Good vibes, please?

[RootedPhoenix]

*hugs tightly and with you*

It's hard. Always. Always, always, always.

[ralerin]

Heh, I'm on the "Totally Unique Thoughts" email list and I found this in my inbox today.

In the end, ralerin, all you have are memories, and usually the ones you have with friends are the ones you treasure most.
I got you, babe -
The Universe

(Insert advertising/promotion stuff here)

Not that there's really an "end," ralerin. And "usually" means there are indeed exceptions - like dancing in the dark, walking in a park, and some of those really loud sneezes.

(How the hell did he know what I was thinking?!?)

Moving on, thank you, everyone. I'm going to miss my baby.

He tried to get up in the car, he really tried, he howled his beautiful bell-shaped howl as we took him in, and the lady that was getting into the car next to us said how sorry she was because she had lost her cat the week before. I stayed with my baby until the end, just petted him and whispered to him how much I loved him over and over while the light slowly went out of his eyes. Best Friend even stayed with me, and for that I'm grateful. He didn't howl or breathe or twitch like the vet warned us sometimes happens, he simply closed his eyes and breathed his last. They wrapped him up in one of the blankets we bought with us, the one that was blue and cream and green plaid with patterns of moose and trees on it, how appropriate, and laid him in the casket.

At the cemetary, we visited the grave of our other dogs as well as checked out the new additions in the cemetary. I might be morbid, but I find it fascinating to see who died in the past few years since we visited. Several other graves reminded me that death came to other pets too soon, some were 3 years old. Several people had had brother and sister pets who were born on the same day and who died less than a few days apart; in one case, both sisters died on the same day. And I thought, "How difficult that must have been, at least I have my little girl still." The new caretakers of the cemetary are the ones whose dog was a near celebrity when she passed away 11 years ago-huge granite mound outside their place of business (for reference, used to be where D.W Highway and 128 [I think] merge at that odd corner; outside a garage and across the street from the 99 restaurant near Hooksett-mound was taken down when they expanded the roads a year or two ago). On top of said mound was a statue of a golden with "Buffy For President" on the mound and they caused a huge stink when the statue was stolen. Anywho, "Buffy" is in that cemetary, having the largest and fanciest and most centrally located grave of course. But the place is immaculate since the new caretakers obviously have got lots of money and respect for people's pets. But I still righted a few fallen flowers and wished that I could get the money for some of the poorer graves whose stones were simply a fancy rock painted with black paint; I would carve their name into the stone or else buy them a marker. It takes only a few years for paint to wear off whereas carved ones last for centuries.

The guy who dug the grave arrived late and was pissed with Dad, snapping at him, "Well I had to WORK today, blah blah blah" but he began to dig the grave when he came in. He took the casket and we left, we went back home. I drank some Gatorade when I went in because I had hardly eaten all day and was *thisclose* to passing out-the sugar revived me. We went out to eat and i still could barely touch my soup, but I finished it anyway.

Before I went to bed, my mum and i were watching some sort of tribute to French-Canadian Americans and I said, "Oh, mama, if we get another dog, we'll have to teach him or her to speak French!" she laughed. (Well, it's actually true-since we're Franco-American we speak "Franglish" at home and as a consequence, Girl Beagle knows words and commands in both French and English). All last night I kept listening for the sounds of my boy snoring in peace as he slept, but he didn't. I also tossed and turned all night but when I slept, it was the deep sleep of exhaustion.

And now I'm up and it's just not hit me yet that my baby is gone. But it will soon.

Edited for csquared: I think I'll do that and post info about the fund here. But as far as sharing the love with the residents there, I just can't bring myself to do it, just yet. My wounds are too raw still and my little girl needs the love because she will MISS her guardian, her companion and her lover and she HATES being alone. But when it comes time for us to have another dog, then I will consider visiting the shelter to adopt one and give him/her as much love and adoration as we gave my Charlemagne.

[BookstoreEscapee]

Oh, I just saw this and it made me cry. I'm so sorry. I know how hard it is. The worst part about a pet being in so much pain is knowing that they don't understand what's happening. Sometimes the best thing to do is let them go, even when it's the hardest decision to make.

[ralerin]

Yes, BE, oh yes. It was the most painful thing in the world to watch my dog die in front of me; but I really, truly feel that his life was not lived in vain. Oh, sure, he annoyed me every so often with his barking and his wandering into the bathroom to watch me be on the toilet (yeah...dunno about that O_o) and the near constant allergy attacks towards the end, but I find I miss those now. I miss the beautiful howl and the sound of him jumping off the bed and the nails tk-tk-tk-tk-tking on the floor and the chance to say, "Oh, you pervert beagle! You're just a pest, a pain and a horror, right, is that it, is that right? No, that's not true, no, never, you're my special boy, yesses-yes-yessings!" I think I said this before, but I feel comforted by the fact that his purpose in life was to get my brother and I through our teenage years as pain-free as possible and to make room for another dog who wants to be with us and wants to be loved by us for the rest of his/her life because s/he desperately wants their forever home, too. Just like Sally (girl beagle). She came to us because she knew that Charlemagne would die early and she would need to cheer all of us up with her crazy little girl antics and she also needed a companion as well. Both dogs had their strengths and weaknesses, Charlemagne was a passive dog, Sally is an active one and they complimented each other-Charlemagne calmed Sally and Sally brought him out of his shell. I'm comforted in knowing that Charlemagne fulfilled his purpose in life and whatever happens, even though it seems cruel and harsh, is all part of God's/Universe's/One Central Mind's plan. I believe life is not tough at all, it is easy, and we are never given more than we can handle. Our backs may bend, but they will never break. Love brought us here and it is through love that we leave.

The pain's going away a little, day by day, and I've found talking about him is the best thing for me because I've discovered that other people have lost their beloved pets recently, too. One cashier at Aid of Rite had to do the same with her Dalmatian two weeks ago; another manager put down his beloved horse not too long ago. The amount of reactions I've gotten so far range from sincere (said manager and coworker) to the insincere (customer who asked if I had a cat because I commented on the bag of kitty litter he had and when I told him I lost my dog said, "Oh, um, beagles are cute, I'm sorry").

If this sounds stupid, I've not been able to weep about it like my mother has been doing. I just don't feel like I should be carrying on like a widow because even though he was my baby, my precious, and irreplaceable, in the end, he was just a dog. I can't continually think about what I've lost when I've got my Sally here, too, who will need my love in the next few days. I need to focus on the living and not on the dead. I feel just an incredible amount of pity for my baby, who died in such pain. I feel pity I won't see him or hear him again, pity for my brother, pity for my mother and father and Best Friend and especially Sally. And sadness, too, and regret (especially teasing him on the table before the vet came in by saying "you want meat? turkey? chicken? Lamb? Beef?" and he perked up...). But I don't feel guilt or the desire to weep and wail and scream and tear out my hair. Just mostly numb and trying to block out the images of his death. (Losing battle there, especially around lunchtime, I lost my appetite the minute I thought of him on the exam table). I can't really block out the images of his life, which bring a smile to my face.

Did any of you who lost pets ever feel this way? What about with helping you to overcome the images of their death locked in your brain? Did any of you ever talk to your pets out loud after they passed away?