Dog days... part 2

So, where am I going with all of this? I started out writing about Gracie, and so, that's where I'll get back to.

The bottom line is that she is aging, she'll be 13 at some point this year. When I got her in October 2003, she was suffering from what must be some sort of of doggie PTSD. I can't even imagine what this poor little girl has been through. I know she was dropped off at an animal shelter with a note that said "Gracie, 4 years old", and that was it. No history, no medical records, nothing but the note.

My ex adopted Gracie around 1998 or so. I know she loved Gracie. I also know that every time the dog heard a beer can pop, she cringed. The night that my ex and I broke up, she'd been on a bender. A lot of beer, a lot of vodka. I saw her chug it out of a bottle she pulled from the freezer and never felt more sick. Gracie must have felt the same, because she didn't come in off of the porch. Not for dog biskies, not for cheese (mmmmm, cheese is her favorite), not for anything. I knew at that point that Gracie, even though she was loved by my ex, was most likely quite neglected. My ex probably just couldn't give her the care she needed.

Gracie loves the person who feeds her, and bonds very quickly to that person and that person only. Other people don't matter. Other dogs don't matter. I think she never quite learned how to play, so that when she is around other dogs, the most she does is bark. And snarl at the ones that try to play with her. Not many people besides me can even pet her. She's better now about it than she was but I think it's just because she's too old to care.

Back into the present now... Gracie has bad teeth. Always has, always will. Shelties and collies are simply prone to having teeth problems, or so I've been told. In November 2006, Gracie was admitted to the local animal hospital who did scans and tests and kept her overnight. The diagnosis was "pancreatitis" but they essentially signed her death certificate and gave her back to me. They told me that she probably didn't have more than 2 or 3 months to live and suggested that if Gracie had another episode like the one she just went through, that I strongly consider putting her down. Yikes, I can't even think about it.

In October 2007, her mouth was so massively infected that she needed to have 7 teeth extracted. I know, you're thinking that I'm a horrible mom, that I allowed my dog's teeth to rot out of her head. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'd like to see you try to brush Gracie's teeth! We're talking about a dog who's never had hands in her mouth, and you think she just sits still for it? :-) Not quite... believe me, I have tried, she will have none of it. She is The Pretty Pretty Princess Gracie for crying out loud!

Anyway, she was so sick, and I was so devastated about it, because it killed me that she was suffering so much. After she healed from the surgery, she became a different dog. She became a dog! I mean, she was playful again, and she started to even try to eat out of other dog's bowls (she's been adopted into the pack at my girlfriend's house - they respect Gracie as their elder)! Her sense of smell seemed to improve. Her hearing seemed to improve. Her energy seemed to improve.

Since then though, we've had some ups and downs. While she hasn't gotten so sick since then, I can tell when her mouth is bothering her again. Then she goes on antibiotics and gets better for a little while. This weekend I started her on yet another round of antibiotics because she just hasn't quite been herself lately. I think she has been battling a chronic mouth infection since as long as I've had her, and maybe she just needs to be on the antibiotics all the time now.

This got me to thinking more about my ex again, and how when she died, she left her friends and family to clean up after her. This meant going through her things, selling what could be sold, donating the rest or simply throwing things out, cleaning up and selling her condo and her car, and finding homes for her critters. It's the latter that brings me this very personal blog I'm putting up.

As I said before, I took in one of my ex's cats, Bear, in January 2004. She had been living at my ex's condo, pretty much alone, since September 2003. Someone went to feed her every couple of days, but she didn't have a lot of contact with anyone for months. Then she came to live with me. I knew right away that she was sick, but given her age, I knew there wasn't much I would (or could) do for her, except to make her comfortable. I did my best, but had to put her down in October 2004. She stopped eating, and started hiding. I didn't have a choice, and it broke my heart. Both for Bear, and for myself. It was one more piece of my ex, gone, one less thing for me to hold on to. But it also made me angry, so angry I often just shook my fists at the heavens.

Why did it have to be me? Why did I have to take care of this poor cat, who was left in my ex's condo by her family? I know that I put myself in the position of adopting her, but it shouldn't have been me to have to put her down. It should have been her family. Hell, it should have been my ex. But it wasn't, it was me, and while I know I did the right thing, I am the one who has to carry it.

Which now brings me, again, back to Gracie. She's old. She has what I think is a chronic infection which will likely need constant attention. She is blind in her right eye, and going blind in her left. She doesn't hear very well. She has arthritis. She is the equivalent of 94 years old. I'm grateful that she is still kicking, but watching her decline on a daily basis makes me shake a fist at the heavens again. It makes me angry at my ex for leaving everything to her friends and family to clean up. It makes me angry at her for picking up that first drink. It makes me angry at her family for washing their hands of my ex's critters once they came to me. No "thank you", no "how are they doing", no nothing.

Maybe I'm selfish in this. Of course their loss is much greater than mine, I'm not a fool to think that mine is equal. But I gave the critters homes that her family could (or would) not. I have cared for them, fed them, made sure they had what they needed. But most of all, I gave them love, and lots of it. In Gracie's case, I loved her from the day I laid eyes on her. I'm convinced that the only reason I met my ex was so that I would end up giving Gracie (and Bear) a home and caring for them as best I could.

Out of this, one of the things I learned about myself is that I'm a caretaker. More than that, I am a rescuer, and I never saw myself in that light before. I've been doing it all of my life, for critters, and some people as well. Since my ex died, I've become less caretaker, and less a rescuer, because continuing would have sucked the life out of me, and I needed to protect what life I had left in me, which at that point, was little. I consciously cut some old friends out of my life, because I had no energy to spare for them.

One old friend called me sometime around December 2002 (I think). It wasn't a good conversation, and amounted to us being on the phone for 2 hours while I was talked at....about horrendous things, called atrocious names, with horrible accusations thrown at me, and when I got off the phone, I knew I could never speak to this person again. The events of 2003 reinforced I made the right decision about that.

I knew that I was drawn to my ex because she was in need. Of what? I couldn't tell you, but I hope she has it now. I couldn't give whatever she was looking for, but I did end up with her dog and her cat. I did the best I could with Bear, and am doing the best I can with Gracie. Once she goes, I'll have nothing left from my ex, except one of her guitars that I no longer play because I have a couple of Taylor guitars now. It's that emptiness that I know I'm going to have the hardest time with, and while I know that my ex would thank me herself if she could, I hope that only happens in a dream. I'm not ready to go yet, but when I do, I guarantee that I'm going to slap her good right upside the head for having us all clean up for her. And then I'll give her a hug. Not to the lover I lost, but to the friend I never had.