Playing G_d

This is not a ranting, humorous post about super sized bras, or why school newsletters always have the worst errors in them ("If you don't have a current physical on file, you will not be aloud to participate in track." Apparently you'll be running silently.) This is a post about the really crappy part of pet ownership, the end.

I have only had one pet have the good grace to 'go gentle into that goodnight.' That was the Shetland pony. Unfortunately, it cost more to have the deceased removed than it cost to purchase him to begin with. Two others have, well, died. A cat (Morris) and the Guinea pig (Copper.) They most certainly did not go gently, but noisily and graphically writhing to their deaths. Ick. Sad, but ick. Not even a good line (who could ever beat "You know a box turtle won't hold the weight of a Honda Pilot?") to remember them by.

All the rest of my loving pets have left me to make the decision for them. Although it is never, ever easy, several of them gave clear signs. "I am in pain. I cannot walk. Please make it stop." Or, "I don't really know who you are after I have a seizure and I'm really big and strong and could kill you." For the rest, you just hope you gave them every chance.

I know I blew it at least once. The infamous 'putting the wrong cat to sleep.' Granted, when a cat is 18 years old and spends 23 and 1/2 hours a day sleeping, I couldn't have been off by much. However, when he sticks out his tongue and yells at you as his final act and then you find out it wasn't him peeing on your bed... It was kitty language for, "It wasn't ME! It was HER. Why are you doing this to me???"

We have been playing death guess for several weeks now. Shasta has been pooping on the floor for months. We clean it up. Everyone has been a pretty good sport about it, even during meals. When she couldn't get traction on the floor, we bought special stickers for her feet. We learned how to backstop her so she could get up. We tried various medicines, with little or no effect. Yet, she would consistently have good days. She would run, try to take the Kong from Silas, and, to the very end, tip over the garbage.

I have whispered to her on more than one occasion that I would appreciate it if she would just go quietly in her sleep one night. Alas, not.

Yesterday, she had a stroke, or a seizure, or something. Afterwards, she recognized no one. She paced the backyard for two hours looking for I have no idea what. We did manage to get her to come in finally. The lure of food was good enough. She snapped at us all and became disoriented and stuck under furniture. Not a happy night.

This morning I called and made the arrangements. It was best, I felt, to do it while the girls were at school. Karina, who has had Shasta since she (Karina) was 4 months old, was not coping well. Karissa, as you might imagine, doesn't 'get it.'

Kelly came home and we went to put her in the car. She could not stand. Finally he had to pick her up and carry her to the car. This is harder than it sounds as she had a huge fatty tumor the size of a grapefruit on her chest and she weighed over 40 pounds.

In the car, she wouldn't even lift her head. This is a dog who loved a car ride more than anything.

We took her into the room and put her on the table on a blanket. Now she decides to stand up, but she is shaking worse than Muhammad Ali. After a few minutes, she collapses on the table. The vet comes in and gives us a short condolence spiel. He gave her a tranquilizer shot, which took about five minutes to work. During this time, I told her about what she meant to me for 14 years. About standing in front of me growling when my previous husband was berating me. Tolerating any type of dragging around by Karina and her toddling ways. Keeping the cats on their toes. Putting up with squirrely Beau, who wasn't even, gasp, housebroken. Trying to knock some sense into Silas. Ten years later, again placidly being dragged about by a toddler. Thank you seems inadequate.

Once she closed her eyes, I had to accept that this was, truly, the end. I don't need to write about the next shot, or the results. You know. But you came with a dog and you leave without one. It is crappy.

She will be cremated, along with several others, and her ashes along with theirs will be scattered along the McKenzie River. She never went there in life, but she would have loved it, like Pyramid Lake.

Oh, and I told her to tell Orca that the other cat is still peeing on stuff. I'm sure he is waiting to kick her.....