Friday, August 02, 2013
We had to take Sammy to the vet on Monday to be put down. It was hands-down, no-question, the absolute worst day of my entire life...until the next day, which was even worse.
It had to be done. He cried a lot, couldn't stand at all and on Saturday, he wasn't eating. We took him to four different vets, including a woo woo doctor that gave him acupuncture and chiropractic treatments...but I just couldn't fix him.
The pain has been completely unbearable. We had an intense relationship with Sammy, because when we got him, he was already completely blind and almost completely deaf. He couldn't do things that other dogs did. He didn't wag his tail or run to the door. He couldn't fetch or even jump up and down on furniture as he felt like it. He would get trapped in corners and needed help getting out. He couldn't tell us when he needed to do his business, and had to be carried in and out of the house to do it, and he wasn't the best about waiting for us to figure out that's what he needed, either. We usually carried him to his food and water. It was like taking care of a baby. The last five months, my husband has been home with him--at first, because he was looking for a job, but he stopped a few months ago, because Sammy needed constant care--and he is devastated, because he lost not only our Baby Boy, but also his companion and his purpose.
It may not sound like it, but Sammy was the best, anyway. Maybe not the best DOG, but the best. He was so sweet. He would find you and lick your legs. He did figure out the layout of the house more or less, if the other bedroom doors were closed, and sometimes, he would get up from his doggie bed in the living room, and waddle to the wall, walking along it, because he couldn't see, through the TV trays in the corner, like it was an obstacle course, and then down the hall. One time, one of our exchange students left their bedroom door open, and Sammy got lost in 23-year-old boy hell. He messed up the kid's notebooks. One time, we lost him and were looking everywhere for him. He had gone into the second bathroom, bumped the door shut and was sleeping on the bathmat. He would not like the way his bed was lying, so he would paw ineffectively at his little cushion or whatever was lining it, and bark once. Then he would get frustrated and go to sleep. He loved green beans, and the only time he would try to bite you is if your hand smelled like hot dogs. He had two little sores on his head from where he had bumped into things over time. They got very badly infected for months, and we invented a helmet for him to keep him from irritating them so they'd heal. The helmet was made with nylons, a sock, and that stuff that is on the non-sticky part of bandages. He hated that helmet, but he looked super-cute in it. When he'd wake up in the night and need to go outside, he'd step on our heads to wake us. He was my obsession...my baby, my angel.
And now he's gone. I'd give anything to be able to hold him some more, and sniff his little head. And stare into--or at--his useless eyes. And see his little black nose from above...and on and on and on.
So this has been a horrible, horrible week...like no week I've ever experienced. I've been trying to write this blog for a few days now, but I haven't been able to, but I NEED to, because I found out that unfortunately, I'm not one of those people who loses her appetite in times of deep sadness. No, I'm the other way, trying to fill a hole that food can't fill...that nothing can fill. And I've ramped up the workouts lately. I do find that running as fast as you can (and I don't run at all) or jumping up and down on the trampoline REALLY REALLY HARD makes the tears stop for a minute. But just a minute, because my stamina stinks. And even though Flamin' Hot Cheetos do nothing for my pain, I'm still eating them. In bulk. And I just have such a hard time believing that it's ever going to feel okay ever again, even though I know intellectually that such deep pain is unsustainable in the long run, and we humans adapt to all kinds of changes, even the worst change I can possibly imagine--losing a member of my small household--nothing comforts me. I ache all over, but especially in my heart. I miss him so much.
But I have to stop the madness. I have to pledge to following my diet, at least, because even though I'm working out more and harder, it's not enough to counteract the grease-love-fest I had last night, or the massive amount of Cheetos. AndI gained 20 pounds when I moved...and I can't gain another 20. I just can't...even for love of Sammy. I mean, if it would bring him back, sure, but it won't.