Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community - View Single Post

ngdawg · 05-09-2005, 05:06 AM

The time had come, the decision made. Taking off early from work, I made the thirty minute drive to the 'barn', a large building set on the highway. Walking inside, a cacaphony of wails, barks and the scraping of feet against sawdust greeted me. Short walls of wood, divided into cubes filled the front room. I started on the right, looking down upon the residents. "Pick me! Pick me!" their noise and their jumping bodies seemed to say. But I continued to look, feeling rather bad that I was rejecting so many cute faces.
Second to last cube now. Three coonhounds and a little white.....thing. They all did the same dance as the others. But, this white one. More tenacious than the ones she shared this bed with, though they were twice her size. I looked at her. "This one", I informed the girl at the counter, and she took her out, motioned me to a back room with a sofa and followed, white thing in hand. I kneeled on the floor, my white dress in a circle about me and a head lain on my thigh, a sigh eminating from inside the fuffy white fur. Connection made.
Once home the work began, choosing her name being the first order of the day. Angie. It fit. A handful of work she was at that. Three months old, never been out of that cube, she needed to start at the beginning. Gating her was a lost cause-she cried and cried until I finally gave in, brought her to the bedroom and placed her on the floor near me. Contentment reached.
I could go on about her life in this house. She was fun to teach things to-a real sucker for a treat, she picked up tricks easily. Rang bells hung by the cellar door to tell us she needed to go out and if we didn't meet her needs, she rang them harder until we did. She had her own toys and I taught her not the names, but the colors, just to freak visitors out. "Get the green one, Angie". She high-fived, she danced, she hit the floor on the word BANG.
Age has a way of sneaking up on all living things and soon the toys were thrown away, the dancing had to stop. She took longer to come to bed until the time came when she had to be carried up the stairs. She slept more barked less, her hearing was going. One night, entering the diningroom, I found her, near a wall, her back arched, head tilted oddly, defecation beginning. As if seeing a ghost, I called out to my husband. We knew then the end was near. She had had a stroke.
The decision made was the single worst thing I have ever done and I am crying as I recall it. This last ride, she didn't do her usual whine(she hated the car). Did she know? The vet tried to talk me out of it, but it had to be done. She couldn't walk, couldn't hear, couldn't control her functions and hadn't barked since I found her in the diningroom 4 days ago. I said I'd stay with her, but once things were prepared, I couldn't. I handed her to the doctor with a panicked "take her" and ran out. I stood outside the building, weeping uncontrollably and begging her spirit to forgive me.
My name, my work, my basic philosophies, all are based on the short life of a creature whose only goals in life were to bring joy, protect the ones she loved and never judge.
Angie. Perfection.

05-09-2005, 05:06 AM	#2 (permalink)
ngdawg peekaboo Location: on the back, bitch	The time had come, the decision made. Taking off early from work, I made the thirty minute drive to the 'barn', a large building set on the highway. Walking inside, a cacaphony of wails, barks and the scraping of feet against sawdust greeted me. Short walls of wood, divided into cubes filled the front room. I started on the right, looking down upon the residents. "Pick me! Pick me!" their noise and their jumping bodies seemed to say. But I continued to look, feeling rather bad that I was rejecting so many cute faces. Second to last cube now. Three coonhounds and a little white.....thing. They all did the same dance as the others. But, this white one. More tenacious than the ones she shared this bed with, though they were twice her size. I looked at her. "This one", I informed the girl at the counter, and she took her out, motioned me to a back room with a sofa and followed, white thing in hand. I kneeled on the floor, my white dress in a circle about me and a head lain on my thigh, a sigh eminating from inside the fuffy white fur. Connection made. Once home the work began, choosing her name being the first order of the day. Angie. It fit. A handful of work she was at that. Three months old, never been out of that cube, she needed to start at the beginning. Gating her was a lost cause-she cried and cried until I finally gave in, brought her to the bedroom and placed her on the floor near me. Contentment reached. I could go on about her life in this house. She was fun to teach things to-a real sucker for a treat, she picked up tricks easily. Rang bells hung by the cellar door to tell us she needed to go out and if we didn't meet her needs, she rang them harder until we did. She had her own toys and I taught her not the names, but the colors, just to freak visitors out. "Get the green one, Angie". She high-fived, she danced, she hit the floor on the word BANG. Age has a way of sneaking up on all living things and soon the toys were thrown away, the dancing had to stop. She took longer to come to bed until the time came when she had to be carried up the stairs. She slept more barked less, her hearing was going. One night, entering the diningroom, I found her, near a wall, her back arched, head tilted oddly, defecation beginning. As if seeing a ghost, I called out to my husband. We knew then the end was near. She had had a stroke. The decision made was the single worst thing I have ever done and I am crying as I recall it. This last ride, she didn't do her usual whine(she hated the car). Did she know? The vet tried to talk me out of it, but it had to be done. She couldn't walk, couldn't hear, couldn't control her functions and hadn't barked since I found her in the diningroom 4 days ago. I said I'd stay with her, but once things were prepared, I couldn't. I handed her to the doctor with a panicked "take her" and ran out. I stood outside the building, weeping uncontrollably and begging her spirit to forgive me. My name, my work, my basic philosophies, all are based on the short life of a creature whose only goals in life were to bring joy, protect the ones she loved and never judge. Angie. Perfection. __________________ Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em. Last edited by ngdawg; 05-09-2005 at 05:50 AM..