On the Lamentations of a Pet
so, i wake up and me mom is crying near hysterically. she walks to my room and says "tigger is dead." tigger being the oldest of our cats. tigger has been dying for atleast a few weeks, the past 2 days were the worst. she could barely move. she would sit in an uncat-like position (sprawled, legs dissheveled, mouth open and pointing toward the ground). her eyes looked like they were sunken in as well. this death didn't strike me quite so much. her brother died a few years ago (around this same time of year), and although i didn't much like him (tigger was my favorite), his death saddened me. i guess i've become more distant from tigger, so her passing doesn't affect me as much. my younger sister is quite upset. she and mother cried over the cat. we had a false alarm yesterday, when i got home, where mom thought the cat was done, but when i went to touch her she breathed. also yesterday, as tigger very lethargically and slowly moved around, the two other cats (who are often hide more) were very inquisitive. they kept sniffing and being near tigger, which she didn't seem to like. normally they would be quickly scared off as i or anyone else approached them, but they wouldn't leave tigger alone. another thing, which was kind of sad, was tigger wouldn't pur anymore. she had a loud breathing, every few minutes with a louder air sound. when i pet her it didn't seem to affect her, she would just lay, or become annoyed and move away.
so, what are your stories, ao'ers, of pets passing? lets lament.
so, what are your stories, ao'ers, of pets passing? lets lament.
Comments
She had feline kidney disease but we didn't know it until too late. The night before her final trip to the vet I sat on the kitchen floor and held her. She was worn out, dehydrated and ready to go...but she purred for me still. I won't say that I didn't cry while I held her.
She died over the weekend at the vet's office. I brought her back home and buried her like I have all our other pets.
when i was like, ten, my hamster died. yeah, i know, but she lived for well over a year, and i was young, and it was the first time i had ever had something die in my presence that i had any emotional attachment to. it was very disturbing... i just thought she was sick, but then she went into seizures and that was it. when she started going cold, i was crying hard.
yes, it's ONE MORE piece of insurance to pay for, but it does pay for itself eventually.
p.s. i have to admit there are a LOT of swindling vets. they'll charge you an arm and a leg for everything, and you don't get necessarily any better service or care. take my advice: check with your local humane society -- they often have many of your local vet's services, usually for half the price, and the money you pay goes to the humane society and finding homes for those pets.
now, in some rural areas, the humane society is either severely underfunded or nonexistent, but our just got a fat donation and built a new wing with a new x-ray room, so they are truly full-service now.
The saddest was my dog Amber. She was part Collie part Golden Lab. I'd raised Amber since she was about 3 months old. Over the years we had some wild times together. She loved to go in the car and we pratically went everywhere together.
At the time I had two dogs fortunately. My other was Mr. Dark. He was an 80 pound Black Lab. So Amber and Dark would always do things together.
Amber hated fireworks ( as a lot of dogs do ) and one day when I was at work some kids decided to fire off bottle rockets into my front yard. Given that a dog's hearing is much more sensitive she must have thought the world was coming to an end. I came home and found every blind on the windows in my living room chewed up in her frantic attempt to escape. The kitchen window was gone and there were bloody paw prints leading away.
I searched for a week advertising in the newspaper and visiting the pound but nothing. At the end of that week I thought to myself " Well that's the last I'll see of Amber ". The next morning a couple who lived on the other side of town ( Salem is about 5 miles across with a river dividing it in the middle ) called and said they might have my dog. They described her color and body correctly but she didn't have her collar on.
I went out to Hawthorn Ave. which is on the other side of the Willamette river so I didn't give it much hope. When I got to their house there was Amber sitting in a chair in the living room. She was muching on a bone and right next to her was a small Black Lab of about equal size.
Her pads on her paws were bloody and worn down to nothing ( like she had been running on asphalt all week ) but she was very excited to see me. I kept thinking " How did she get across the river? The bridge? "
Anyway a very happy reunion. I had Mr. Dark and Amber for many years after that. One day about seven years after that I noticed blood on the car seat where Amber had been sitting. I finally found where it had come from. Amber's nose.
She had a small bump right between the eyes. About the size of a small pea. It turned out to be cancer and inoperatible. The vet said they would have to remove half her head to get it all as it had progressed backward toward the base of the nose and beyond.
She lived another 5 months and the bump was now the size of a handball. They gave something for the pain and said only I would know the right time to take her in. She couldn't breathe very well through her nose ( for a dog that's very difficult ). Finally on a day before the 4th of July she started having seizures. I told myself I would take her in on Monday. That Sunday I had a BBQ ( which was always an event for Amber and Dark ) and she got her own steak.
A few hours later she had another seizure so violent she hit her head on the coffee table. It seemed to me that she couldn't see too well as then she heard a firecracker and ran into the bathroom hitting the tub.
I just couldn't stand to see her suffer any longer so I took her into the emergency vet. They gave me a moment alone with her before they gave her the shot. That was also the first time I'd ever had to deal with that. It was one of the more difficult days of my life. Amber was 12.
Mr. Dark lived another 4 years to be 16 ( which is very good for a Black Lab ).
I've now got 2 dogs again. Their names are Sam and Pete.
Sam is part Dalmation part Black Lab ( his coloring makes him look like he has a tuxido on ). He weighs about 95 pounds. I got him from an old girl friend when we boke up.
The other is Pete a black miniture poodle. He weighs about 25 pounds. I got him when my mom died a few years back. Sam and Pete are the same age and get along great ( although Pete is the boss ).
They are both 12 and have weathered their share of health problems but are doing great for their age. However I do know that someday I'll have to make that sad trip again. Unfortunately it's part of owning a pet. That's what makes me appreciate them so much. The knowlege that they're finite.
thunder's not her favorite, either, but fireworks... yikes.
there's a quote from the movie "dog park," where mark mckinney's dog psychologist character says (and i'm paraphrasing here, because i can't find the exact quote),
"that's why we invest so much in our dogs. they look to us for everything. we are their world, and they look to us for guidance every waking moment. and we watch them come into this world, live their lives and pass away. they make us immortal."
Later we had a rabbit. We just sat at the table for lunch when we heard strange sounds from the living room. When I went to the room, I just found Sammy having a seizure. He died in my arms.
My wife felt really miserable when her first horse died. As I didn't have such a relation to the horse, I didn't feel that much sorrow.
My worst experience for me was the death of Toni, our dog (probably a west highland white terrier / maltese mix) in September 2002. We just came back from a vacation the day before and just got him back from my parents. We had some coffe in the afternoon when suddenly, Toni began to throw up and got a tremor in his head and his eyes. We immediately brought him to the vet. The diagnosis was an apopleptic stroke. We got some medicine, and decided to wait if his condition would improve. But the following night, whenever he lapped some water, he threw it up immediately. The tremor also got stronger. So we decided to put him to sleep. The drive to the vet was horrible - knowing it would be his last hour. We were with him when the vet gave him the injection. Looking into his eyes is a picture I'll never forget.
Originally posted by rok
i'm sorry to hear about your dog, jinmac. i can sympathize with the fireworks thing, though. my dog will shake like a leaf if she starts hearing bottle-rockets and such in the neighborhood. absolutely terrified. sometimes they're barely audible (to me) and still freak her out.
thunder's not her favorite, either, but fireworks... yikes.
there's a quote from the movie "dog park," where mark mckinney's dog psychologist character says (and i'm paraphrasing here, because i can't find the exact quote),
"that's why we invest so much in our dogs. they look to us for everything. we are their world, and they look to us for guidance every waking moment. and we watch them come into this world, live their lives and pass away. they make us immortal."
It's funny my other dog of the time Mr. Dark must have been hunting before I got him. Everytime fireworks would go off he was totally opposite. He'd jump up and down and look up in the air like " Where's the ducks, where's the ducks! "
About a week before I left I thought it might be nice to have a traveling companion, so I went to the local shelter. Row after row of caged yelpers...until I came to the end of the place...and there he was. This blonde short-haired mix that looked very much like a dingo (curly tail and all) just sitting there serenely, looking up at me as if saying "It's about time you got here, let's go exploring!"
That's how I met 7.
He was great. Traveling across the country together, barking at buffalo in the plains, futilely chasing gophers, running off to play with the wolves howling at night...and returning the next morning spinning himself in circles with glee.
After a few months we set up base in Moab (Canyonlands and Arches) for a rest. Saturdays were burrito day. I'd order 2 veggies and he'd get 2 beef. Extra hot sauce.
But I digress. Eventually we were running out of cash, and it was getting colder in the northern states, so we headed south to Texas. I was able to land a job in Austin, and rented a place out in the country where we could still run around together. He was good at staying close to home, but yelped like crazy all day long if he was tied up...and he would inevitably get loose no matter what chain/collar combinations I tried. So eventually I just let him run loose. He never left the yard, but did have the annoying habit of bursting out of weeds and chasing me down the farm road as I left each morning...
Anyways, one day I was leaving for town and was slowly speeding up waiting for 7 to burst out on my right, when for some reason he decided today was the day to be extra sneaky. There were hardly ever any cars on the road, but that day a car wizzed by me in the other lane, and from my rear-view mirror I saw 7 bursting out from the weeds on the other side of the road.
It happened so fast and in such slow motion I was just frozen in place. 7 hit the front of the oncoming car and my stomach hit the bottom of mine. I turned around, kneeled next to 7 and just shook him gently. He wasn't cut up or bruised at all...just a tiny trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't real. He would be OK. He was just knocked out. Give him a few minutes...
I put him in the back of my car and we went home. I layed him on the porch next to his food and water hoping he would smell them and just get the hell up. Stop kidding around already. I sat there staring at him for an hour or so, and when I went to shake him again his limbs were getting stiff.
I went inside in a daze and picked up the phone like a zombie. I called my mom. She answered, and before I could even say hello I burst into an uncontrolled sobbing. I couldn't even get a full word out for minutes.
A few hours later, after I'd calmed down a bit, I started gathering logs and brush, piling them up on top of one another as high as I could reach. Then a flat surface at the very top, made up of 7 nice big logs. I rolled a few fatties, sat them next to my log-seat, layed 7 on the very top of the pile...and lit it.
Haven't had a dog since...
I had a Samoyed - you know, those white, fluffy dogs with the black eyes, black nose and sweet black smile. Her name was Kristie.
She was just huge; a magnificent creature. She and I would travel for two months every summer. First we would head to the Oregon coast where I rented a beach cottage for three weeks. She was able to run freely on the beach. She was in heaven. I spent a lot of time sleeping in the car on these trips, because she was SO big that it was hard finding decent motels that would allow her to stay in the room with me. I got to know that car seat pretty well, I'm afraid.
I was never afraid to travel alone when she was with me. No one would have dared to approach with hostile intent with her around. And though she was incredibly sweet, even to strangers, I'm sure she would have ripped anyone to shreds had they tried to harm me.
The worst part about her death from cancer is that I'm pretty sure it was my fault. I thought giving her more vitamins than were in her food would be a good idea. However, what happened was that the vitamins made her start going into heat again, which she hadn't done for some time. I think the renewed flow of estrogen into her system caused her to get mammary cancer. I had the surgery for her, but the cancer was an extremely aggressive kind, apparently.
She seemed healthy and happy right to the very end. Two days before she died, she started coming up to me while I was watching TV, looking in my eyes questioningly, and wagging her tail. I think she was trying to tell me that she needed help. But she didn't seem to be in pain (she was on pain medication), and she didn't act in any way out of the ordinary. The next night she lay in the cool grass in the backyard, and then died the next morning.
I still can't have a picture of her around, because I cry whenever I see one. She was smart, courageous, adventurous and beautiful. She was my best friend. It will be a long time before I can get another dog. But it will be a Samoyed next time too.
Carol
They concluded that the vet must have cut through his urethra.
The vet and I drove Sam up to Beverton where the only specialist around here at this time that could do the special surgery that would be required to save Sam's life worked.
Basically 6cm of Sam's urethra had been destroyed. The vet said he didn't realize he'd done it. The specialist said it was impossible to tell if the tumor had involved the urethra or not since the tumor was invasive the first Vet had to do a lot of cutting.
The only solution was to replumb Sam since there wasn't enough urethra to connect it back up in the normal manner.
The surgery was a success and Sam was up and walking around the next day.
I know you're going to ask......Sam relieves himself through a hole ( which he has some control over although not as much as before ). Otherwise Sam lives a totally normal life ( he does lose it sometimes when he gets excited ).
The Vet waived the price of the first surgery however I had to pay for the second ( $ 1,500.00 ).
I never went back to the first vet.
Now if you think that's a lot let's fast forward 5 years.
A problem that they warned me about happened. Sam's stoma grew closed.
I rushed him down to my friend Terri's vet and she said Sam's bladder was about to burst! If that happened he probably wouldn't live.
An amazing coincidence was that this vet knew the specialist who had performed the surgery 5 years earlier.
He was just coming back from vacation when my vet called.
He said the only soloution was to give Sam a foley catheter and drain his bladder before it was too late. My vet had never performed this kind of surgery before. She performed the surgery while the specialist talked her through it on the phone!
I really don't have enough nice things to say about this lady.
However we weren't out of the woods yet.
Sam spent 2 days down at the Pine Street emergency clinic ( not cheap ) here in Salem and then we took him to Beverton ( about 54 miles north of here near Portland ) so that the specialist could reopen Sam's stoma.
He then spent 4 days recovering at Dove Lewis an emergency clinic in Portland.
When we picked Sam up he'd lost a lot of weight ( 13 pounds ) but was really full of energy. He was wearing an elizabethan collar so he wouldn't lick the surgery ( it looks like a big cone around their head ). I made lots of jokes about him receiving signals from outerspace. The women there just adored him and said they were sorry to see him go as Sam is quite a character and never complains.
I drive a manual shift 99 Mustang GT and all the way home on the freeway Sam was in the back faced forward between the bucket seats looking at everything.
The total bill for this........$5,000.00
I've taken a lot of flack from people at work for spending so much on a dog. I want to tell you though after seeing Sam running around the yard like a young dog so happy to be back, any thought of it being too costly went right out the window.
So here I am 2 years later. I've finally got the bill paid for and I'm on vacation until the 6th. I'm spending most of it with Sam and Pete and we're having a blast!
Originally posted by jimmac
The total bill for this........$5,000.00
I've taken a lot of flack from people at work for spending so much on a dog. I want to tell you though seeing Sam running around the yard like a young dog so happy to be back, any thought of it being too costly went right out the window.
So here I am 2 years later. I've finally got the bill paid for and I'm on vacation until the 6th. I'm spending most of it with Sam and Pete and we're having a blast!
i'm telling ya, man. pet health insurance. but glad to hear that, despite all the harrowing details, everything's better for you guys.
just so it isn't all a dog thread, a friend of mine found out last summer that her cat of fifteen years accidentally ate a piece of glass while killing something outside. the only way she knew was the cat began hacking up blood in the house. by the time they got to the vet, she was suffering too badly and was beyond repair, so they had to euthanize. not that it's a pet story, but 90 days later, her dad had a sudden stroke and died. needless to say, she was very distraught and had to take several months off to clear herself of all the shock and pain. thankfully, she had a good support network that she could lean on...
i feel it appropriate to also submit this quote:
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.
-Isaac Asimov
When I was 13 or thereabouts, my brother (then 11) was assigned to raise a quail in one of his school classes. You know...incubation, temperature checks, timing before the little chick would hatch...that sort of thing. He got so attached to the little chirper that he offered to take any of the other kid's feathered newborns into his own personal fold.
He adopted about a dozen of the things, and we built an outdoor cage out of 6x6s and chicken wire to contain the whole flock. A little enclosed indoor bit where they could sleep, and about an 8x8 ft. outdoor run. I'm not a bird guy, but I have to admit the little buggers were cute.
Anyways, we left for an excursion up north for a week, and gave them plenty of food and water for the time passing. When we returned, my brother immediately ran to check on his little friends.
Then...horror of horrors.
The little birds...every last one...had their heads chomped off by some woodland beast. When the little guys were frightened they would run around the cage making quail noises, and stick their heads through the holes in the chicken wire. Apparently the beast (we assumed it was a fox) had taken this as an offering of their collective heads, and obliged with a quick bite for each.
A dozen decapitated quails...some still standing in place at the chicken wire...littered throughout the pen.
I shit you not.
I've lost a few pets, but happily my three cats are healthy and content.
Originally posted by Cake
Jebus! This thread is depressing!
i thought i'd warned people when i put `lament' in the title. i've got a moderately funny story about my second cat: Vader.
Vader was jet black, and was thus named for the Star Wars villain. We got him, and his sister (Tigger) fifteen and a half years ago. Well, anyway, back about 10 years ago, Vader fell into a series of medical conditions, separated by a few years. I may not get them in proper order, but here goes. Numero uno: We notice that he is a lot (significantly) thinner than his sister, though he doesn't seem to eat significantly less. After a little while, this becomes troubling, so we bring him to the vet. Prognosis: ring worm. Apparently he also had fleas (I think). So they gave us medicine for the worm, and they shaved him very close all over. When he came home, he looked like a chihuahua (sp?). None of us recognized him, not even his own sister. She was a very domineering cat, and didn't take kindly to stranger-felines. So, when her brother comes back from the hospital, she attacks him. He is weak from not being able fully digest his food for a while, is dopey from whatever medicine the vet gave him, is probably coping with his massive hair loss, and now has to take a beating from his big fat sister. We had to separate them for a few weeks, but it was quite a humurous occassion when he first came home.
The second affliction (atleast by the timeline i'm going with) was about one of the strangest things you'll ever hear (and by hear, i of course mean: read). I get home from school and retire to my room. My older brother wanders around the house between the t.v. in our room, and the big one in the living room. My little sister, who is closest to all the cats we've had, is at a friend's house. My brother has occassion to leave for the night, and shortly after my sister comes home. We have a closet a few feet from the bathroom, with towels and such, that the cats all love to go in. Often we have to open the door because they've snuck in before it was closed. My little sister walks to that closet, expecting one of the cats to be there. Well, she caught an unsettling surprise. She screams "Mouse!" So I come out of my room, and then she says, "wait. that's not a mouse, that looks like a [i]tail[/]." Poor little vader had lost several inches of skin off his tail. he was curled up, right near by in the closet, with the bloody bone still on the tip of his tail exposed. My mother comes home from work shortly after. She is a nurse, and assesses the situation. We put the tail on ice, gently wrap Vader up, and head for the vet. Of course, being a large city, there's long line at the vet (i believe 2h). The vetinarian didn't believe us when we told her. She said she had never heard of this happening before, and when my mom pulled out the tail-skin, the vet was in shock. After a few days in there, Vader returned with a shortened tail, and one of the cones on his head (so he wouldn't touch or lick his tail). Drugged again, with whatever cat-version of morphine they had, but not able to walk straight. Tigger, the evil cat that she is, pounces on him. Now Vader is drugged, and can't see well, so he refuses to move forward. He tried to avoid Tigger by walking backwards. We separate them again, but for a few days we got to watch poor little Vader walk around backwards. It's quite amusing. As for the cause of the tail, my brother admits to slamming that closet door, but doesn't remember a cat being around, nor a meow or wimper. We all suspect it was him though.
Vader's third ailment isn't quite as funny. Cancer. It killed him. After he died we got two kittens: Calvin and Hobbes.