No pics today, sorry. My picture loader (aka Hunky) has left town for the time being, and although I know how to load the pics onto the computer, I don’t like to do it. So there. You guys will have to wait until next week for a cute one of Mousa.
For today, I have a depressing post about Parks. For anyone who doesn’t know, Parks is the greatest dog that has ever or will ever live. I know some of you might think that you have dogs that might be the greatest, but you would be wrong. Parks is the BEST.
He wasn’t always the best. That dog was one bad puppy. He chewed…well, everything, pretty much: carpet, telephone cords, shoes, books, anything. He was rambunctious. Which is okay for a 15 pounder – Parks weighs 75 pounds. When he was about 1 1/2 years old, I was beginning to wonder what was going to become of him. He was such a sweet dog, but sooo rowdy!
Then, one night, Parks was hit by a car. He didn’t get hit hard (and thank God for that, ’cause I was pretty near wasted that night, as was the vet I volunteered for, and Jeannie was at work), but still. And I promise, from that moment on, that dog has been an absolute SAINT. And jeez, that was over 11 years ago.
Fastforward to last year: my parents offered to keep our animals while we lived in England, so that we wouldn’t have to pay all of the ridiculous costs of shipping them over here. But we couldn’t leave Parks – he mopes at my parent’s house when I’m not there. And if we weren’t leaving Parks, we couldn’t leave Kodi, because although she is not the favorite dog, we still love her and think that maybe she has fond thoughts of us sometimes. And we couldn’t leave the cats because my parents have a rottweiler, who is a very sweet (but not very good) dog, who scares the everliving crap out of our cats. They would end up living in the garage. So they all came. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, even though it makes traveling hard.
Fastforward to now: Parks is having a hard time. He has some arthritis, which we control with medication, but getting up and down the stairs is hard. And he’s losing his sight. And his hearing. He has a pretty significant heart murmur. And I think he has a touch of canine cognitive dysfunction (which is basically senine dementia). He seems a tad confused sometimes about where he is, or planning to go. He doesn’t come all the way upstairs to our room, but spends most of his time on the second floor in the office. BUT (and this is important), he seems happy. I don’t think his quality of life has diminished that much. When/if it does, I will put him down. That dog has been too good to our family for him to suffer. This may sound morbid, but I kind of hope that the heart murmur (probably signifying dilated cardiomyopathy) will get him in the end, letting him die peacefully in his sleep. Then I won’t have to make any hard decisions.
I always thought that when our dogs died, I’d want to go and get another right away…I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t do that now. I don’t have the energy for a puppy right now. Parks has been along for way longer than kids, way longer than Hunky even. And even if I was ready for puppy training, how could any other dog compare?
Wow, that sounds like an obituary. He’s not on his last legs yet, people. But one reason I don’t want to stay much longer than a month in America is that I would put his timeline at months, not years.
Okay, now that I’m near tears, I’ll go. Sorry to be so depressing. Next week will be better – I’ll try to upload that pic of Mousa, and maybe we’ll talk about Kodi, our bad dog.