A Sad Farewell
Yesterday we said goodbye to our Carlos. I have briefly explored our journey with him through my callous blogging in recent months, but sadly have not fully explained how our journey started...and now I have the sad duty of announcing that that journey ended yesterday afternoon.
Pete rescued Carlos as a puppy from a shelter in New Hampshire. When he was home on his Winter Break from college in 1996-'97, we drove from shelter to shelter here in South Jersey looking for that perfect pup for him. None was just right...until he found Carlos, abused and underfed having been left in a drainage ditch in the middle of winter with his litter mates.
One look and they both just knew.
Carlos and Pete became a matched set, and they did everything together, from living (or maybe I should say, l-i-v-i-n', as this is code in our house for taking each day and living like it's your last) out the harsh (but super-fun) winters in Vermont where Pete went to school, to traveling out to Summit County, Colorado where they lived together for two years. Recently, Pete recalled nights when he would be trudging down roads in his busboy shoes after working into the wee hours of the morning. No lights on the road, having just gotten off the bus, he'd have close to a mile walk home. And off in the distance, on the darkest horizon, he'd make out two beaming lights...and they were Carlos' eyes, coming to meet Pete, so they could make the rest of the walk home together.
That was them. Frick and frack. Mutt and Jeff. Peanut butter and jelly. If Pete told Carlos to do something, he would honest-to-goodness go and do it. The dog could understand English. When he got sick a few years back, it was sudden and swift. He went from A-OK to blind, thin and no longer having control over his faculties. We tried the best that we could to care for him, keep him comfortable and maintain his quality of life for as long as possible. Two shots a day, myriad blood tests and hospitalizations. We did what we could for him...and he kept hanging in there for us. For Pete, I should say.
So as Pete rescued him when he was a sick puppy, he too saved him yesterday as a sick old boy. He was clearly becoming sicker and sicker, and we simply did not have the heart, or the means, to continue to subject him to a life he was not living, but that his body was not ending on its own. He took him. He said good bye. And that was that.
The tears we've shed since yesterday afternoon are staggering in number and in genuine emotion. I know that Pete lost a piece of himself yesterday, a constant reminder of who he used to be, when it was just him and his dog. And I lost my first child...the dog who made us into an instant family. Who tethered us to a home and protected us from loneliness. He was the most loyal, trusting, constant companion, and he will be sorely missed.
I know I ranted. I know I lost patience. I am sorry that I did. I spout, often, and that is the Irish in me, or the fundamental character flaw of having a lack of sensitivity. But I, too, am empty without our boy here today. It isn't the same. It never will be.
Pete rescued Carlos as a puppy from a shelter in New Hampshire. When he was home on his Winter Break from college in 1996-'97, we drove from shelter to shelter here in South Jersey looking for that perfect pup for him. None was just right...until he found Carlos, abused and underfed having been left in a drainage ditch in the middle of winter with his litter mates.
One look and they both just knew.
Carlos and Pete became a matched set, and they did everything together, from living (or maybe I should say, l-i-v-i-n', as this is code in our house for taking each day and living like it's your last) out the harsh (but super-fun) winters in Vermont where Pete went to school, to traveling out to Summit County, Colorado where they lived together for two years. Recently, Pete recalled nights when he would be trudging down roads in his busboy shoes after working into the wee hours of the morning. No lights on the road, having just gotten off the bus, he'd have close to a mile walk home. And off in the distance, on the darkest horizon, he'd make out two beaming lights...and they were Carlos' eyes, coming to meet Pete, so they could make the rest of the walk home together.
That was them. Frick and frack. Mutt and Jeff. Peanut butter and jelly. If Pete told Carlos to do something, he would honest-to-goodness go and do it. The dog could understand English. When he got sick a few years back, it was sudden and swift. He went from A-OK to blind, thin and no longer having control over his faculties. We tried the best that we could to care for him, keep him comfortable and maintain his quality of life for as long as possible. Two shots a day, myriad blood tests and hospitalizations. We did what we could for him...and he kept hanging in there for us. For Pete, I should say.
So as Pete rescued him when he was a sick puppy, he too saved him yesterday as a sick old boy. He was clearly becoming sicker and sicker, and we simply did not have the heart, or the means, to continue to subject him to a life he was not living, but that his body was not ending on its own. He took him. He said good bye. And that was that.
The tears we've shed since yesterday afternoon are staggering in number and in genuine emotion. I know that Pete lost a piece of himself yesterday, a constant reminder of who he used to be, when it was just him and his dog. And I lost my first child...the dog who made us into an instant family. Who tethered us to a home and protected us from loneliness. He was the most loyal, trusting, constant companion, and he will be sorely missed.
I know I ranted. I know I lost patience. I am sorry that I did. I spout, often, and that is the Irish in me, or the fundamental character flaw of having a lack of sensitivity. But I, too, am empty without our boy here today. It isn't the same. It never will be.
posted by Kate @ 5:14 PM
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