@DocAtCDI I just woke up to your post. My shoes are kicked off most of the day when I’m not walking, running or hiking. I am grateful that I made it to 72 without complications. Thank you, Doc, for your positive posts that put a smile on my face. 💋♥️
Welcome home! Kick off the shoes, grab a drink, and tell me about your day: good, chaotic, or comedy of errors. Mine involved dodging meetings. How was your day?
Apparently expecting people on my feed to not call other people retarded is irrational
lesson learned
(Oh and she blocked me for telling her she cant call me retarded on my own feed)
My wife and I had a fight, and it ended with her literally crawling to me on her hands and knees! She said, 'Get out from under that bed and fight like a man.'
We hooked up the utility trailer to the car. Ours has a back gate that turns into a loading ramp. Remo loves the car, but over the past five years or so he'd had to ride in the Truck instead of the car because we needed a vehicle that wasn't covered in dog hair. He got to ride in the car today.
We took him to a park where he got to try to pee, he managed a little, several times, then on to the vet. He gets excited about the vet too, mostly because there are so many dog places there to sniff and explore. He had so much strength and energy that it made us both ask ourselves if maybe we were making a mistake, until we remembered how hard last night was for him, how much pain he was in all night.
I left him with MrsDoc to go inside and let them know we were here. She made him lay down in the grass, but when I came out he got up on his own, something he hadn't been able to do in three days, and came to me.
We put towels down in the back of the trailer in case he voided after he was gone, and I sat with his head in my lap. They put in an IV and gave him an overdose of anesthesia. He was gone in fifteen seconds. So amazingly peaceful, one small flinch was the only discomfort he felt at all. He was wearing his harness and still had his collar on.
We lifted him off the towels and onto a blanket, closed up the trailer, and drove the ten miles home with the hazards on, pissing everyone off behind us. But I wasn't going to bounce him around. I just wish I'd had some of those little black flags, but he got his own one-car funeral procession.
When we got home I opened the trailer ramp and checked on him while MrsDoc let Rogue out. I called Rogue up and he took a few minutes smelling Remo, then left him and we went inside. We dropped off the things we'd brought, phones, drinks, then I went back out with Rogue to wrap Remo, remove his collar and harness. I had no idea how long it would take rigor to set in, but I wanted his legs close to him and not stuck straight out.
We have a friend who has a ranch where they've buried several animals, and I had already reached out to them over the weekend. They had a hole ready for him. A couple hours later we took Rogue and Remo over, let Rogue see Remo again, then loaded Remo in his blanket shroud into the shovel of the tractor and drove out to the site.
We laid Remo in the hole. There was a little water in the bottom, which bothered me for a second, until I remembered how much Remo loved puddles. We made sure he was covered. The hole had gently sloping sides, only about three feet deep, and Remo was a big boy, so Rogue got to see him there too. MrsDoc added a few spades of dirt to hold the shroud closed before the tractor pushed the dirt over Remo and got it mostly flat. Rogue examined the ground, then lay down on it like a sentinel.
We went back to the house, had a drink with our friends while Rogue and their dog Ranger had some quiet time, then we closed the trailer, put Rogue in the car, and went home. Where Rogue checked the trailer again, so I opened it so he could go inside and check.
I managed to be there and present for Remo and Rogue and MrsDoc with nearly no tears. We've gotten so little sleep over the past four or five days that when we crashed, we crashed hard. I slept for seven hours.
I'm just waking up in a much quieter world, knowing Remo is out there, but at least he won't cry all night in pain.
Rogue is carrying around a Beef Trachea that he tried over and over to give to Remo, to try to help. And the noisy dog has been very silent, very subdued, as he learns to cope with the loss of his alpha. He's still carrying the chew like a totem, holding it in his paws but not eating it.
And in about six hours, the sun will come up on the first day without my best friend, and the tears are free now.
I went outside and the new day started, and Rogue and I said goodnight to our lost friend, in a world that, despite Remo never being a loud dog, is somehow so very much quieter today.
It will take some time for the wound to close. But his end was so peaceful and dignified, it could not have gone any better. The vet was kind. The tech who set up the IV was centered and gentle and spoke softly to Remo. After she left, another tech who had worked with him came out to say goodbye and cried with him. The doctor came out and stood with us, offered to answer any questions, then said hello to Remo before the injection, checked his heartbeat, removed the IV line and the tape, wrapped the wound back up, and spoke gently with us before helping me arrange Remo in his blanket shroud. We both thanked him and shook his hand.
All of that time and kindness from the vet cost us thirty dollars.
Like I said, the world is quieter. MrsDoc is trying to be chipper and I'm trying to slowly manage my grief. It's going to take a few days until any of us feel real happiness, that's normal and expected. My biggest worry now is our "little man," who weighs in at a hefty 130, who just became the alpha and is still carrying around that Beef Trachea in honor of the everything he lost. His grieving will be different, and my job now, along with letting myself grieve, is helping him learn and accept his new, quieter world.
Thank you for being with me on this journey.
@DocAtCDI Oh, Doc, Remo is comfortable. It’s you who is suffering. Nothing I say can make you feel better. Your memories of Remo will always be with you. Hugs & Kisses.
@DocAtCDI Doc, I don’t think there is anything I can say to make you feel better. I hope all your fond memories of Remo will help you through your mourning. Kisses & Hugs.
I've mentioned before God is sometimes an asshole. Despite everything, Remo's condition rapidly deteriorated this week. It's early Sunday morning and he can't get up on his own. He requires assistance to walk because he is heavily medicated, and despite that he has developed a significant limp in his front shoulder on the side that was not a problem before.
Yesterday I planned on making a call Monday to find out the logistics of getting him his final shot.
Today we went for a drive, visited a state park, let him pee on a couple trees, got him 2 @Wendys vanilla Jr. Frosties and a "Remo Burger" (a cheeseburger with no onions) at McDonald's. All of these they handed directly to Remo.
Tomorrow he will get anything I can think of, but Monday will probably be his last day with us, if we can keep him comfortable long enough for people who care to come see him.
For those of you who supported us over the past 6 weeks with your thoughts, prayers, and donations, I can never express my gratitude enough.
I have a few jokes scheduled but my account will probably be pretty dark for the next few days until I can breathe again.
Remo and I would like you to hug your fur babies, hug each other, and say his name for us.
I'll be around, but probably not present.
I love you all.
Jens Meier captured the raw meeting of sea and stone along Chile's Papudo coast, where turquoise water churns into white foam against ancient rock. Sometimes the most powerful moments are the ones that repeat endlessly, wave after wave.