antagonizing ball of fur and rage, the camel's back was broken after she sent me to the immediate care clinic Saturday night by taking a few chunks out of my arm.
I reached for one of her treats when I thought she wasn't looking and she sprang 20 ft. in about half a second and latched onto my forearm. If I wasn't wearing a thick fleece sweatshirt, I may not be able to type this today. Instead, my right hand and arm is coated in bactine and wrapped in bloody gauze.
As I've written before, we've had a love-hate relationship since the day we brought her home from the pet store. She could be painfully cute and sweet one moment, but her mood could swing to become a snarling beast the next.
I remember as a puppy when she would sleep on my chest as we napped. I remember taking her to behavior classes and she was the star of the show. She could be smart and intuitive and she was a beautiful dog.
But she could also be fiercely territorial - obsessively possessive about her toys, treats, food and personal space. She would turn in a minute if she thought you were threatening her. And it didn't take much. It wasn't just me, however. She went after my grandfather once and always tried to attack the neighbors through the fence. Other dogs weren't safe and neither were guests. I would always imagine how nice it would be to have a pet that we could enjoy and not live in fear of.
But now it's time to say goodbye. And it's not as easy as I'd anticipated.
I'll load her in the cargo hold of my SUV where she loved to rest her snout between the headrests. We'll have one final ride through the country with the backseat windows down and she'll pant and smudge up the rear glass windshield. I'll rub her floppy ears and pat her head in the parking lot of the animal countrol building. I'll take off her leash, hand her over to the warden and never see her again.
I won't hear her furious bark anymore. I won't be afraid when I try to take her out in the morning, only to be reproached by her deep gutteral growl. She'll never again snap and snarl at me when I yell at her for eating the trash from the wastebasket. These are the things she enjoys the most.
And strangely, I'll miss them.
Because dogs, good or bad, become part of your life. I don't think they really are man's best friend, but even the bad ones have some redeeming qualities. When I send her off for the final time tonight, I'll need to focus on the pain and grief she caused. Like a pulling off a band-aid, you have to do it quickly and it'll hurt less.
Because despite her many, many flaws, saying goodbye is going to break my heart.
Farewell friend.
Today is the day that I finally have to put my dog down. After half a decade of battling that antagonizing ball of fur and rage, the camel's back was broken after she sent me to the immediate care clinic Saturday night by taking a few chunks out of my arm.
I reached for one of her treats when I thought she wasn't looking and she sprang 20 ft. in about half a second and latched onto my forearm. If I wasn't wearing a thick fleece sweatshirt, I may not be able to type this today. Instead, my right hand and arm is coated in bactine and wrapped in bloody gauze.
As I've written before, we've had a love-hate relationship since the day we brought her home from the pet store. She could be painfully cute and sweet one moment, but her mood could swing to become a snarling beast the next.
I remember as a puppy when she would sleep on my chest as we napped. I remember taking her to behavior classes and she was the star of the show. She could be smart and intuitive and she was a beautiful dog.
But she could also be fiercely territorial - obsessively possessive about her toys, treats, food and personal space. She would turn in a minute if she thought you were threatening her. And it didn't take much. It wasn't just me, however. She went after my grandfather once and always tried to attack the neighbors through the fence. Other dogs weren't safe and neither were guests. I would always imagine how nice it would be to have a pet that we could enjoy and not live in fear of.
But now it's time to say goodbye. And it's not as easy as I'd anticipated.
I'll load her in the cargo hold of my SUV where she loved to rest her snout between the headrests. We'll have one final ride through the country with the backseat windows down and she'll pant and smudge up the rear glass windshield. I'll rub her floppy ears and pat her head in the parking lot of the animal countrol building. I'll take off her leash, hand her over to the warden and never see her again.
I won't hear her furious bark anymore. I won't be afraid when I try to take her out in the morning, only to be reproached by her deep gutteral growl. She'll never again snap and snarl at me when I yell at her for eating the trash from the wastebasket. These are the things she enjoys the most.
And strangely, I'll miss them.
Because dogs, good or bad, become part of your life. I don't think they really are man's best friend, but even the bad ones have some redeeming qualities. When I send her off for the final time tonight, I'll need to focus on the pain and grief she caused. Like a pulling off a band-aid, you have to do it quickly and it'll hurt less.
Because despite her many, many flaws, saying goodbye is going to break my heart.
Farewell friend.
1 comments:
Dammit - you made me tear up. Stop it! Seriously, I am sorry for your loss. At least you can sleep without fear that you will awake to her clenched jaw on your carotid.
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