I took my dog to the vet today to be put down. I was dreading this for the last week or so. Last night I brought her in and made a big fuss over her. This morning I brushed her and loved on her. It was really odd that she had NO idea what was going on. All she knew was that I was extra loving and tender with her.
Holly was adopted by our family about 8 or 9 years ago. She's always been a bit odd but we've just accepted her as "Holly Bear". Robbie picked her out at the pet store where they were having their Pet Adoption Day thing because I had accidentally killed his other dog and felt horrible about my crimes. She was obviously older than they informed us because she has progressively gotten to the point where she just kind of hobbles around. I let her sleep in my room every night where it's warm so that her bones don't ache.
So, anything and everything went wrong on my way to the vet. My son took my truck and never came back so I had to take Old Blue. I ran out of gas half way down the hill and was fit to be tied (with two dogs in the truck). Fortunately, Robbie met me as he was headed up the hill and we traded vehicles (he can figure out the no gas thing). I made it to the vet about 10 minutes late. They took us anyway.
The vet came in and examined my poor old dog. She said that my dog was happy when I was around and wagged her tail. As long as she could get up and take herself outside to releive herself and seemed to be happy to be around me then she should just have some pain meds to ease the discomfort. Okay . . .
So I guess the emotional investment I made into having to put my dog down was for naught. She's snorning happily beside me as I write this. What will happen tomorrow, next week or even next year is still a mystery. Tonight my dog is still here. The end.
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