My dog, Missy, was very, very sick. She had stopped eating, almost stopped drinking. She couldn't walk. I had to carry her outside so she could go pee and then carry her back inside. It doesn't make it any easier. Knowing that we were putting her out of her misery doesn't make it any easier
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*so many hugs*
I'm, uh, Crazy with a capital C right now, but if you want a friend -soon or anytime- I am here.
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*hugs*
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I've been really depressed lately (changing meds, it hasn't been going well, I'm still grieving over Shiva) and hiding from people. I'm trying to shake it off, but it's not easy.
Feel free to cry a lot - I know I did for days after she left. It still hits me at the oddest of times and it's been over three months now.
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She wasn't just my dog, whom I had raised from a little puppy. She was my familiar. Watching her slow decay... Watching her stop eating because she couldn't keep anything down... Holding her in my arms as she stopped breathing... I'm not sure what of it hurts the worst.
But I can't talk. I can't even stop crying. And words seem like hollow comfort right now. But words are all anyone has to give and I just can't appreciate them yet.
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