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I once saw Herman stand up on her hind legs to pick up a dish off the counter with her mouth. Then, without dropping back down, she walked right out the back door and down two stairs, still upright, like people. I always thought of her a little differently after that. |
My heart is broken. I didn't think I could be sadder than when Kiki died. I am so very, very sad. My other sweet girl is dead and all I have left is this cat. She's nice enough, but a cat is not a dog. There's no solace in a cat. Without the dogs or Ron, I feel utterly, utterly alone and in despair. Ron's in St. Louis. In a way, though, it's a blessing. With no human witnesses, with no comfort to accept, you don't have to keep it together. I can be completely out of my mind with grief. I can wail away loudly and mightily. I can blame myself ruthlessly without being contradicted, without pretending I don't believe it. And hopefully I can expunge it faster. With Kiki, I held back, and my grief kept popping up and choking me for months. It still does. The problem with Herman dying is that I didn't expect it. It never even crossed my mind. I'd taken her to the vet earlier in the day & left assured she'd just had a reaction to the muscle relaxers they gave her and she'd be fine in a day or so. 8 hours later, we're at the emergency vet & she's somehow dying of pneumonia. I spent her last hours so casually, carelessly, oblivious. There's nothing worse that taking your animal to the vet thinking they'll be fixed up and coming home, easy peasy, and then going home alone instead. I just didn't have any time to adjust to the notion and love on her and spoil her for a little bit for a good send-off like I did with Kiki. There wasn't even time to stabilize her and bring her home to die. All I could do was climb into her little cage with her and pet her and talk to her until she faded. And I was a total coward and started to have them resuscitate her when she really went south. I regretted it the moment I said it & had them stop before it became some kind of an awful farce. Any time someone dies, you have this whole "life's too short/don't take anyone for granted/live so you'll have no regrets" phony epiphany, and you believe it at the time, and you intend to live it, but you never do. You get caught up in the minutiae of your life and get back to your petty old habits and selfish impulses until the next death, when you have another phony epiphany and vow not to be an asshole. Yesterday, before I knew Herman would be gone, I was thinking about how before my grandpa got sick & died, I had thought that I should offer to have him come live with me. But we never really got along, and he wasn't in any peril at the time, just getting older, so I just conveniently never acted on it. And he probably would have said no, but I never asked. He never seemed to love me that much, and so I made sure not to love him too much, either. And then, suddenly, it was too late, and I'll always wish I had been kinder and that I hadn't predicated my love of him on his loving me. But there it is. If you haven't loved a dog, you probably think it's cheap to put a dog relationship on equal footing with your grandpa. But with a dog, besides loving them achingly, you make all the decisions, so you're utterly responsible for their lives. With a human person, you share the blame, you split the regrets. With a dog, it's all on you. I miss her so much and I feel so responsible and wasteful and stupid. If I'd gotten her a puppy when Kiki died, she wouldn't have gotten so old all of the sudden and lost her fight. You always hear those stories of one dog dying and the other one following within the year, but I'd never experienced it. I just wouldn't admit to myself that losing Kiki had crippled Herman. I didn't want to admit she was old. When she got an ear infection a couple months ago, I promised (Herman or myself or god or whoever it is you promise when you're pleading) that I'd get her a puppy, but I just kept putting it off. With the book stealing my time and money tight and this sort of ingrained notion that the Herminator would last forever, I just thought the puppy could wait. I'm so blind and I'm such an idiot, and I miss my baby Herman. Or if I'd trusted my instincts and taken her somewhere else in the first place, she might've had a chance. Out in the country, a lot of people just don't place the same value on companion animals, and the vets' approach is correspondingly casual. People probably grouse about paying for a bunch of extra tests, so they quit ordering them. And Herman was so inscrutable by nature. And I'm so neurotic by nature, so prone to overreact, that I'm constantly suppressing my instincts to freak out. So even when I probably should be freaking out, I'm pollyannaing along, totally ignoring what needs my attention, as long as I hear what I want to hear. This building is so big not to have a dog. But the thought of getting one now, when getting it a couple months ago might have saved her--it's too much. |
I didn't get to finish her sweater. I made her a very handsome sweater, but it was too big. I had unraveled the front panel to reknit it to size and I never finished it. I was going to make matching ones for me & Ron and have our picture made. Now my doggie is gone. Right before Herman kind of gave up, she became really alert and attentive and sat up and was straining to look at something behind me, but there was nothing there. It spooked me, and I wondered if it was death or god or someone coming for her. Maybe I watch too much TV. I wish when I closed my eyes, I would see her running crazy eights or rooting around under the deck, and not laying in a hospital, breathing wetly. But she didn't look scared or even upset, just like she was going with the flow, like she always did. Even when I learned how bad it really was, I just knew she would pull through. I really thought I'd be bringing her home. I feel like I failed her, that I didn't let her know how much I loved her. I feel so stupid for letting people I barely know placate me when I should have known there was something more to it. I should have known. She was my girl and I should have known. |
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I know my dog pictures are only interesting to me. But I don't care. It makes me feel better. |
 Herman napping with her friend Kiki. |
 Old Herman. |
 Trick or treat! |
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 My shower after Herman's battle with the raccoon (she won, but lost an inch of ear). |
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 Old ghost-faced Herman basking in the sun, a favorite pasttime.  Young Herman rooting in the mud, her other favorite pasttime. |
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 Still glossy, but fat, with flour handprint (with friend Toddy) |
 Old Herman napping.  Middle-aged Herman buried in pillows. |
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| ©1996 - 2006 Disgruntled Housewife and Nikol Lohr. All rights reserved. |
