Re: The Cracked Mug v 2.0
Posted: Mon Dec 09, 2024 3:38 am
Don't tell @Dax Webster but he's a good egg
Don't tell @Dax Webster but he's a good egg
@Fetian is a naughty egg but he already knew that
am i being negged
I am now a dog hospice nurse and have enormous emotions about it but we stay silly
tibby
erikavonkaiser wrote: ↑Mon Dec 09, 2024 11:22 pmI am now a dog hospice nurse and have enormous emotions about it but we stay silly
she get da fluids
The last thing I remember is My Person bringing my to the Sharp Place.
I never understood why My Person would bring me to the Sharp Place. The smells were sharp, and they poked me with sharp things. That's why I called it the Sharp Place. It was a bad place. I didn't like it.
I don't know why My Person brought me there, that day of all days. I already hadn't been feeling good. I'd been throwing up, and my hips hurt and my paws hurt. Even eating grass didn't help. And then My Person brought me to the Sharp Place. I tried to be mad at him, but he seemed so sad about something, so I tried to wag my tail to cheer him up. I didn't even really notice when the Sharp Man poked me.
Then my eyes got heavy and that was the last thing I remember.
Buddy, a voice said. Buddy, wake up.
I opened my eyes and got to my feet, and I realized my paws didn't hurt anymore. I tried a wag, and that was fine, too. I sniffed the air. It smelled like the Play Park and like Our Home and the Car Window. I liked it a lot.
Welcome, Buddy, came the voice again, from behind me.
I turned around, and there was a person there. He wasn't My Person, but he was all safe and good smells, so I trusted him.
Where am I? I said.
You're in the place that Good Boys go, the person said.
I was a Good Boy? I said.
You were a Very Good Boy, he told me.
That was good. I always tried to be a Good Boy. Where's My Person? I asked.
He's still down there, the person said. And he waved his arm and all of a sudden we were in Our Home, and My Person was sitting on the Forbidden Chair and looking sad. Every so often, he'd look over at the Okay Couch, where I was allowed so sit, and his breath would catch because he was very sad. I tried to nuzzle him, but my nose just passed through his hand.
What's happening? I don't understand, I said.
The person sighed. You can't be with him right now, Buddy. I'm sorry. It's the way of things.
I thought about this. So it's like My Person is on the Person Bed, and I'm not allowed there? I said.
Exactly like that, the person said. But he can be with you someday. If you choose to wait for him.
Of course I want to wait for him! I said. Not wait for My Person? Who did this person think he was talking to?
Hold on, Buddy, the person said. He seemed sad about this for some reason. It's not that simple. You have a choice. He got down on one knee and he looked into my eyes. There are bad things in this world, Buddy. Very bad things.
Like Neighbor Cat?
So much worse than her, Buddy. He waved his hand, and I saw what he was talking about. He showed me dark things, that were like snakes and rats, only worse. Worse than the Sucking Machine. Worse than the Sharp Place. They smelled evil.
These are the things that want to hurt him, Buddy. They want to hurt everybody. So you can wait for him, or you can keep him safe. But if you choose to keep him safe, then you can't see him again.
What, never? I said.
The person nodded. Never, Buddy. I'm sorry. Those are the Rules. It's a terrible choice.
I looked at my paws. I didn't want to not see My Person ever again. But I wanted to keep him safe even more.
I know what I have to do, I said, and the person waved his hand, and all of a sudden we were in a place with there were as many dogs as I have every seen before. More, even.
These are all the Good Boys who chose to keep Their People safe, the person said.
I looked at them all. I couldn't believe it, still. But there's so many of us! I said. How many Good Boys are here?
The person looked down at me. He smiled, but I could tell he was also partly very sad. All of you, Buddy. Every single one.
I miss my goddamn dog
Yesterday I woke up around 4 AM and immediately knew, in my heart, that it was Baby Dog's last day.
She was restless and seemed a bit "distant," like not as present and curious as she normally is, and didn't want to follow me off the bed. When she did, she stumbled and struggled to walk, so I helped her around and told her that if she needed to go, it was okay, I wouldn't make her stay if staying hurt. I snuggled into bed with her and hung out until the vet opened and cried a lot, but she was ready and I had to be ready, too.
I took her to the vet in her little wagon, since walking hurt, and they were kind and gentle and understood and put me in a little room where I could hold her and say goodbye. It's the first time I've had to euthanize a pet, and it works quickly; as I pet her I could feel when she fell asleep for the last time, and I knew she was gone before the vet confirmed it. I told her that she was my best girl, and that so many people love her and will miss her, and that she did a good job taking care of me. I told her she's earned the rest, and that her watch is over now.
I didn't tell her this, but I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Baby Dog. At one point I had a Plan (tm), and the only thing that stopped me from committing to that plan was the knowledge if I was gone, no one would take care of Baby Dog the way she deserved. My family might take her in, but they're the worst sort of people, and they wouldn't tuck her in at night and take her to the dog beach and make sure her nails are trimmed and walk slow so she can sniff all the dead leaves. In any case, I got to where I didn't need a Plan, and then I didn't want a Plan, and then I got to where I did have people who would take care of Baby if something happened to me. Those same people helped me yesterday and provided understanding, empathy, and in @Fetian and @KnightOfCups's case, soup! Which I extremely appreciate.
It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but it was the right thing. I'm okay, just grieving, and I'll continue to be okay and to grieve and to feel those things in different measures for the rest of my life.