Loss

I've put down four horses now, two in the last nine months. I have sort of a protocol I follow emotionally. It's not something I planned on, it's just what has evolved going through this process.

I've decided I hate crying over them in their last days on this earth. I don't think it's fair to them to have to have a human blubbering over them over and over again. I generally have a good cry sometime in the days before, mourning the things that will not be. It's when the vet drives down the driveway I start to get teary. I try to hold it together till they get the sedative shot and then I cry over them and say goodbye as we walk to the hole (not a short walk.) Then I lose it, stroking them, telling them the same thing over and over. For Flanigan it was "I'm sorry" because I couldn't make him healthier. For Fudge it was "I love you" because I have never loved a horse as much as I loved her. Condor "You've been a good boy and you're very loved." Penny was, "Oh Pony." Once it's done I dry my tears and move on. Except Fudge, I can still cry over her.

So why am I telling you this?

Just before Christmas we had to put down our eldest Golden Retriever Snitch at 10. We'd only found out less than a month before he had cancer. No arthritis, no other issues. He went downhill fast. Putting him down was more painful than the horses, because the vet kept wanting to "give us time." By the time we had gotten to the vet we had said our goodbyes and prolonging it was torturing us humans. When all was said and done we were at the vet's for an hour. With a horse the vet is sometimes driving out of the driveway in 20 minutes. I much prefer horse vet's efficency.

I do plan to tell the small animal vet that really, while we don't want an express euthanasia, it would be nice if we could move it along a little faster the next time. It's not like they were busy: we were the only people in there on a saturday morning. I do think they thought they were being comforting and helpful, but for us they just weren't. The only way they'll know is if we tell them.

So what brought this up? Snitch's ashes are sitting on the piano. They're in a nice box with a plate with his name on it. I just cautiously opened the box, having no idea what would be in there. The ashes are inside a plastic bag, tied with a heart shaped brass tag with his name on it. Now I'm just crying. I miss my dog. Yes, there are three others and the four cats, but they're not the same. He was our first. He moved into our house in California before I did (I was out of town.) Hubby signed the papers on the house and then went right out to get the puppy we'd picked out from the breeder. He was not the prettiest golden retriever with his crazy curly hair, but he was funny. A complete and utter goon. He liked to chase flashlights and play with empty plastic bottles. He was submissive to everyone and everything. He let the other dogs, and cats, sleep on top of him. He was a good big brother and loved his humans. And we all loved him back.