Rose is 10 weeks, 2 days, and falls asleep every day around 8. She brings the baby up at 7:30 and then she crashes. I take the boy up for teeth, talking, snuggles, and getting out of bed 3 or 4 times, and then I stay up trying to catch up on my shows, or doing stupid internet cruising, or grading papers and projects, and I wake up tired when Rose has already left for work at 7am.
I need my alone time at night, and I’ve got it.
SO CLOSE TO TWELVE WEEKS. Rose of course panics all the time. And I respond by reminding her, “You can’t eat anything at night, you’re so exhausted you fall asleep the second you sit down….I’m not worried.”
A 21 year old’s eggs.
They did it.
And tomorrow…tomorrow I take my Roxy girl to end her life.
I’m a mess. My pup. She’s been with me since spring, 2004, when she was 5 months old. I went with my mom and my ex to a bizarre breeder to pick up a different pup, a younger pup. But I fell in love with her. She didn’t know how to walk on a leash. She zigzagged all over the place. We stopped in the parking lot of a Wendy’s for her first walk, and the car sounds, the lights, terrified her. I lived in a one bedroom in the South End of Boston. She entered the apartment and peed on the floor. My ex and I were having problems. She wouldn’t help me make the decision about which dog to take home, wouldn’t take any ownership over any of it, because she already knew she didn’t want to make a life with me. But she loved me and didn’t want to bail, and so on and on we went, until we didn’t. For a while I lived with Roxy, just me and Roxy. She slept on my bed, kissed me awake in the mornings, dragged me out when I was depressed from the breakup, ordered my days. She was so trusting of other dogs, having lived her first 5 months in a barn with her siblings and parents, and the first time she got tromped in the dog park, she seemed so hurt; then she never played with big dogs again. My mom, who had agreed to “share a dog,” took her when I traveled, which was a lot. My parents’ home was her second home. I left her for 3 months to sail around the world on a ship, where I met my wife. Rose is not a dog person. Things changed. And they changed more when I had G. So much guilt, but she was always MY dog. Then she started dribbling. Last spring. I took her to the vet, there were tests, she had a tumor in her bladder, and yes it was cancer. They gave her six months. I decided I wouldn’t cry until the summer was over. Labor Day weekend – I sobbed nonstop. And now I know things have shifted. She still chases squirrels. She still gives kisses. But she bit my baby’s face – not hard. But it left two raised pink marks on the sides of her nose. And she pees 4 times a walk instead of 1. And she hacks, because the cancer must now be in her lungs. I know it’s time. But I am tortured by this decision, being the one to decide when her life ends. And I will miss her. My sweet pup.