Fiona

 Yesterday was a really hard day.  We had to put Fiona down.

She was 17 or 18, deaf, not eating, and practically incontinent.  I took her to the vet to discuss end of life stuff, and I knew there was a good possibility she wouldn't be coming home with me.  She had lost another pound, and was pretty skeletal looking.  They think since she probably had some kind of cancer.  And she had just lost her zest for life.  It was time.

But was it time?  

I keep second guessing myself.  I took her, I made the decision.  I just kept hoping she'd die in her sleep.  I told her, on several occasions, that she could go, it was ok.  But she never did.  She slept all day, and looked sad all the time.  But maybe, maybe, I should have given her a little more time.

I should have taken her to do all the things she loved.  We could have gone on a walk, which he didn't do anymore because she was too tired.  I could have gotten her a burger, which she may or may not have eaten, because even people food wasn't interesting to her anymore.  We could have napped together, she would have liked that.

I stayed with her.  They asked if I wanted to.  They suggested I not stay for the actual euthanasia, since they usually poo themselves.  But I stayed while she was sedated.  I petted her, and talked to her.  It was basically like she was in a coma.  I said good bye again.  Then sobbed in the car, and the whole way home, and the rest of the morning.  I had to pull myself together because I had Bronwyn's conference to attend. 

She didn't like that she dog was dead.  She said things don't die.  I had to reassure her a bit, that everything dies, but usually when they're very old.  Bertram was sad for half a second, then suggested we get another cat.  Last night, I was crying.  This upset Bronwyn.  She told me I wasn't sad, I was just hungry.  

I feel like we had a kind of complicated relationship.  She was sort of "my dog".  I wanted to get her, I talked everyone into it.  Really, she tricked me.  In the shelter, she was quiet, the hopped up in my lap.  She got along with everyone.  She liked Zelda, Zelda tolerated her.  We brought her home, and the first thing she did was pee on the carpet.  Then she started barking, and never stopped.  She didn't like anyone but us, strangers, especially men, were a problem.  She bit people sometimes.  She didn't like other dogs at all.  Zelda was the only dog she liked.  Except one time, we met some greyhounds at the beach, and she thought they were ok.  She and the cats didn't get along, except Moss.  She and Moss were buddies.  

We used to close her in our room when people came over, because she hated everyone.  She tried to dig under the door and tore the carpet up, and ruined it.  It was shitty carpet to start with, but still.  She also peed on the carpet on numerous occasions.  

She was afraid of fireworks.  Fourth of July and New Years were always rough.  She would smash herself under the bed and try to dig through the floor. Nothing helped, thunder shirt, CBD, fans, white noise.  Nothing,  She would just shake and shake.  

She was often cold, but hated wearing clothes.  

All in all, the was a bad, stupid dog.  But she was my bad, stupid dog, and I loved her anyway.

This was at the vet on the last day.  She'd gotten so white.

From a couple months ago, when I bought her that tiny bed.

I spent a good deal of yesterday sobbing, missing her and feeling incredibly guilty.  I've cried off and on today, missing her and still feeling guilty.  My eyes have finally almost gone back to normal, and de-puffified.