She wasn't the best dog, but we aren't the best humans. offmychest

I've had dogs all my life. One of my earliest memories was putting our Pekingese Candy in the fridge -- i was probably three or four and i have no idea why i did it, but i remember immediately feeling bad because i knew it was dark in there. I opened the refrigerator door and Candy came out and just looked at me and wagged her tail.

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I got married in 2004 while i was in the military. Being married in the military means getting base housing, which meant a yard, which meant a dog. My sister had been keeping my dog, a Heinz 57-breed mutt named Waits I'd had since he was a pup, while i went through basic, and tech school, and the move cross country to Arizona. My wife's dog immigrated from Kansas, a Aussie Shepherd named Lady that was born, as closely as vets can estimate, sometime around '95-'96. Waits never made the trip to Luke Air Force Base. He died of heartworms, and i always felt like that was my fault.

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Our first son was born in January of 2006. For some reason, we thought that our son should have his own dog to grow up with, so we adopted Brenna, a gangly lab-doberman?-greyhound? mutt that was black as the ace of spades. As near as could be estimated, Brenna and our son were born within weeks of one another. We moved our little family to Kansas in 2008.

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I think it was 2012 when i started sneezing. Watery eyes and asthma attacks followed. It only took a few doctors' visits to confirm that I was suddenly, violently allergic to dogs. Two pills daily, plus an inhaler, plus a program of injection therapy to try to minimize or eliminate the allergies. But going through the summer of 2014, i was still miserable. I couldn't touch the dogs (without immediately washing my hands), couldn't play with them, couldn't tolerate them in the room in which i slept, and eventually couldn't tolerate them inside the house. This was an agonizing decision, and it sparked an argument with my wife. She conceded immediately, and I don't blame her for being angry. We've always thought of pets as members of the family, after all.

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We moved them out in September, and we did our best to keep them comfortable with an igloo big enough for both of them and their two doggy beds, sheltered on two sides and covered over top. I didn't even know that heated water bowls were a thing, but we found them when the weather took a nasty turn this fall. I slung them scraps and treats I'd previously withheld, because no one wants a dog shitting her brains out on the living room carpet. Now, they had an entire fenced-in yard to poop in. Beef fat on top of their chow seemed like a great way to put on some extra fat for the winter. If things get brutal, we'll let them in the garage. I just googled "ham toxicity in dogs" and doc Halligan says it's a bad idea, but it doesn't sound like a death sentence.

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Brenna died sometime last night, while we were visiting relatives for Thanksgiving. When we got home this afternoon, there was still food and water in the girls' bowls. Neither dog had eaten. Lady was upset. Brenna was dead. We have no idea what killed her, but I but blame myself. If they'd been in the house, where they belonged, she never would have gotten this bad. Even worse, I can't help but feel that she died because she missed us.

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She wasn't the best dog, but we aren't the best humans. She tore the holy hell out of door and walls, but she helped shepherd two boys through infancy by patiently tolerating ear tugs and horsey rides and playing living pillow. She was our baby girl, and it hurts like hell to see her go.

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I really hate the phrase

"just a dog"

Submitted November 28, 2014 at 09:36AM by ReXone3 http://ift.tt/11zFRFR offmychest