“I don’t know if i want a dog. I’m still not even sure that i’m really over losing my first one yet.”
His name was Speck. We babysat him one day, twelve years ago. He was a character. Holly fell in love. I have to admit, i did like the mischievous little guy. So she talked me into adopting him from her uncle and his wife (her best friend).
He used to race around the house like a mad creature, butt held low for supreme speed. Once he managed to grab a french fry off a plate somehow, while racing across the sofa. He didn’t even touch the sofa as he arced across the entire length of it, from one arm down across to the floor. That was among the first of many hilarious misdeeds.
He did bite me more than a few times, even drawing blood several of those times. He also would destroy a lot of my things. He even peed on one of my guitars. He had a thing, especially, for socks. The things he would steal, he would jealously guard with no small amount of feral ferocity. I bled a lot for that damn dog.
But i pledged never, ever to give him up. Never to adopt him out or take him to a shelter. I knew nobody but we could be guaranteed to ensure his safety. Anybody else might drop him off at a shelter, or have him put down. I couldn’t have lived with that possibility.
Aside from being an evil little bastard, he was also a fucking Jedi when it came to snuggling. That alone was worth the sometimes fairly high price of admission. The way every inch of his tiny little rat terrier body would seemingly cling to every possible inch of one’s own. He’d bury his face in the crook of your arm, or you’d look down and he’d be nestled between your body and your arm, looking up at you from under your armpit.
He was so worth it. Damnable little beast of a dog. He was his own man, but he was fiercely loyal to us, too. The only thing which scared him was thunder, and then he became like a tiny little child who needed to be held closely, lest the monsters get to him.
He was our special little guy for twelve years – close to his entire life, and almost the length of my relationship with my beloved Holly. (When she adopted two Chihuahuas, and then later, a pug, he didn’t mind – although you could tell he really was meant to be the Only Dog. But he never really mistreated them. In fact he’d come to their rescue if they got into trouble of their own.)
He had his own Twitter account.
These past few months have been difficult. He stopped eating his regular food. We found out he had kidney disease. It became an arms race to find food he would eat before he’d begin refusing that too. He began throwing up a lot. He lost a lot of weight. From his normal 12lbs, he was down to about 7lbs the last we weighed him. These last few days he’d lost even more, and was down to skin and bones. He looked like a character in a Tim Burton animation. It was heartbreaking. Then he stopped eating even treats, and started struggling to get around.
Things had already looked bleak enough, and then this week he took a turn for the worse. He could barely stand, and wobbled like a drunkard when he tried to walk. We knew the damned end was drawing ever nearer. He was brave, though, and never once complained.
We all laid down for one last family seepybye last night. Poor Speck was so limp, so fragile, so weak. We made plans to wake each other up if one of us found him dead, which we expected to do. He could barely move. I tried my best to show him i love him with soft caresses but i just didn’t know if i was getting the idea across. A few times he kind of wiggled weakly, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to get up in the middle of the night for a jinka wa-wa (i’d relocated the water upstairs next to the bedroom to save him the trip).
I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. So did Holly.
Then a couple of hours into my sleep, i woke up to find him snuggled so sweetly into my arm. The classic snuggle, the one i had longed so heart-achingly for: between my torso and my arm, with his tiny little knuckle-head resting on my shoulder, throat on my armpit. The very best kind of snuggle for a last day of nightynight with a sweet little troublemaker we would never again get a chance to go sleepybye with. I was so happy and so sad. This is precisely what bittersweet feels like.
Unfortunately my sad bliss was interrupted later this morning when he threw up the most foul vomit i’ve ever seen. Food he hasn’t eaten for days came up. I assume. I had to do laundry. We had to bathe him. He did really well in the tub, but we only had a half-inch of warm water in there. After that, we swaddled him in mommy’s towel and laid him in a fresh bed again.
I’m home from the vets’ office. We took him in, hoping for the best, but fully expecting to wind up making that terrible final decision we’d been dreading.
They gave him an injection to put him to sleep, and sleep came heavy and quick. He was limp as a wet rag within seconds. We kissed him and stroked him and told him tender things about our love and admiration for him. Then they injected him with the lethal dose. He died almost instantly. It was absolutely devastating. I’ve bawled my eyes out all week, and now i’m far, far worse off.
My poor little pretty boy. I’m going to miss his beautiful big eyes and his cute little Snoopy-like butt-spot and his Popeye elbows and his black lips and his beautiful, beautiful big bat-ears.
My special little boy.
Goodbye, little mouse.
