For those of you who do not follow me on Facebook, my precious lab passed away a little over a week ago. Right now I feel heartbroken, lost, numb, guilty, grief-stricken and even a little pissed. I guess I just miss my boy.
Now, even though I usually love me some pagan holidays, I have not felt particularly festive this Halloween. The kids were at school and I figured they would be excited to see the house decked out when they got home. I went down to the basement to drag up some decorations. I was hanging up some bats when I noticed my Yorkie repeatedly walking into the wall.
Awwww, what a little weirdo. I get it though sister. I feel like doing this Every.Single.Day of my life. I bent down to pet her. She excitedly turned around and I screamed in horror because her F’ING EYEBALL HAD DISAPPEARED. Reread that. Yep. Her eye socket now held some bluish-white cloudy thing. I started to back away from her. *This is actually really good to know people. Like if your eyeball explodes or plops out in front of me, I will NOT help you.
Conveniently, Mike is NEVER home when our pets’ eyes fall out, so of course, I had to deal with it. I was seriously gagging when I went to pick up my dog with the spooky eye. I oscillated between calling a priest to perform an exorcism or going to the vet to get some ointment.
Since I know zero priests except a drunk one that my mom used to clean for, I opted for the vet. A few minutes later, we were sitting in the exam room waiting for the doctor. My poor dog… her fairy princess costume was totally ruined. Little kids would run away in terror. Maybe she could be a pirate. Or I could be her seeing-eye person and glue a little cane to her collar instead.
Anyhow, an adorable vet came in who I assumed would give me some eyedrops or maybe a glass eye and we would be on our merry little way. I would then cope by simply avoiding eye contact with Layla for a few days or years until that shit healed up. Boooy Howdy, was I in for a surprise.
The vet gently told me that Layla’s quality of life was deteriorating. Her hips were shot, she was ten, I haven’t been able to take her for walks for years now, she’s overweight, her eye just blew up blah blah…Maybe it was time to consider putting her down. I went into full-on shock. Like dead? As in two dogs, one week? I nodded in utter disbelief.
I walked out into the waiting room, clutching my dog. A couple with a new puppy sat there watching as tears streamed down my face. A vet tech handed me a paper bag containing my other dog’s ashes and I made an appointment to bring Layla back the next day to have her put down. The couple exchanged uncomfortable glances. I should have told them to calm down, they don’t kill every dog at this place.
The rest of the evening was a blur. I hysterically called Mike, my parents and my sister. I told my daughters. I comforted the one kid who still has feelings (the other one would have only been upset if I told her I had to euthanize her phone.) I put Layla next to me in bed and stayed awake all night, petrified she would stop breathing. Omg. I was going as a serial dog killer this Halloween. So, so psycho.
The next day, I went to my kid’s classroom party and then we left to spend our final day with Layla. We held her, kissed her, told her we loved her and how pretty she used to be. We told her how beautiful heaven is, even though we are totally just speculating since we don’t actually go to church. We gave her ice cream and a gigantic steak and finally, it was time to go.
The receptionist showed us to the “death room” where there was a heart drawn on the door to comfort us. I filled out the paperwork and we sat there crying and waiting. Suddenly, our regular vet came in. He examined Layla and asked if he could run a few tests on her. I just wanted to get off the emotional roller coaster from hell and get it over with, but I reluctantly agreed. Utterly exhausted, we took her back home to see if we were going to get to repeat this super fun day tomorrow.
Weeeeeell, low and behold, Layla has glaucoma and apparently had a seizure. Or maybe she just likes walking into walls. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Her blood work was normal and her ailments can be treated with medication. The point is, she is fine. Happy as can be.
This particular dog is the ultimate “death dodger.” Layla has had her hips replaced before the age of one, almost died from pneumonia, survived a coyote attack, had her eye explode, had a random seizure, a bunch of other bizarre issues and then eluded being euthanized literally by MINUTES. This girl gets knocked down, stands back up, dusts herself off and straight up throws the Grim Reaper the ole’ finger.
Now, when you accidentally and inadvertently, almost have your dog murdered, your husband will immediately start cracking stupid jokes like: “I better not cough or Erin will have me put down. Bahahahaha.” You will have to awkwardly return a sympathy card to your wholesome neighbor and tell her, “Thanks, but nevermind!” Your sister will laugh hysterically and say, “You have Munchausen’s Syndrome for Dogs.” And lastly, you have had to clean up copious amounts of diarrhea for the next three days of your life because of the giant steak you fed her.
Whatever. I have never been so happy to clean up dog shit in my whole life. Happy Halloween. XO