People always think their dog is the best in the world, but mine really was. He had the most gentle, loving soul. He always let the kids play with him. They’d dress him up and put wigs on his hair. They once gave him rainbow colored streaks with sharpie markers. He was the very best dog a kid could ever have. When someone was sad he’d lay his head on their lap. He was so snuggly.
Today we were headed out the door, like every day, to dance class. My oldest had some follow-up labwork to prove officially that she does not have thyroid issues. Everyone else was just happy to be wearing their St Patrick’s day stuff. Evelyn wasn’t feeling too hot. After she vomited all over me, I ended up wearing a raggedy old sweatshirt. Still, we were off. Except the dog wouldn’t come into the house. I started the car and he hobbled over toward the house. He wasn’t walking straight. Something was wrong. I went over to him, to get him into the house so we could leave and he wouldn’t get up. I tried to lift him & I noticed he wasn’t breathing well. He was filthy. He had mud caked on the side of his face. His mouth was foamy and every labored breath he took was making his lip puff out. He wasn’t responding. He was breathing but in a lot of pain.
I carried him straight to the trunk of the car. He couldn’t stand at all. He whined the entire time. Every time he exhaled it was with extreme pain. It was whiny-bark noise, it was horrible.
We drove straight to the nearest vet. I don’t even know what I said to them, I was so confused. She had a million questions. She wanted to know how old he was and he was born the same week my Madelyn was born, so I said he was 6 but she wrote down 2004 and I was confused. Maddy was born in 2003. It seems like such a stupid thing to correct her for, but I had her change it.
I planned to carry him inside, but I was afraid of hurting him even more. The vet’s assistant carried him in and knew instantly that something was terribly wrong. She said there was air under his skin, coming from his lungs. His chest wall had been pierced and his body was filling up with air. Additionally, he’d suffered spinal trauma and he had no feeling in either of his back feet.
His only visible sign of injury was a hole in his cheek. I was thinking maybe he’d been bitten by a rattlesnake or another dog.
He kept looking me in the eyes and I just wanted to tell him to GET THE FUCK UP DAMMIT IT LOVE YOU. And the doctor was basically telling me he’s not going to make it and I didnt’ want to hear it and he kept talking and talking and all I could do was sit there and stare at him in pain, he was in so much pain.
I had to call my husband, I couldn’t do this alone, He’s on location in Alabama right now, filming a movie and I needed him. I felt like I was outside my body telling him “He has a lot of injuries” and “it could cost thousands of dollars” repeating whatever the doctor said.
My husband’s response was to tel the Dr we’ll paywhatever it takes to make him OK. I told the Dr to do the Xray and then we’ll discuss the exact injuries.
It didn’t occur to me that they’d have to sedate him in order to give him an Xray. Did they? I could have guessed that he wouldn’t survive sedation. He was working so hard to breathe, every breath was hard for him. Couldn’t they start treating him without sedation? Without an Xray? I don’t know. I brought the kids into the room, I wanted them to know that this might be the last time they see Charlie alive. I knew they’d be unhappy, but I didn’t want them sitting in the car, wishing they could see him again. I just wanted them to be able to say goodbye. But they didn’t say goodbye.
I said goodbye. He was in so much pain. He was the best dog. I’ve had him longer than I’ve had half my kids.
When they gave him the sedative, we headed home. My intention was to get the kids ice cream, but we didn’t make it all the way when the vet called back to tell us Charlie was dead. Bla bla bla the vet was explaining things to me about bla bla bla, my dog was broken in so many places. My heart was just plain hollow. My kids were moaning with sadness. I had to call my husband and tell him.
We got home & went upstairs to mourn in the middle kids’ bedroom. After some sobbing, I hear a honk out front.
We live on a country road. There’s only 2 houses past ours, so I knew that if he’d been hit it was one of our neighbors.
Sure enough, there’s a neighbor in the driveway. It was the nice family, not the cranky old man. They wanted to know if the dog was OK. I said “No, he’s dead.” and there really wasn’t much else to say. I wasn’t angry with the neighbor for hitting the dog, I’m sure it was an accident. I just want my dog back. I just want my dog back.
And part of me feels so stupid for being so sad about it. I have friends who have lost babies, husbands, parents and siblings. I should be glad, right? I should be glad that all I’ve lost is my dog. Well, I’m not. I want my dog back. I just want to hug him and hold him and snuggle with him some more. I just want my kids to be able to play with him again. I just want him back.
Video of Charlie, playing with Meagan. This must have been taken at our old house, after the remodel & before the foreclosure. Happy days.
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