Goodbye, Dear Friend

I've known...maybe for a few weeks, that the end was close for Roscoe.  Basset hounds are notoriously lazy, and this dog managed to get even lazier.  He slept constantly, peed on himself in his sleep, had accidents all over the house.  I followed him with a mop for a good month.  Still he was cheerful and sweet to the kids.  I just thought he was aging.  On Saturday night, while Mr. R was out with his friends fishing, he had an accident in Missy's room.  I got him outside to finish his deed while Missy mopped her room.  She was angry.  I wasn't happy, but I didn't yell either, just let him out and proceeded to go about my business.

A half hour later, I let him in.  He was limping really bad, and he hadn't been limping earlier.  I checked his paws for snake bites, and saw nothing.  He almost seemed drunk; stumbling around which is so not like him.  In the 8 years we had this dog, I've never seen him do anything like that.  I had to help him into his crate.  He turned around, flopped down, looked up at me and sighed.  I patted him on the head, and told him he was a good dog.  Then he went to sleep.

Mr. R came in the house maybe 90 minutes later; normally I'd hear Roscoe get excited to hear Mr. R come in, but nothing.  I remember laying in bed, thinking that was odd.  I called out to my husband, and he said he was going to watch tv in the living room for a bit so as not to disturb me, and I drifted back off.  Mr. R fell asleep on the couch, and came to bed with me around 4:30.  Then I woke up at 7:30...nearly an hour past my usual time to wake up.  I overslept?  How the heck did that happen? Roscoe gets me up at the crack of dawn so he can potty!  I threw the covers off, and ran to his crate, and when I saw him, I knew.  I knew he was dead.  He normally sleeps facing outward to see Bucket who sleeps on the couch every night.  Instead Roscoe was facing the wall, with his butt facing out.  I tiptoed over to the crate and opened the door.  I tried to rattle the door, but he wasn't moving.  I ran back into the bedroom and woke up Mr. R.  "Pssst.  Babe.  Wake up!  I think Roscoe is dead."  He jumped out of bed, ran to the crate, and confirmed my suspicions.  My eyes started to well up.  I let the kids know he was dead.  Missy cried; Tiger is busy being "manly" and Bucket never liked Roscoe.  We buried Roscoe in the backyard in his favorite spot to sun himself.  Mr. R suspects that Roscoe may have died right after I put him to bed, because he was already cold and stiff.  I'm so glad I made him a special dinner of scrambled eggs and sausage to mix into his dog food, so at least I know his last meal was a good one.  I'm so glad he could die in his own bed, in his own crate, surrounded by his people.  Heck, I hope I'm blessed in that way myself.

I went to the doctor today for a normal check up and my blood pressure is awful again.  My sugar is good but they want to put me back on Metformin, which made me super sick.  I said yes, and I'm just going to halve the pills and hope it will jumpstart me on some weight loss.  I also tore a ligament in my right ankle, so I'm going to not do Couch to 5k for about a week and hopefully this ankle will repair itself.  It's sore, swollen and the most pretty purple right now.  It was weird to come back to the house and not be greeted by Roscoe, wagging his tail.  He was really a friendly dog. 

Another job I applied for at the hospital was closed, so again I didn't even get an interview.  So disgusted.

Anyway, we do not plan to get another dog.  I am kind of over the pet thing.  We are going to take Roscoe's stuff and donate it to the Humane Society.  Probably head over there tomorrow.  We still have the three cats, O'Malley, Hercules and Buck.  O'Malley is 12, nearly 13, so I'm guessing he will be next.  Hercules is 5 and Buck is 2 or 3.  A friend of mine is trying to give kitties away and I am emphatically saying NO to everyone.