It has been four months since I lay on the floor of the vet's exam room, holding my chocolate lab and choked on dog hair and snot. The first shot was supposed to calm her. What it did was paralyze her. In her eyes I saw terror. I whispered all the words she didn't understand and rubbed her nose. I never saw the fear leave her eyes, I only saw them close. The tech and doc left and told me to just walk out when I was comfortable. I couldn't. I had to ask them to take her out in front of me because I couldn't leave the room with her lying dead on the floor. A few days later, I got the lovely card from the vet expressing condolences. I can't recall his exact words, but something in it told me that I was one of plenty that day that grieved her neglect. He meant well, I'm sure. What I'm not sure of is if I meant well.
I'm really jealous when people have dreams of their dogs being happy and running around. I haven't had that. There's not even a yet. No dream is guaranteed. Each time I awaken from the one recurring dream, I don't even really know if it recurred or if I dreamt that it did or if it felt so familiar because of some neurological synapse misfiring. So even with that one dream I can't say if it will happen again because I'm not even sure it happened. What was I saying? Oh, yes. Dog dreams. I haven't had that one yet. I dream of one house of the four I lived in growing up, my grandparent's house, former lovers, my children, celery, but Tasha has yet to visit and alleviate my conscience.
2 comments:
Heya, I sorta know what you're going through. My mom had to have our dog Stubbs put to sleep last year. It was his time - he was crippled and too small for surgery. I didn't cry enough.
There is no way to get it accurate with words, but then how does liquid from my eyes from my sadness become linguistic?
I miss you.
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