Dog Gone It

We've been talking about and planning his departure for literally months now.

It certainly didn't make it any easier this morning.

The vet showed up right on time.

Tiny Asian woman, she made me look overweight...

and old.

She was very efficient, nice and extremely compassionate.

Believe it or not, Ham actually got up off his dog bed in our bedroom the first time we called him. It usually takes us ten to fifteen minutes to get him interested in getting up at all.

He knew.

He was ready.

We weren't.

He meandered out on a leash with Massey and hiked his leg on one of our palms by the carport.

Then he simply followed Massey over to the sheet we had on the driveway and stood there...

patiently.

The vet gave him a sedative first. She told us to hold and hug him because the shot would hurt.

Ham never flinched or moved.

He was ready.

We still weren't.

Tim silently stood by in the garage, a few feet away.

Ham's head was in my lap and his paw was in Massey's hand.

The vet said we needed  to give the sedative a few minutes to work, so as we waited...

 I told her Ham's story.

The Boy had a story, that's for sure.

I don't think any of us said much after that, as she administered the finality cocktail through his vein...but I remember hearing her quietly, almost chortling (as she slowly shook her head) saying, as though in bewilderment...

"He had his own Facebook page?"

And just like that...

Ham was Dog gone.

I knew it would hurt (me) and it did.

I lost a a part of myself on that sheet, spread out to take Ham away.

As we all sat around, after the fact, the vet asked us if we wanted her to stay for a bit?

Nice to ask, nice to hear but we needed to be alone...

she knew, and expected that, so she left.

I went inside to get ready for work as Tim picked up a shovel.

 This is our forever home now, and where Ham needed to remain.

I can see where he is going to be now, every time I look out my kitchen window. I just won't be able to actually see him. 

That's okay, he couldn't see us either.

Our neighbors from across the street came down. The husband helped Tim dig a pretty massive hole,without having to ask for help...the Big Fella weighed almost as much as I do.

The wife stayed with Massey after I left for work.

We've been lucky enough to land in a really tight knit community, all living together in a protected nature preserve, with people who are all very conscientious about this wonderful gift of Mother Nature we are blessed to live in.

Ham found the perfect place to be remembered...

and he will be.

Til next time, COTTON

There Was A Dog

 We had to say goodbye.

We didn't want to.

We had to.

For over fifteen years you have been one of the family.

 Sir Charles, the bulldog, had to leave us last year.

We still miss "Chally-Too Phat."

Now we're going and have to live without you as well...

so you can be well, again.

You were chained to a tree before you first came to live with us.

Now you're chained to our hearts.

This was your equally handsome father, Boss.

You were the result of his one night (afternoon) stand.

...Oops.

You lived the first year of your life chained to a tree. It was a hot Georgia summer.

Talk about the dog days of summer.

Then we got Ziggy.

Now you're fifteen. Charlie was almost fourteen when he died and Ziggy just turned seven.

We've never had a more loyal or humble dog.

You started to go blind before you were seven years old. Your father (Boss) did as well.

It was genetic.

You adapted like it was nothing. You knew the house, yards and lay of the land. We never rearranged the furniture or left a chair pushed out from the table.

Then after you went totally blind, the dog fights started.

Charlie was a brat who's bark was worse than his bite...and he would lay in the middle of a doorway or middle of a room, or any other terrible choice of a place to plop down. Then when you'd bump into him,  he would elicit that gravelly, mean sounding growl,which he could not back up, in the very least.

As Tim once said:

"Ham never started a dog fight, but he always finished one."

Then we uprooted and moved you to Florida, to a house, yard and climate totally foreign to you.  It didn't take much getting used to, it was the size of a sardine can  (including the yard).

Then almost a year ago, we uprooted you once again and moved you to our new/old forever home.

It's been a tough move for you...I know.

We all know.

The yards are massive and totally strange to you. Plants, palms, oak trees and cacti are every where, in every part of the yard. Flower beds and vines cover the entire perimeter as well as right next to the house.

It's been really stressful on you...

and I am so, so sorry you are hurting.

We took Ham outside the other day...per his recent ritual.  He eats, goes out in the morning, sleeps for about ten hours, then goes out again to do his business and is back to snoring after a bumbling, now stumbling walk around the perimeter of the inside of the house.

That's no life for a dog who used to do this, on a daily basis:

We took him out the other day and he couldn't even stand up while he attempted to relieve himself.

It was humiliating.

He doesn't deserve that.

The mobile vet is coming in the morning to give Ham his wings back so he can soar again.

Nobody puts our Baby in a corner.

Not any more.

We've gone back and forth about when it was going to be time to do it, for way  too long... and has now ended up being not soon enough.

That's not fair to Ham.

He totally deserves every ounce of dignity we can afford and allow him to have...and we almost let him down, to make ourselves feel better, by simply having him around for us.

Humans are selfish.

 Dogs are selfless.

Once we bring them into our home and lives, they have to rely on us for every single thing, every single day, every single time.

And never complain about when or if, they even get it, at all.

What a concept to live by.

I've always had a dog and it has always made me  better person.

True story.

"Out of the mouths of babes."

Oh Ham.

It breaks our hearts to let you go, and we feel awful about making you suffer, at all.

Our bad.

It's hard to let a piece of yourself go.

Especially such an intricate, seemingly vital part.

Rest easy Big Fella.

You will be sorely missed.

Til next time,

COTTON