I’m trying to write this post about Husband’s dog that I killed last week but I’m just not feeling it anymore, you know? I mean, the dog was an asshole and all, but honestly (CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO DIE) I never wished the little bitch to suffer and I certainly never did anything to harm her—unlike HUSBAND, who once tossed her over the fence after she had worked herself out of the yard for the heftyleventh time and IMPALED HER ON A BAMBOO SKEWER. Okay, I confess to a certain number of wistful fantasies in which she mysteriously disappeared, or we came home and found her run over by a car. . . I might even have threatened to toss her under a moving car once or twice, but I wouldn’t actually do it. Anyway, as explained in my last post about her, cars apparently had no power over her mortality.
So I’m still kind of incredulous that she’s gone, DEAD, and that I did the deading. Now before y’all all go PETA-nuts on my ass, let me assure you that this was a mercy killing. I EUTHANIZED the bitch. And Husband, who loved that dog more than he loves me, is grateful that I did it. She was sick, you see. Very sick. We’re not 100% sure because we didn’t take her to the vet, but I feel confident that she was eat up with the cancer. Now before y’all get all high Humane Society and mighty—you didn’t even take her to the vet? You don’t deserve to own a dog!—1) we couldn’t afford to take her to the vet, and 2) whatever was actually wrong with her was so wrong that taking her to the vet probably wouldn’t have done anything but prolong the inevitable and run up a massive bill. And before you get all preachy and start lecturing me on how I can afford the internet and a cell phone and Netflix and all the other shit that makes life somewhat bearable but can’t afford to seek medical care for another living being, my internet and cell phone and Netflix were paid up for the year way back in January when we did have money. My husband’s job, you see, is sort of seasonal, so it’s feast or famine around here, and these past few months we’ve been particularly famished since Husband had DOUBLE KNEE REPLACEMENT surgery back in May (kicking off what shall be forever known as The Worst Summer of My Goddamn Life) and didn’t work for three hellish months. So we really didn’t have any money, still don’t have any money; if you could see my refrigerator right now you would just cry because there’s some pickles and really old cake flour and that’s about it in there, and all that’s in the pantry is brown sugar and those packets of dry chicken noodle soup. And besides that, Husband knows enough about veterinary care, seeing how he put himself through college working for a vet and would have gone to veterinarian school himself except he realized he would never make any money because he never could turn away anyone who couldn’t pay and had terrible difficulty putting animals down for stupid reasons like they clawed the furniture or dug up the yard (yes! asshole people actually do take their pets to the vet to be killed for this kind of shit), that I’m sure he did everything a vet might have done short of cutting her open. I swear, he took better care of her than he ever has taken care of me when I’ve been sick, cooking her chicken and broth, feeding her with a medicine dropper, giving her penicillin shots. . .
But she continued to waste away, she couldn’t eat and she couldn’t drink and when she did try to get up and walk around she swayed and trembled and coughed, and she was dripping blood from her mouth everywhere, and her face was so swollen she looked like one of those stupid pictures that were everywhere a few years ago, you know the ones where the dogs were photographed in extreme wide angle so their heads were way out of proportion to their bodies, and then she was too weak to even cough. Oh, and she stunk. She seriously smelled like she was rotting from the inside, and this had gone on for two weeks, and the morning I noticed while he was feeding her that her mouth was GREEN and her tongue was BLACK, I made the decision. This dog was not getting any better.
So after everyone left for school and work and I was home alone except for the dogs, I did it. I won’t go into the details, you ghouls will have to get your perverted kicks somewhere else, but I shut the other dogs up in the bathroom, and I took care of her. I talked to her and tried to reassure her and I cried, quite a bit more than I would have ever imagined, and it was horrible but she went quickly, as weak as she was. Younger Son had dug a grave the day before, because Husband had thought he would do it, but that didn’t work out, so I wrapped her in a clean sheet and double-bagged her in some hefty trash bags because I was worried some critter might smell her and dig her up, and I buried her and I hope I never have to do anything like that ever again.
And Husband thanked me. Thanked me because it had to be done, and I saved him from doing it, and even though during her life I hated that dog, he trusted me to do right by her in her death. And I think I did.
It sure is quiet around here now.