Laika is no more - Part 2

The other horrible thing I had to do on Friday was to dig the hole in the backyard. My hands got fully blistered from the shovel, but I didn't care, and it was cathartic in the end.

On Saturday the vet was scheduled to come by at 2pm I think, but in the morning Laika seemed a tiny bit brighter so we decided to take her to another of her favorite parks, Edinburgh Gardens. She had a last jump at her favorite tree, the one with the hole in it that she would always check for possums. She didn't have a lot left after that so we just sat in the grass with her for an hour or so and let her sniff the wind while we cried. We eventually took her home, and gave her all the little bits of kangaroo jerky -- the only thing she would still eat -- that she wanted.

The vet came by on schedule, and of course Laika had a bark at the door, which we didn't think she still had in her. We knew we had to go forward with it though; she might've held on for another day or two, but it wouldn't be happy times for her, especially through the nights. Laika went back and flopped down by the back door while the vet explained the procedure to us. She was really outstanding and compassionate; I don't know how people can do that for a living, but I'm glad there are people that are willing. She started things with an IV that first made Laika unconscious, and as she was putting it in, heartbreakingly, Laika put her head up and gave her a kiss. From there we only had a minute or two and so we went out on the back porch while it took effect. The neighborhood dogs gave one last bark at a passerby, and Laika gave a last bark with them, defending her territory to the last. She went to sleep lying on the back porch, with the two of us holding her and telling her what a good girl she is, while the vet came and administered the final shot that would stop her heart. We took a snip of her fur for a keepsake, and each took a last deep smell of her. Our baby was dead.

Such a good dog. Half crazy, but that only made us love her more. I think we did everything we could for her, which is the least we could offer a dog that we had no doubt would have taken a bullet for us. I've had people I love die before, and have been greatly saddened, but this I would have to call my first experience with "grief". We spent days and days afterwards just going through the motions. To me, the world had a weird tilt on it, like everything was shifted six inches, and I had to force myself to do all the little things you do in life that typically come by force of habit. And there is no place within miles of here that doesn't have some memory of her associated with it.

We were, and are, still torn between wanting to run out and get a new dog, just to fill the hole in our lives, and wanting to hold on to her memory and mourn her loss. Marjorie goes back and forth between wanting to wait, and showing me pictures of cute dogs on dog rescue web sites. I suspect after our upcoming trip, we'll go inflict our lives once again on some unsuspecting dog.