Something Morbid - My dog's obituary.

I was looking back at old journals I've been keeping like all my life. Then I found the most recent one that I wrote in last November. I immortalized the thoughts and emotions and even the tears that fell onto the page as I wrote about my dog after she'd been put down. I cried. :( But I hope I'm getting over it. Read the following only if you've got iron tear glands... One more thing: The asterisks(*) I put in the following post are to mark places where the flood gates leaked a bit while retyping this. >.>

GETTING PUT DOWN It is the end of Nikki as we know it. The last thing she will see is not my melancholy face watching over her, but an unknown person with a syringe in their gloved hand. The last place she'll exist is not the abode of her childhood, but a cold metal cage that stinks of antiseptic and death. The last sounds she will hear are not my sniffles and her name from my knotted throat*, but the voices of strangers who have no bond with her. The last sensations she will feel are not my hands gently stroking her fur or the warmth of our proximity, but a thin metal needle entering her vein and a numbness overcoming her. And loneliness... deeply. And I don't know what comes next except a numbing of my eyes and tears falling from my face and a complete shutting down of my own soul. Nikki is only a memory to some upon meeting me, a stinky, puppy-sized-forever ball of fur. She seldom barked and never bit and I remember the first day of her life in my family like it happened five minutes ago. (She pooped in a bowl on my lap.) I will never get another dog if it's not Shih Tzu/Maltese. Sleep eternally, mi perrita consentida.*

Oh, and here's a follow-up Eulogy: YOUR MEMORIES WILL PLAGUE US FOREVER As of this day, you are dead to us, Nikki, having been euthanized. Your kidneys had ceased to function, which poisoned your blood with toxins and shock. Your fractured pelvic bones competed for sensory attention with all those broken ribs piercing your organs. Your right eye became bloodshot. You couldn't pee and you couldn't poop for the last three days of your life, wag your tail, kick your leg when I rubbed your tummy, or even shiver the way you used to when I ran my finger down your head or when I set the hose on you in the summer. The last moment we shared was when I stroked your face this morning before you were taken to the vet for the second, and last, time.* The last thing I gave you was the hot dog from school. (I stupidly thought I could save your life by feeding you a tasty weenie.) You even ate some of the bread. I warmed milk up for you to drink, milk I can't drink to this day. The last thing we told you as you were placed in a cage to be euthanized, I didn't hear, since I was at home crying. * Xavier says he said bye to you. ******************************** Just "bye". *********************** I have so much more to say to you, my love. You were the best dog in the fucking world to me. I wish you would come back, so I won't forget the way your fur and your tongue felt when you still lived. ///OMG that was supremely painful to re-read and type. Time to get some tissues.

Oh, and there was a part three as well! YOUR MEMORIES PT. 2 Please, Nikki, I'm begging you, please come back to me. I want to see you again. I want to pet you again. i want to feed you again. I want you to be waiting for me again by the front door every time I come home from marathon practice. I wish I were rich enough to afford your life, Nikki. I loved you so much. When you were struck AND run over by that car, it marked a devastation of my soul so profoundly, I wonder if I can ever recover from it. It's not Thanksgiving yet. Who will I feed MY favorite parts of the turkey to? it would have been your NINTH one. My dad says that somewhere between the times when you were initially hit and then euthanized, two white cats stared at the house almost through it, to where you were. Were they your guardian angels, your Valkyries come to take you to a canine Valhalla, my fierce little warrior? *** All we have left of you is pictures, a bottle of doggy painkillers you didn't survive longer than the effects of, and a vet bill of $220 to kill you with a needle. And you still died. It was nice, you know, being your owner. * I should have washed you more. Rest in piece, my Shih/Maltese. 11/19/2011 ///Well. Now I know where my needle phobia comes from.

I like combining my stories with ambient music as well, but not for this... Dx I wouldn't try that. It's like trying to staple water to a tree.

Waaaaahhh wahhhhhhhhh Why dd I read this? DX animal lovers should read a pets obits DX It reminds me of my hamster DX

always sad when a pet dies TT.TT even sadder to remember all the good times and that now their gone.