|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Nov 30, 2010 7:51 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Dec 30, 2011 12:36 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Mar 19, 2013 7:32 pm
 |
|
|
 |
I find none of that works. I'm always doing something from playing a game, to reading, to TV, to writing. I'm not crying over it constantly nor depressed, but it still feels like last week. Where you can't bring it up at all. But I don't think I mind. I'm a rather apathetic person, so being emotional feels like my way of respecting them.
I've had three animals die on me. The first was struck by a car and had internal damage we didn't notice until we saw her slight limp. Took her to the vet while I was at school and she never returned. Because no one had the spine to tell me the truth. She was only a year and one month. Very sweet and mannerly, but everyone was afraid of her because of her doberman coloring. Her body was more hunting dog. Like an American Foxhound.
Then there was the Guinea Pig at 8 of old age. She weakened over a few days. I was in the house and still regret not moving her beside me. She wasn't afraid of much and used to chase our dog around. She came half a year after the first dog died.
The third I can't let go easily. The other two are over ten years gone. This one is almost a year and a half. I don't even want to continue. I knew if I looked in here I'd start crying. The problem here is it all happened within a few hours. Thankfully she was 13 or 14-adopted from next door, so not fully sure on age-at the time. Pulled a disc jumping in my bed. Dog whines still make me cringe. Paralyzed herself. Instead of putting her through the treatment at her age, we put her down. She was a pup we'd babysit before the first was even born. I think I was 11 or 10. I consider her the first dog. That was the first time I watched something die. And that could be the reason I can't let it go very easy. It still feels cowardly. But to put a dog her age through the therapy I couldn't do, either. It seemed crueler. She already had arthritis.
I'm also sad over my uncle's cat. Mostly for the horrific way he went. Victim of a hit and run. Which is all I'm saying. I miss the last two cats before him, too, but they disappeared. There's that question of what happened to cover severe sadness. At least for me. But he was the only cat they got to bury. To know what happened is worse.
First dog was Lacey. Guinea Pig was Spike. Second dog was Rosie. Cat was Butch. I don't know, nor want to know, where Lacey's body went. The other three are buried at my grandparent's. I'm glad I at least have Lacey's collar. I refused to let them throw out Spike's cage.
Mom doesn't want anymore pets, so I'm alone in my room now. Whenever I manage to get out on my own, first thing I'm going for is another Guinea Pig and dog. If I can find someone selling kittens at the same time as puppies, I'd like a cat, too. I don't like living without animals.
I don't have B/C of them. I think I'll quest them. I'm very much a writer-as you can tell-, so having their image forever in writings might help. And it gives me a chance to create a family line for them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Oct 10, 2013 12:20 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 20, 2017 11:23 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
