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February 23rd, 2007

My husband is over the dog and moving on. The kids are over the dog and moving on. Thankfully, they’ve stopped asking if I’m going to get them a new kitten. The kids, not my husband. Somewhere they got the idea that when a pet dies you run out and get a new one. This is not happening here. No one could replace Wacky Dog and all his crazy lovey ways. No more dogs. I cannot take this heartache again, this horrible decision I had to make. By myself. Because my husband was nuts about the dog and couldn’t let him go, and I can’t fault him for this. I loved the dog, too. He was my dog — he was our dog, but he was my dog. And the kids are little. Too little. If they were teenagers I would have discussed it with them. As it was, I just told them, before I left to take him in, “He’s really sick and the vet doesn’t have medicine to make him better. I don’t know if he will make it.”

And I’ve decided that when I start to break down, it’s okay to cry and break down, but I don’t need to answer the kids’ each and every question, when I’m a mess over this. They wanted to know specifics and I don’t want them to have that information. I just tell them “This is too difficult for me to talk about.” Because it is. And because I want them to be kids for as long as they can. That’s why I’m the grown-up.

I didn’t stay there with him, in the room. I sat with him in what they call “The Comfort Room” for a long time, petting him and talking with him. (And it was comforting. It was softly lit, with a nice couch, and art on the walls, and several boxes of tissue placed around.) I was counseled by a vet tech, who was just an angel, she was so kind and understanding, and a vet who was equally compassionate. It sounded to him like Wacky Dog was showing signs of senility, the way he’d get confused (wanting outside, then back in, not going to the bathroom outside, then going in the house). And the way all of his obsessive-compulsive stuff had gotten worse (chewing on the woodwork, gnawing on his paws and tail, not being able to sleep at night, fretting over everything). The vomiting and the diarrhea had gotten worse. Medicine wasn’t helping. He was such a big puppy, my guy, but when the vet said that, about the senility, I knew he was right. I told my dog, you don’t have to worry anymore, and I let him go.

I’m not over the dog.

I still hear him everywhere — I think he’s scratching at the door and I go to let him in. I spill food on the floor and whistle for him. I peek at the weather and the clock and think, “We have time for a walk, good,” then I remember. I can’t figure out why my foot is cold, then I realize he’s not lying on it. He was a cuddler.

It’s only been a week and a day. That’s not very long. Of course everything is dogs, dogs and more dogs at the moment — the black Lab (just like mine!!!) who snuggled up to the lost climbers (yet more people here, lost in the snow, but they were OK) on Mt. Hood; dogs are running all over the park; they’re jumping into the backs of people’s cars and they’re going places. Then on “Grey’s Anatomy” last night, there’s Meredith in the after-life, with Denny and the bomb squad guy and she says something like, I don’t really want to see you guys, the one I want to see is…

And her dog, Doc, who she had to have put to sleep, bounds up on the table.

I’ll see you somewhere over the rainbow, Wacky Dog.


  1. LIB says

    What a beautiful post, WM! You had me in tears.
    You are remebering and talking/writing about Wacky Dog. That will help. But it will be hard for a while. Give yourself pppermission to take AS LONG as it takes.

    February 23rd, 2007 | #

  2. Himself says

    Oh, I’m not over him. Especially not after reading this. Damn it, now I’m getting all choked up at work.

    February 23rd, 2007 | #

  3. WackyMommy says

    Thank you, Lib. I wish this wasn’t hurting so bad.

    Himself, sorry I made you cry.

    February 23rd, 2007 | #

  4. Zipdodah says

    One more for you WM…..xxxooo
    Rainbow Bridge:

    February 25th, 2007 | #

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