IMJack

My dog passed away this evening.

This morning, first thing, my dad and I had to take her to the vet to get bloodwork done. She hopped right in the car when we asked her to. At the vet, she's with it enough to hop right on the scale and hold still. They took one tube's worth out of her neck, and though she didn't like the muzzle they put on, she took the needle without any complaint.

We'd known Jenny was sick since late last year, when she was diagnosed with anemia and put on some random drug. After our older dog, Misty, went to sleep in early February, Jenny's condition was all over the place. The vet, damn his eyes, prescribed all sorts of different, possibly conflicting drugs. Finally, at the beginning of May, he diagnosed Jenny with diabetes and prescribed daily insulin shots. Ever try to stick a needle in 90 lbs of solid, energetic Rottweiler? And that's the thing: despite being sick, the worst cisible symptoms she had were a bit of listlessness (normal for my fatass family) and a tendancy not to eat all of her food right away. ANyway, we got her on insulin and she got a lot more energy and a lot better appetite. Then, about ten days ago, the vet decided to up her insulin to twice daily.

Anyway, we're at the vet this morning and Jenny is her lively self. The vet takes a moment to take a look at her, and says she looks kinda pale. The bloodwork includes normal diabetes tests as well as a thyroid panel, which implied she'd be on another drug before long. This is the most expensive free dog ever, according to my dad.

So we get Jenny home and Dad and I take off to look at trucks. We get home a few hours later, and Jenny is as lively as ever. She even gave me one of her Rottie-hugs. Jenny loves physical contact; a very touchy-feely dog.

My mom gets home and feeds Jenny before we head out to church. Jenny eats it all. We head out, short Mass, nice dinner at this barbeque place, and come home about 7:15. jenny is there to greet my mom. She had an accident at the top of the steps, which is unusual.

At 7:25, I'm reading the forums when my dad calls me upstairs. Jenny is lying by the dining room table, barely breathing. My mom knows she's dying. We all petted Jenny and told her how much we love her. She went very gently right about 7:30.

My siser got back from the stereotypical post-graduation teen adventure in San Diego around 10:45. We all went to meet her at her friend's place. We got in the car and prompted her to tell us about her trip, but she read us like an open book and insisted on finding out what was wrong. She took it surprisingly well; she spent the drive home sobbing quielty in my mom's arms, but didn't go utterly ballistic like I expected her to.

We got Jenny's material form wrapped in bedsheets. Dad and I spent the last few hours of sunlight digging out a plot in the garden. My mom says that when our dog Mufin died when I was little, Dad dug the plot by himself "like a man possessed." I helped him dig this time, and I think my being there helped him alot. My dad keeps a lot of pain, new and old, beneath a tightly controlled exterior, but when it breaks through it breaks through hard.

Jenny will be interred at first light tomorrow morning. She joins my older dog Misty and our parakeet Ziggy, who bothed passed away earlier this year. She leaves behind five years of memories and love in this world.

Raise a glass.