I know for a fact that unless I write this now I'm not going to get to fall asleep.
Jessie took the dogs out at her usual time, right after the Simpsons. They went to the corner of our driveway to piss on the fence, as is their wont. Kinger at least... Jack still pees like a girl and doesn't coat the corner of the fence with his scent. He just doesn't get it. Which is good because he doesn't pee on anything that he's not supposed to just because he thinks he is supposed to, like most other male canines. Jessie said there was a dog across the road, and both dogs took off across the street to chase it.
Only Jack is a lot faster. Kinger wasn't fast enough.
He was hit and died shortly thereafter. Doug said he didn't get up again and struggle and fight... He just laid there breathing for a little while and then died. It was quick, and we didn't have any options. No rushing to the medical center in Andover, no calling the Vet in a complete panic. Just. Gone.
I had an appointment to give blood this evening and I almost didn't go.
I couldn't find my license, it was getting late, I hadn't had supper, and I felt extrordinarily rushed because when I got home this afternoon it was all about the errands. And damn if this isn't just a humongous pain in the ass to go do when I have work that I brought home and the window replacement guys are coming in the morning and Geoff has homework, and ...
I went, and while I was squeezing the squeezy bar and staring at the ceiling in the library in my little town, in my mind was thinking about what to write here. As I've had literally nothing to write about of any interest for the past several months.
I was thinking about how after 9/11 Carrie gave blood for the first time and I'll always think of her when I do this act. I was thinking about how restrictive the rules for donating are, and how some people are really angry about the selectiveness. I was thinking about how I needed to do this more often, but never have the time to do it. I just never do. Family, life, errands, things -- all of these weigh on me. Taking an hour out of a day to go get stuck by a needle when I could be home with feet under a dog watching a Simpsons rerun -- heck. How do you make that living sacrifice?
I got home at about 8:15, and saw that Doug had Kinger up on the tail of the truck bed and he and Jessie were waiting there for me. She is devastated, inconsolable, and I can't say as I blame her. I am as well -- but she watched it happen and that is just the part that breaks me into a million pieces. My poor little girl, watching the dog she so dearly loved, get killed.
So yeah. The dog who jumped off of a 15 foot high cliff and survived is gone. This was a dog with horrible arthritis and a torn ACL who could barely climb up the stairs sometimes, who loved to hike and hike and hike. When I would even move the geocaching bag that we keep our gear in, he thought it was time to go, and he'd get all excited and beside himself. This dog couldn't hear the words "go for a ride" without exploding with joy. God forbid you ever forgot to give him his good boy cookie after he went out to pee. He'd let you know it. He spoke to us like Chewbacca, and he'd stand there and just sing out "hey, stupid. Where's my friggin' cookie?" It always made me smile to have a dog who talked to me.
And I don't know what else to write or say. I won't be at work tomorrow. I'm calling the girl out of school and if the boy decides he wants to stay home, then I'll keep him home. We have to call the vet -- we don't have a place to properly bury him in our yard so we'll have her take care of the arrangements necessary, whatever those may be.
Now, I'm going to try and go to sleep. Let's see if I can.
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