Thursday, August 23rd, 2012 is the shittiest day in my life so far (Dear Life, this is not a challenge. You win. Stop sucking.)
Blogging is cathartic for me. I need this.
We had to put the most unique, adorable, hilarious, and intelligent dog down on this day. I don't know how to explain to you what I'm feeling. How do you explain to people that you feel like you just lost a family member who just so happened to be an animal?? Some people get it. Some don't. So instead, I'll tell you what happened.
I called the vet that morning. Scout was fine. I was told I would be able to pick him up at 1pm the next day and that I'd be bringing him back to the hospital for physical therapy twice a week for at least a month after that (probably more). Sounded good to me.
Around noon, I got a call from the vet. I was unable to answer the phone since I was playing with Jack. I called back shortly after when Jack fell asleep.
The message the doc left made me nervous...So when I called back, I only half listened to all of his vet-talk-mumbo-jumbo until he used the word "unfortunately." My ears perked. I guess part of me was waiting for him to say "THIS IS GOOD NEWS!!" instead of "unfortunately."
The "unfortunately" was followed by a whole bunch of ugly about how my poor Baby Scout's spinal cord suffered too much trauma...and that it was essentially dying off. He had already lost function of his anal sphincter, his front legs, and his breathing muscles. His diaphram was the only thing helping him breathe. But his breathing was labored...and would eventually stop. They didn't know how much longer he'd last.
We rushed over to see him and love on him as well as end the suffering as soon as possible.
I cried again. Or sobbed. I don't know.
Random sobs from both Jake and I are common these days. And I've never heard my husband cry like that. I don't think he's ever heard me cry like that either.
Scout looked excited to see us because his ears were perked but nothing else moved. Except his eyes. He kept his eyes on us the whole time.
We decided to have the doc come back in to help him pass peacefully when Scout attempted to lift his paw and put it on my face. He always did that. But then he began to whine...barely. You could barely hear him. Ugh. It was awful.
His passing looked peaceful for him. And that's all I want to say about that.
The answers seemed so simple when I was still Mormon. When I was positive there was a heaven. But then I looked deeper and found other answers that I didn't like. And now I'm not sure about heaven...
Dear God/Gods/Goddess/Goddesses/Masters of the Universe...whoever, whatever you are. Please bless that there is a heaven. Not to help my faith or to give me peace that there is a place for me after I die. But to make me feel better about the passing of my dog. HE deserves to be there.
Dear Scout, I'm so sorry. We tried so hard to fix it. I love you so much. I wish there was a stronger word for hope because I HOPE that you are barking and playing with other dogs, dreaming of your girlfriend, Lulu, running around in the biggest, coolest field you have ever seen, chasing an endless supply of squirrels, laying out in the sunshine when you need to rest, and eating as much people food as you want. I'll always be your mommy. See you at the Rainbow Bridge, Buddy.