My dog died.
It’s been almost a week, and I just got through balling my eyes out. Again.
Corky was a Jack Russell Terrier (JRT) mix, probably fox terrier. He weighed about 18 lbs, was super smart, and like any JRT, he was high maintenance. He was also very very cute. The floppy ears. The soft fur. I loved pressing my lips against the fur between his eye and ear. He let me, for awhile, before insisting on being put back on the floor. Yes, he was very cute.
Corky was 14 and I figured he had a few more years left in him. He was half deaf and half blind, but he still had spunk. He could still go batshit crazy when the mailman came to the door. He loved going to the dog park and peeing on everything. He could still smell, and was food motivated. Greenies were like crack cocaine for him.
But he’s gone. And I miss him.
He got his teeth cleaned last Monday, had to have 4 extractions. The vet said he was more worried about the bacteria floating around in Corky’s system than any negative side effects of the surgery. His blood panel looked good. He came home, woozy, still under the effects of the anesthesia. He was drinking water, but would throw it up. He was panting.
About 1am I decided to take him to the vet ER. They gave him pain meds, anti-nausea meds, some liquids and sent him home for me to keep an eye on him. He fell asleep on the couch. I put my iPhone to play “Through a Dog’s Ear,” music to calm your pooch. At 7am I woke up and found him to be the same. I showered and we went back to the vet ER. They took x-rays, drew blood to test for pancreatitis. I left him there and went home.
The doctor called about 3:00pm to tell me Corky had arrested and did I want them to take measures. No. They ended up having to give him a shot. Amer and I went over to see him, and pay the bill.
My dog was dead. My little buddy. 11 years together came to an abrupt end. I sobbed.
We know our time with our pets will be short, comparatively speaking. But we bring new animals into our homes and our hearts, knowing that our hearts will break at some point.
But I had 11 years with a great, albeit pain in the ass, dog. I admit I sleep through the night now. Corky would wake me up when he, like any other old man, would get up in the night to get some water and take a leak. I’d listen, follow him in my mind’s eye, til he came back to bed. Invariably I would have to get up and lift him back onto the bed, and under his cover. This would be repeated at least twice every night. I’m used to life with seniors, I did this with my grandmother (minus lifting her into bed, although she did fall a few times) over 11 years ago. In fact, Corky came into my life shortly after my grandmother’s death. So now I sleep through the night. But I cry more.
Pancho keeps me company.
But I still miss Corky.
My dog died.