About Me
- Name: Carrie
- Location: Denver, CO, United States
Unemployed and loving it! Every great ride has to come to and end and I need to figure out what to do when I get off this Ferris Wheel.
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A playground for my inner Ralph Wiggum.
Thursday, August 12
Today should have been a very happy day, seeing as how it was my last day at ATA and I am now forever free from that hellhole, but I am too grief stricken to celebrate as I had planned. I lost one of my oldest and dearest friends today. The worst part about it all is not the fact that she died, but rather the fact that she should have been gone way before she ever had a chance to suffer. She had a very full life and lived to be almost 120 years old, in dog years of course, but her life should not have ended as it did today. I have to tell the story because I think that it teaches a valuable lesson about selfishness and the way that irony always seems to wriggle itself into daily life. I also want to tell a story about a damn good dog who was my friend.
Chloe was a sister to my first dog Sophie and came to my family when she wouldn't stop eating the wallpaper off of my aunt Karen's bathroom walls. Supposedly someone was also allergic to her, but I think it mostly had to do with the wallpaper. Chloe was an extremely obedient dog and being the complete opposite of Sophie, who was one of the worst behaved dogs in the history of domesticated canines but was so tremendously sweet that we always forgave her, soon earned the nickname "goody two-paws" around our house. Chloe loved to go on walks and camping trips, and spent an entire summer laying out on the deck with me.
As well as being a fellow sun worshipper, Chloe also shared my love of sweets, especially Pez, which was the only thing to ever bring out her "dark side". The only time she ever even came close to biting me was once when I was leisurely dispensing some Pez into my hand she swooped in from out of nowhere and snatched the Pez right out of my hand. If I had flinched or even twitched slightly, I might have lost a hand.
We all loved Sophie dearly and when she died a couple of years ago we were all very grief stricken but at the same time we were looking forward to some time alone with the "good one". We were in for quite a surprise. It seems that all those years miss "goody two-paws" was not so good after all. There were many years in our household where you could not have a pack of gum, a pair of earrings, candy, foil, chicken bones, grease, Barbie shoes, or hardly anything else anywhere within Sophie's reach, which was suprisingly long for a medium sized dog, without it being consumed. Every time anything was ever snacked on or chewed up, it was always Sophie, who had the guiltiest face of any creature ever, who took the blame, while Chloe sat looking innocent and appalled at Sophie's deeds. Well, a couple of months or so after Sophie was gone my sister noticed that a ten pack of baby Butterfingers had gone missing in action. When asked where my sister had left said candy bars she replied that she had last seen them on her bedroom floor. Suspicion then began to drift away from me and more towards the small dog that seemed a little too boisterous that day. We waited and a couple of days later there appeared to be some bright yellow papers scattered about in our backyard. Our suspicions were confirmed, but yet we didn't learn our lesson because we were so glad that she didn't die from all the chocolate. So, Chloe bided her time and put up her good dog front until Christmas time.
My sister and I had both received boxes of those delightful little Celebrations candies that morning and were looking forward to gorging ourselves on them later. Chloe had a different idea. We got home that evening after visiting relatives and were welcomed at the door by a very peppy Shetland Sheepdog that hadn't had the energy to greet anyone at the door for about five years. There was some talk of the "Christmas Spirit" having gotten in to Chloe, but we soon realized that she had gotten into something herself. All that was left of the package of Celebrations was one tiny piece of cardboard with a couple teeth marks on it. At the time Chloe was fifteen years old and had ingested an entire package of celebrations, wrappers and all. Needless to say Chloe wasn't very peppy the next day, her sugar high had worn off and the constipation had set in, but she didn't seem to be near death. Now, I've never studied veterinary medicine or anything, but I was beginning to doubt that whole "chocolate kills dogs" theory. I think that chocolate really isn't bad for dogs and that the whole myth was started by a group of hateful cats trying to keep dogs from enjoying the delicious confection, because obviously, dogs love chocolate. I don't recommend testing my theory on your dog, but hey, who knows, cats are jerks.
The Christmas incident made us all feel a little guilty because Sophie might have taken the fall for some of Chloe's hijinks, who knows how many times, but we eventually forgave Chloe, even though we never really trusted her again. As Chloe entered her twilight years she became somewhat of a wanderer. Just this past Christmas Eve she decided to strike out on her own and find, at least what I think, was a better family. My mother had let her outside that morning to use the facilities but Chloe liked to take her time and drive whoever was in charge of taking her out to the brink of insanity while she alternately sniffed every blade of grass and stared off into space for thirty minutes, so my mother retreated to the house for warmth and sanity. She must have gotten involved in something because she forgot to let Chloe back in. By the time somebody went "Hey, where's Chloe", she had already hobbled off on her merry adventure.
Luckily (luckily?) I was working that day and missed out on all of the hubbub, but I got the whole tearful story when I got home. After they had discovered that she was missing my parents proceeded to franticly search for Chloe. While they were putting up signs around the neighborhood they noticed a sign out on 86th street for a Shetland Sheepdog that had been found. Sure enough the old dog in the picture was Chloe. They called the phone number and discovered that these kind people had picked Chloe up in the middle of 86th street and that she was safe and sound. My parents went to pick her up and found her sitting serenely on an oriental rug in a very nice house near Geist. They had brushed her and cleaned her eyes and my mom tearfully said that she felt like the worst pet owner in history. All was well and my parents promised those kind people that they would do the same if they came across an animal that appeared to be lost. There was some talk that maybe it was time for Chloe to be put down, she was already taking twice as much Tylenol with codeine than she had a month previous to that for her arthritis, but my parents decided to wait a little longer, she had just come home, we can't just take her in right away, that would be cruel... That was back in December.
Just a couple of weeks ago the same thing happened, someone let her out, got tired of her dilly dallying, and then forgot she was out. This time I was home and had been given the duty of giving Chloe her evening pill because my parents had gone out. I went downstairs, got out the cheese to wrap her pill in, which she somehow seemed to be able to almost sense the unwrapping of a slice of cheese, but she didn't appear in the kitchen as she usually did. I could not find her anywhere so I called my dad and asked the fateful question, "uh, did you guys let Chloe out?" Again there was a frantic search and signs were made and there was even more talk of how she should have been put to sleep before something like this could happen and blah blah blah... In a way I kind of hoped that Chloe had wandered off into the sunset, never to be seen again, just because I knew that my parents would lose their nerve again and delay putting her to sleep. It seemed kind of romantic, a old dog wandering off towards the horizon to meet her maker. When the people who had found her called later that evening I was happy of course, who wouldn't be happy to see their shaggy old dog make it home successfully after yet another harrowing adventure. She earned a new nickname after that second homecoming, we began calling her the "Lazarus dog".
My parents also decided that it was time for Chloe to wear tags so that this sort of thing wouldn't happen again. Now, I love my parents and I do not think that they are bad people, I just think that sometimes people do things for selfish reasons, even if their hearts are only full of love and their denial prevents them from seeing things clearly. I mean come on, it was a bit silly for her to start wearing tags, I mean if she wandered off a third time it was probably just meant to be. Of course the subject of putting her to sleep came up again, but it was the same story, How do you put a dog to sleep when she just got home?
I woke up today with the cat meowing at me like he was being tortured, which usually means his food bowl is almost empty or he wants to play outside for awhile, but he was not silenced by me throwing a tee shirt at him, so I finally got out of bed. I heard the dog cough downstairs a couple of times, but she's being doing that a lot lately anyway. I figured that cat wanted to go outside because he wouldn't leave me alone even after I filled his bowl, so I decided to follow him downstairs. I walked into the kitchen and saw smears of blood all over the floor and Chloe laying on her stomach shaking and coughing with her back legs jutting out sideways. I tried to help her up because her legs looked so horrible but her back legs were totally limp and they would just go sideways every time it tried to get her on her feet. I got a towel and wrapped her up so that her legs would stay under her. I looked to see where the blood was coming from and noticed that one of her front paws was actually hung up in the chain around her neck that her tags were on. She was coughing up blood because she was choking herself while trying to get her paw free. I don't know if it was shock or maybe a stroke that caused her legs to give way. Once I freed her paw she calmed down a lot and I called my dad and cleaned up some of the blood. She kept trying to get up so I just sat with her and petted her and waited for my dad. I looked in her eyes and felt horrible. I had no idea how long she was down there like that or how much pain she had suffered. I wished that I had spoken up and put my foot down all the times my parents changed their minds about putting her to sleep. This was not right, she was such a good dog and we just had to put those damned tags on her! I don't know, maybe if it hadn't happen like this it would have been even worse, who knows. Needless to say when my dad got home we made an appointment to put her to sleep and I got dressed while he sat with Chloe. My mom got home a couple minutes later and the three of us took her in and stayed with her until the end. My parents were a wreck and the vet tech even started to cry. I just kept thinking, I'M SORRY, I'm so so sorry Chloe... 17 years and this is how it ends.
I am glad that she is not in pain anymore. She lived for many years with very bad arthritis, and hey maybe she did intend to end it all each time she ran (hobbled) away. Maybe I'm just still upset because I still have that terrible image in my head of what I saw when I walked into the kitchen this morning. Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this, so that wouldn't be that last image I had of her, bleeding and suffering. It felt really good to think about how great of a dog she was and how she was always my little dog-shaped shadow. Its hard to let the things you love go but its a lot harder to see them suffer or whither. This is a lesson I will take with me for the rest of my life, not to love selfishly, no matter how hard it may be.
It is truly lovely how the process of writing can be like drawing poison from a wound. I think that I can see that little old dog now, and she's made her decision. She's headed off towards the sunset, going west, and I send her off with love.
Chloe was a sister to my first dog Sophie and came to my family when she wouldn't stop eating the wallpaper off of my aunt Karen's bathroom walls. Supposedly someone was also allergic to her, but I think it mostly had to do with the wallpaper. Chloe was an extremely obedient dog and being the complete opposite of Sophie, who was one of the worst behaved dogs in the history of domesticated canines but was so tremendously sweet that we always forgave her, soon earned the nickname "goody two-paws" around our house. Chloe loved to go on walks and camping trips, and spent an entire summer laying out on the deck with me.
As well as being a fellow sun worshipper, Chloe also shared my love of sweets, especially Pez, which was the only thing to ever bring out her "dark side". The only time she ever even came close to biting me was once when I was leisurely dispensing some Pez into my hand she swooped in from out of nowhere and snatched the Pez right out of my hand. If I had flinched or even twitched slightly, I might have lost a hand.
We all loved Sophie dearly and when she died a couple of years ago we were all very grief stricken but at the same time we were looking forward to some time alone with the "good one". We were in for quite a surprise. It seems that all those years miss "goody two-paws" was not so good after all. There were many years in our household where you could not have a pack of gum, a pair of earrings, candy, foil, chicken bones, grease, Barbie shoes, or hardly anything else anywhere within Sophie's reach, which was suprisingly long for a medium sized dog, without it being consumed. Every time anything was ever snacked on or chewed up, it was always Sophie, who had the guiltiest face of any creature ever, who took the blame, while Chloe sat looking innocent and appalled at Sophie's deeds. Well, a couple of months or so after Sophie was gone my sister noticed that a ten pack of baby Butterfingers had gone missing in action. When asked where my sister had left said candy bars she replied that she had last seen them on her bedroom floor. Suspicion then began to drift away from me and more towards the small dog that seemed a little too boisterous that day. We waited and a couple of days later there appeared to be some bright yellow papers scattered about in our backyard. Our suspicions were confirmed, but yet we didn't learn our lesson because we were so glad that she didn't die from all the chocolate. So, Chloe bided her time and put up her good dog front until Christmas time.
My sister and I had both received boxes of those delightful little Celebrations candies that morning and were looking forward to gorging ourselves on them later. Chloe had a different idea. We got home that evening after visiting relatives and were welcomed at the door by a very peppy Shetland Sheepdog that hadn't had the energy to greet anyone at the door for about five years. There was some talk of the "Christmas Spirit" having gotten in to Chloe, but we soon realized that she had gotten into something herself. All that was left of the package of Celebrations was one tiny piece of cardboard with a couple teeth marks on it. At the time Chloe was fifteen years old and had ingested an entire package of celebrations, wrappers and all. Needless to say Chloe wasn't very peppy the next day, her sugar high had worn off and the constipation had set in, but she didn't seem to be near death. Now, I've never studied veterinary medicine or anything, but I was beginning to doubt that whole "chocolate kills dogs" theory. I think that chocolate really isn't bad for dogs and that the whole myth was started by a group of hateful cats trying to keep dogs from enjoying the delicious confection, because obviously, dogs love chocolate. I don't recommend testing my theory on your dog, but hey, who knows, cats are jerks.
The Christmas incident made us all feel a little guilty because Sophie might have taken the fall for some of Chloe's hijinks, who knows how many times, but we eventually forgave Chloe, even though we never really trusted her again. As Chloe entered her twilight years she became somewhat of a wanderer. Just this past Christmas Eve she decided to strike out on her own and find, at least what I think, was a better family. My mother had let her outside that morning to use the facilities but Chloe liked to take her time and drive whoever was in charge of taking her out to the brink of insanity while she alternately sniffed every blade of grass and stared off into space for thirty minutes, so my mother retreated to the house for warmth and sanity. She must have gotten involved in something because she forgot to let Chloe back in. By the time somebody went "Hey, where's Chloe", she had already hobbled off on her merry adventure.
Luckily (luckily?) I was working that day and missed out on all of the hubbub, but I got the whole tearful story when I got home. After they had discovered that she was missing my parents proceeded to franticly search for Chloe. While they were putting up signs around the neighborhood they noticed a sign out on 86th street for a Shetland Sheepdog that had been found. Sure enough the old dog in the picture was Chloe. They called the phone number and discovered that these kind people had picked Chloe up in the middle of 86th street and that she was safe and sound. My parents went to pick her up and found her sitting serenely on an oriental rug in a very nice house near Geist. They had brushed her and cleaned her eyes and my mom tearfully said that she felt like the worst pet owner in history. All was well and my parents promised those kind people that they would do the same if they came across an animal that appeared to be lost. There was some talk that maybe it was time for Chloe to be put down, she was already taking twice as much Tylenol with codeine than she had a month previous to that for her arthritis, but my parents decided to wait a little longer, she had just come home, we can't just take her in right away, that would be cruel... That was back in December.
Just a couple of weeks ago the same thing happened, someone let her out, got tired of her dilly dallying, and then forgot she was out. This time I was home and had been given the duty of giving Chloe her evening pill because my parents had gone out. I went downstairs, got out the cheese to wrap her pill in, which she somehow seemed to be able to almost sense the unwrapping of a slice of cheese, but she didn't appear in the kitchen as she usually did. I could not find her anywhere so I called my dad and asked the fateful question, "uh, did you guys let Chloe out?" Again there was a frantic search and signs were made and there was even more talk of how she should have been put to sleep before something like this could happen and blah blah blah... In a way I kind of hoped that Chloe had wandered off into the sunset, never to be seen again, just because I knew that my parents would lose their nerve again and delay putting her to sleep. It seemed kind of romantic, a old dog wandering off towards the horizon to meet her maker. When the people who had found her called later that evening I was happy of course, who wouldn't be happy to see their shaggy old dog make it home successfully after yet another harrowing adventure. She earned a new nickname after that second homecoming, we began calling her the "Lazarus dog".
My parents also decided that it was time for Chloe to wear tags so that this sort of thing wouldn't happen again. Now, I love my parents and I do not think that they are bad people, I just think that sometimes people do things for selfish reasons, even if their hearts are only full of love and their denial prevents them from seeing things clearly. I mean come on, it was a bit silly for her to start wearing tags, I mean if she wandered off a third time it was probably just meant to be. Of course the subject of putting her to sleep came up again, but it was the same story, How do you put a dog to sleep when she just got home?
I woke up today with the cat meowing at me like he was being tortured, which usually means his food bowl is almost empty or he wants to play outside for awhile, but he was not silenced by me throwing a tee shirt at him, so I finally got out of bed. I heard the dog cough downstairs a couple of times, but she's being doing that a lot lately anyway. I figured that cat wanted to go outside because he wouldn't leave me alone even after I filled his bowl, so I decided to follow him downstairs. I walked into the kitchen and saw smears of blood all over the floor and Chloe laying on her stomach shaking and coughing with her back legs jutting out sideways. I tried to help her up because her legs looked so horrible but her back legs were totally limp and they would just go sideways every time it tried to get her on her feet. I got a towel and wrapped her up so that her legs would stay under her. I looked to see where the blood was coming from and noticed that one of her front paws was actually hung up in the chain around her neck that her tags were on. She was coughing up blood because she was choking herself while trying to get her paw free. I don't know if it was shock or maybe a stroke that caused her legs to give way. Once I freed her paw she calmed down a lot and I called my dad and cleaned up some of the blood. She kept trying to get up so I just sat with her and petted her and waited for my dad. I looked in her eyes and felt horrible. I had no idea how long she was down there like that or how much pain she had suffered. I wished that I had spoken up and put my foot down all the times my parents changed their minds about putting her to sleep. This was not right, she was such a good dog and we just had to put those damned tags on her! I don't know, maybe if it hadn't happen like this it would have been even worse, who knows. Needless to say when my dad got home we made an appointment to put her to sleep and I got dressed while he sat with Chloe. My mom got home a couple minutes later and the three of us took her in and stayed with her until the end. My parents were a wreck and the vet tech even started to cry. I just kept thinking, I'M SORRY, I'm so so sorry Chloe... 17 years and this is how it ends.
I am glad that she is not in pain anymore. She lived for many years with very bad arthritis, and hey maybe she did intend to end it all each time she ran (hobbled) away. Maybe I'm just still upset because I still have that terrible image in my head of what I saw when I walked into the kitchen this morning. Maybe that's why I felt the need to write this, so that wouldn't be that last image I had of her, bleeding and suffering. It felt really good to think about how great of a dog she was and how she was always my little dog-shaped shadow. Its hard to let the things you love go but its a lot harder to see them suffer or whither. This is a lesson I will take with me for the rest of my life, not to love selfishly, no matter how hard it may be.
It is truly lovely how the process of writing can be like drawing poison from a wound. I think that I can see that little old dog now, and she's made her decision. She's headed off towards the sunset, going west, and I send her off with love.
