Old Man Dog

    I lost another of my furred housemates today. It was the funny Old Man Dog I have been fostering since I had to have my beloved Tonks put to sleep. He was a quirky, geriatric gentleman, and got along with everyone in the household. This morning, with no forewarning or foreshadowing, he went into a grand mal seizure, and it just did not end. It was a reminder of my solitude, as I cradled his head, unable to even get to my phone as I kept him from damaging himself. It was also a blunt reminder that my trauma is mine and not deemed high on the docket to anyone else,  it does not make me the center of the universe. There are so many times when I wish I could be rescued, but there is no one to rescue me but me. I so wanted someone to take charge, "fix" it, shoulder the burden of responsibility. Someone did, me. For the first hour or so, there was no possibility of transporting him by myself, the seizure was far too active. But then it slowed to over all body spasms. I was finally able to load him into my little pickup for the hour drive out to the shelter. Again, reminding me that I am not the center of the universe, I felt as if no one was hearing me when I was saying, "He has been in active seizure for over 2 hours," and "I have a dying dog in my truck." I knew I was taking him in to be euthanized, he was geriatric, with various health problems, and had been in full seizure for so long I knew he would not come out of it well. When someone asked, "Is he able to walk in?" I wanted to yell, "NO! he cannot walk. He is dying. He is not conscious." But I refrained. Again, my trauma is mine. So I went out, wrapped my arms around his quivering body, that seemed suddenly frail despite his 60+ pounds. Once we were inside, there was no doubt in anyone's mind what needed to be done, and it was taken care of quickly, efficiently, and with compassion. I kissed his wrinkled face, hoping he would at least be aware enough to know I loved him, and watched as he slipped away, to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I left. Walked to my truck, alone. Drove home, alone. And now sit, teary eyed, not alone, because my Hugo is with me. At least I have my lovable, goofball mutt. At least I am the center of his universe. I will miss the Old Man, he was sweet and loyal, loved me, and just wanted what we all want; a safe, comfortable life. I am glad I could give him that.