Thanks so much to everyone for your good thoughts and kind words. It's been a rough few days, but I'm hanging in there.
Jake was fine until Thursday, but that morning he couldn't stand up and was having trouble breathing. We took him to the vet and she said he was bleeding internally, and that while we could have done a bunch of tests to find out exactly what happened, it really didn't matter. At his age, recovery just wasn't going to happen and surgery wasn't an option. I stayed with him and petted his little head as he was put to sleep, and he died quickly and peacefully.
Many of you know he was diagnosed with cancer over a year and a half ago and given two months to live, so we had a lot of bonus time and 15 years is a hell of a run for a big dog. But life without him is just weird. You have this constant awareness when you have a dog -- Is he in or out? Has he eaten? How long can I leave him alone before his bladder gives out? It's just hard to stop thinking those things, stop looking for him when I get up in the morning. The other night we were eating garlic bread and I threw the crust on the floor without even thinking about it. And how the hell do you do dishes that still have food on them? I only know how to clean dog slobber off them.
Some cool things about Jake:
* He was once attacked by a cougar. He ran into the woods after it and discovered it didn't run away like other kitties. It slashed him down the side, and he had to have two operations.
* He was a golden retriever mix, but he wouldn't retrieve a damn thing. I don't know whether he was too stupid to fetch or too smart.
* Every year for his birthday, he got to eat an entire meatloaf.
* He was a masterful escape artist, and liked nothing better than to explore. He would have done great as Lewis and Clark's dog (an aside: L&C's dog was a Newfoundland -- get it? new-found-land? -- and his name was "Seaman." huh huh huh). He always stayed with my best friend when I traveled, and he'd drive her nuts running away. We eventually dropped $500 on new fencing and stuff to Jake-proof the yard. His tag had my cell number on it, and I'd always get these calls: "Your dog is in my yard." "Uh, yeah, I'm in Tucson and can't really get there right now." One time I got a call that he was walking around inside a Safeway two miles from home. I told them I had asked him to pick up a few things.
* He didn't like people food, except meat and cheese. Try to give him a potato chip and he'd either ignore it or gingerly take it with his front teeth (to be polite) and set it on the ground.
* Once when I was very sick, I was asleep on the couch and awoke to find he had put all his toys and bones either on the couch next to me or on the floor. A cynical friend -- I'm looking at you, geckogirl -- said he probably wanted me to wake up and play, but I think he knew I was hurting and wanted to give me everything he could.
I miss him a lot.
Jake was fine until Thursday, but that morning he couldn't stand up and was having trouble breathing. We took him to the vet and she said he was bleeding internally, and that while we could have done a bunch of tests to find out exactly what happened, it really didn't matter. At his age, recovery just wasn't going to happen and surgery wasn't an option. I stayed with him and petted his little head as he was put to sleep, and he died quickly and peacefully.
Many of you know he was diagnosed with cancer over a year and a half ago and given two months to live, so we had a lot of bonus time and 15 years is a hell of a run for a big dog. But life without him is just weird. You have this constant awareness when you have a dog -- Is he in or out? Has he eaten? How long can I leave him alone before his bladder gives out? It's just hard to stop thinking those things, stop looking for him when I get up in the morning. The other night we were eating garlic bread and I threw the crust on the floor without even thinking about it. And how the hell do you do dishes that still have food on them? I only know how to clean dog slobber off them.
Some cool things about Jake:
* He was once attacked by a cougar. He ran into the woods after it and discovered it didn't run away like other kitties. It slashed him down the side, and he had to have two operations.
* He was a golden retriever mix, but he wouldn't retrieve a damn thing. I don't know whether he was too stupid to fetch or too smart.
* Every year for his birthday, he got to eat an entire meatloaf.
* He was a masterful escape artist, and liked nothing better than to explore. He would have done great as Lewis and Clark's dog (an aside: L&C's dog was a Newfoundland -- get it? new-found-land? -- and his name was "Seaman." huh huh huh). He always stayed with my best friend when I traveled, and he'd drive her nuts running away. We eventually dropped $500 on new fencing and stuff to Jake-proof the yard. His tag had my cell number on it, and I'd always get these calls: "Your dog is in my yard." "Uh, yeah, I'm in Tucson and can't really get there right now." One time I got a call that he was walking around inside a Safeway two miles from home. I told them I had asked him to pick up a few things.
* He didn't like people food, except meat and cheese. Try to give him a potato chip and he'd either ignore it or gingerly take it with his front teeth (to be polite) and set it on the ground.
* Once when I was very sick, I was asleep on the couch and awoke to find he had put all his toys and bones either on the couch next to me or on the floor. A cynical friend -- I'm looking at you, geckogirl -- said he probably wanted me to wake up and play, but I think he knew I was hurting and wanted to give me everything he could.
I miss him a lot.
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Time heals.