Sadness...FML

So, I know that everyone (and by everyone, I mean the 3 of you that read this blog on a regular basis) knows that we had to put Oliver down last Thursday. It was horrible, and worse than I anticipated and I feel like writing/talking about it at this moment...so, I'm going to.

Randy and I (well, actually at this point...just me) had been crying on and off all day. Randy had to leave work early and come home and dig Bubba's grave in the backyard. I went and got him ice cream and even gave him some chicken. It was a terrible day, like really terrible. When we had to leave the house, he had been lying in the backyard in the grass and I had been taking about a million pictures of him. But, it was another moment that I knew we were doing the right thing. He was in pain, and all he could do is lie down in the grass, that's not what he wanted to do.

So, we got in the car and drove to the vet. Randy went in and I stayed outside with Bubba so he could smell the grass in front of the vet (which used to be one of his favorite things), and he did for a moment, and then just kind of fell into the grass and was sleepy. So, I picked him up and brought him in with me. Randy had already paid and talked to the vet, and I was (of course) crying like a crazy person at this point, so everyone was looking at me and feeling sorry for me. I placed him on the table, and he just laid down. It was heartbreaking. Randy came in and I just kept talking to Bubs, telling him how much I loved him and how sorry I was that we couldn't save him and how much we had really tried to help him and how I hoped he knew how loved he really was.

The doctor came in and talked to us a little bit, explaining what was going to happen. He was very nice and very helpful. He said that he was going to give him the first shot, which was a sedative, and then the second shot, which actually stops his heart. He said that the first shot can be a bit painful, but he didn't know if it would hurt him becuase of all the different pains he had in his back and legs. I knew that that would make it worse, because he's on so much medicine and he is still in so much constant pain. The first shot made him howl in pain, and I really thought Randy was going to lose it. So, the doctor let us have about 5 minutes with him. We talked to him, and cried and overall it was terrible. His tongue was out of his mouth, just hanging there. I can't remember the last time I cried as hard as I did at that moment. Then the doctor came back and gave him the second shot and waited for him to pass. Other than the cry of pain for the first shot, it seemed peaceful.

It was also horrible, the doctor was awesome. He told us that it was the right thing to do, and that a dog is only happy when they can run and jump and play, but that didn't make it suck any less. He gave me a big hug and said how sorry he was when we left. I think it was mostly because I cried like a maniac the entire time.

Randy brought him to the car, and then when we got home placed him in his grave in the backyard in one of his favorite places. The hardest that I cried was when I looked at him, wrapped in his favorite blanket, with a bone in that hole. Knowing that that was the last time I would ever see him. It was really hard for Randy to bury him, he was beside himself. We cried and cried all night long. I thought it would certainly get better the next day, but even now there are tears shed every day when I think about him. I am just so sad that we couldn't help him. He was truly a great dog, and we still miss him terribly.

With all this said, I know that we did the right thing for him. He was in terrible pain. I also know that even though it was horrible and awful, I am so glad that I was in the room with him when he died, he deserved to not be alone. He deserved for us to be there.

We love you Bubba, and we'll never forget you.

Bye Bye Bubba :(

My wonderful, adorable, fabulous dog, Oliver is going to be put to sleep in two days. Thursday at 6:00 P.M. is the time of departure. How awful, horrible, terrible, disastrous, appalling, depressing, horrendous, dreadful, and about 5,000 other synonyms.

I love my dogs. Honestly, I love my dogs more than almost anyone on the planet. In fact, if you catch me on the right day, I love my dogs more than ANYONE on the planet. I can't believe that I have to say goodbye to him.

I called the vet yesterday to "schedule" his appointment (bullshit, anyone else agree?). She then discussed with me the "procedure" and our "options" afterwards. Our "options" include the following
- Do we want to stay with him while he is injected with lethal poison?
- Do we want to take his body home to bury?
- Do we want to pay extra to have him cremated and bring his ashes home?

These are horrible "options" I would like my options to include the following:
- Give me medicine that f'ing helps my dog.
- Fix him.
- Seriously, I've paid you about 3500 dollars this year, fix my dog.

I don't want my dog to die. I really don't. I wish that I wasn't so poor and I could have afforded the more expensive treatment options in the beginning.

I hate being poor.

Oliver-I love your guts. You will always be my dog, I'm happy that I could give you a home for the last year of your life that was filled with love, hugs, kisses and a big yard that you could smell in for hours and hours. I will miss your crazy, loud, obnoxious bark and I will miss your floppy ears and I will even miss your stinky breath. I love you, Bubba. I'll see you when I get up there!

A Dog's Purpose (from a 6-year-old)

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.

I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.

The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's Death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, 'I know why.'

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation.

He said, 'People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - - like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?' The six-year-old continued, 'Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.'

This is a poem that Jimmy Stewart wrote years ago and read it on the Johnny Carson show. If this doesn't hit home nothing will.

My dog, named Bo
He came to me when I would call,
unless I had a tennis ball
-or he felt like it.
But mostly--he didn't come at all.
When he was young,
he never learned,
to heel, or sit or stay,
he did things his way.
Discipline was not his bag,
but when you were with him,
things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rose bush just to spite me,
and when I'd grab 'im he'd turn and bite me.
He bit lots of folks from day to day,
the deliv'ry boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
he said we owned a real man-eater.
He sat the house on fire,
but the story's long to tell.
Suffice to say that he survived,
and, the house survived as well.
And on evening walks
(and Gloria took him),
he was always first out the door.
The old one and I,
brought up the rear
because our bones were sore.
And he'd charge up the street
with Mom hangin' on,
what a beautiful pair they were.
And if it was still light,
and the tourists were out,
they created a bit of a stir!
But every once in awhile
he'd stop in his tracks
and with a frown on his face, look around.
It was just t'make sure,
that the old one was there,
to follow him where he was bound.
We're early-to-bedders in our house
I guess I'm the first to retire,
and as I'd leave the room, he'd look at me
and get up from his place by the fire.
He knew where the tennis balls were, upstairs
and I'd give 'im one for awhile
and he'd push it under the bed with his nose
and I'd dig it out with a smile.
But before very long, he'd tire of the ball
and he'd be asleep in his corner in no time at all,
and there where nights when I'd feel him climb up on our bed
and lie between us, and I'd pat his head;
and there were nights when I'd feel this stare,
and I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
and I'd reach out to stroke his hair;
and sometimes I'd feel him sigh,
and I think I know the reason why.
He'd wake up at night,
and he would have this fear
of the dark, of life, of lot's of things,
and he'd be glad to have me near.
And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
climb up on our bed,
and lie between us, and I pat his head;
and there are nights when I think I feel that stare,
and I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
and he's not there.
Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Bo.

“If you don't own a dog, at least one, there is not necessarily anything wrong with you, but there may be something wrong with your life.”

“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”

“The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”

“A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, big or small, young or old. He doesn't care if you're not smart, not popular, not a good joke-teller, not the best athlete, nor the best-looking person. To your dog, you are the greatest, the smartest, the nicest human being who was ever born. You are his friend and protector.”

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”

“My goal in life is to be HALF as good a person as my dog already thinks I am.”

Life changes...in motion.

So...I've announced it on facebook, it's FBO (which, for those of you who don't teach high school, so you aren't hip to the lingo, means facebook official)--I have accepted the position to teach Journalism at MHS. Crazy, right?

Betty and I made our way to H's retirement party and when I walked back in the room, I felt like a high school student again. This was made even more nostalgic by the fact that we found a sign that we (Bett, Jenn and I) had made almost ten years ago in the darkroom.

I was offered the job the next morning, which led to the most stressful, confusing 12 hours of my life. I was shaking when I talked to him and pleaded for a bit of time (I had an insurance question to ask, so that bought me a little bit of time as well), I talked to: Chrisanne, my dad, Ashley and they all told me the same thing--call H, she will talk you through it. Gosh, they were SO right. That woman is honestly the SMARTEST, most wonderful teacher I have ever encountered and talked me off the ledge assuring me that I could do this. Here's hoping she is right!

Seriously...I can't make this decision. I really can't.

So, I am legitimately at a loss. I can't deal with this pressure. I am in a consistent state of trying to figure out what to do. I can't sleep, I can't do anything.

I am in the process of creating an ultimate list of Pros/cons. It's exhausting.