Jericurl
The Ferminator
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2013
- Messages
- 1,302
- Reaction score
- 784
My dog died yesterday.
I woke up and went outside to feed the chickens.
I saw him laying in front of the garage and started singing to him, like I do every morning.
It's a ritual with us. I sing to him, he thumps his tail on the ground a few times, then he gets up and comes over to talk to me.
I was singing to him and didn't see any movement out of the corner of my eye.
I looked over at him and knew he was dead. There is a stillness that just cannot be faked or misunderstood. I still was calling his name as I walked through the garden and out the gate towards him.
His eyes were open and he was still slightly warm.
I tried to compose myself as I went into the house to tell Manthing.
The moment I saw him, I burst into tears again and told him that I had just found our good boy dead.
It was awful.
We rent, so burying him here isn't a good idea.
I called his dad and asked if we could bury him on their land.
We loaded him up and drove out there.
His parents met us in the driveway.
They always called him their granddog, since neither of us have ever wanted children. There was so much sobbing between the four of us.
I couldn't let either of them touch me. I knew if they hugged me I would completely break down and be unable to help with burying him.
It was such a hard day yesterday.
I think today was even worse.
I woke up this morning, and then remembered he died. I spent the first 15 minutes of my day in bed sobbing.
I finally got up and went outside to feed and water my chickens.
While I was in their run, I started singing to him, then remembered he was gone.
I think I've forgotten and remembered at least a dozen times today and each one is a punch in the stomach.
We both were looking for him at the gate when we got back from grocery shopping, when we fired up the propane grill, when we were going through the garden gate.
I know it gets easier.
I know we aren't the first ones to ever go through this.
I just hate how much it hurts.
RIP Gir. You were such a good boy.
I woke up and went outside to feed the chickens.
I saw him laying in front of the garage and started singing to him, like I do every morning.
It's a ritual with us. I sing to him, he thumps his tail on the ground a few times, then he gets up and comes over to talk to me.
I was singing to him and didn't see any movement out of the corner of my eye.
I looked over at him and knew he was dead. There is a stillness that just cannot be faked or misunderstood. I still was calling his name as I walked through the garden and out the gate towards him.
His eyes were open and he was still slightly warm.
I tried to compose myself as I went into the house to tell Manthing.
The moment I saw him, I burst into tears again and told him that I had just found our good boy dead.
It was awful.
We rent, so burying him here isn't a good idea.
I called his dad and asked if we could bury him on their land.
We loaded him up and drove out there.
His parents met us in the driveway.
They always called him their granddog, since neither of us have ever wanted children. There was so much sobbing between the four of us.
I couldn't let either of them touch me. I knew if they hugged me I would completely break down and be unable to help with burying him.
It was such a hard day yesterday.
I think today was even worse.
I woke up this morning, and then remembered he died. I spent the first 15 minutes of my day in bed sobbing.
I finally got up and went outside to feed and water my chickens.
While I was in their run, I started singing to him, then remembered he was gone.
I think I've forgotten and remembered at least a dozen times today and each one is a punch in the stomach.
We both were looking for him at the gate when we got back from grocery shopping, when we fired up the propane grill, when we were going through the garden gate.
I know it gets easier.
I know we aren't the first ones to ever go through this.
I just hate how much it hurts.
RIP Gir. You were such a good boy.