Well, it's been a sad couple of days here at the House of Maniacs.
Scout, our dachshund, died suddenly yesterday due to an abscessed hernia. I took her in to the vet to fix the hernia --she had gotten the small hernia (small as in thumb-tip-sized) in January when another dog attacked her and nearly killed her then-- and it had adhered to the skin and abscessed, which neither I, nor the vet knew could happen. When they opened her up, the abscess had ruptured, and the poor little thing died there on the table. I am glad that she was under the anesthesia when she passed.
I wasn't there. I don't know if that is a good thing or not. I don't really like the thought of being there watching her drift away, and I don't know if it's selfish of me to be sort of glad that I wasn't there because I would have utterly lost it in front of everyone in the vet's office. It wouldn't have been pretty. It wasn't pretty here. It's still not pretty here. #2 woke up in the night crying, first thing this morning he was crying, and he still has times when he comes to me away from the other boys and he and I cry together.
Maybe we're overly dramatic. It's JUST a dog, some might say. As well as being JUST a dog, she was JUST my friend.
My little red, elongated friend who slept under my side of the bed every night just so she could tell me when the alarm was going off. She would rear up on my side of the bed and woof very softly.
My little friend who sat with me on the couch each morning drinking coffee and playing before anyone else was awake.
My little friend who would run the mile to sneakily follow us to the fishing hole we frequent in the next pasture when she was left here. And when she got there she was so proud of her little disobedient self and would jump in the pond after baby fish, how could I possibly gripe at her. And fat lot of good it would do anyway! She would always show up.
My little friend who was so protective of me that she had to bugle every night to announce JD's arrival.
My little friend who accompanied me the 1/2 mile to the mailbox almost daily and once stepped on the power lock and locked me out with the van running and we had to walk back to the house for the spare keys to get her out.
Yes, she was JUST a dog. But she was JUST my dog. She wasn't supposed to be my dog, she was supposed to be for #2, but she claimed me first, and eventually, she claimed him.
Someone who was so glad to see me come home that she danced.
Someone who saw me through my last pregnancy.
Someone who loved me even though I brought that thing home that cried and took up my time.
Someone who was there offering silent reassurance and support when I wanted to cry alone.
Someone who was so tough in her 4 short years that sheer determination saw her through 3 snake bites --one a rattlesnake bite right on her snout, a calf kick to the skull which resulted in a cracked eye socket, another calf-kick to the throat bruising bones in her esophagus, and a massive dog attack.
She was JUST a dog. JUST my dog.
I've cried so much over this little dog that my face literally hurts. I feel like I've wiped all the skin out from under my eyes. She will be sorely missed.
I picked her up this morning and buried her under the northern-most oak tree. And I can see her from the kitchen window.