You always know when things are ending. A friendship or a relationship or maybe when that last bite takes the life out of a cookie. Most of the time these endings don't end well (except for the cookie bit), or so my past experiences have taught me.
I feel that I'm going to lose my companion soon. I watch him lying on my bed, facing me, not sleeping but his eyes dull and staring at nothingness. Two days ago he was still running about, asking for turkey from my father; three days ago we were playing catching after I returned from grocery shopping with the family. It's been 12 years, and I shudder whenever I think of sleeping without his back curled up against my stomach, or that I sleep through afternoons without his warm smelly morning breath waking me up.
I don't know what he's looking at.
Today we brought Cracker to the vet, who said his abdominal distension is quite bad, that his arthritis is bad too. "No quality of life," she said, especially since it hurts when he stands, and hurts when he lies down too. He got blood withdrawn for a test, and we're still waiting.
I got him when I was six, at age whereby I knew nothing about healthcare of an animal but I knew all about loving one. He's got all the love I can ever give. It's amazing to imagine having walked, bathed, slept with, groomed and fed an animal for 12 whole years. But in giving love I had failed to read up on what my dog really needs. He's not sterilised, not vaccinated, his teeth not cleaned. Which is why those years of inadequate care are taking its toll on him now.
If I could turn back time I would get all those medical requirements met and checked. To prevent what is happening now. He is not lifeless, but he is like a trying motorcar low on gasoline; the fuel tank locked.
I've always thought about the day when he leaves. With death, as I've come to learnt, comes three types of emotions: grief, regret, and fear. I can deal with grief and regret, but it's the fear that I so often fail to overcome. The fear of my own sadness. Sadness overwhelms me and swallows me. With each death I've faced I feel a little bit of me chipping away, and I understand when I no longer feel comfortable in the shell that once lived a happy soul. Happiness thereafter became something that rode on momentum. It needs the initial push but it does not come comfortably, after awkward smiles and the forgetfulness of the mind.
I've met people who have learnt how to deal with the death of loved ones, especially as you're growing old. Sometimes I wonder if I'd like to be able to deal with death without feeling remorse over the lack of sadness. The passing requires an adequate amount of tears as a means of compensation.
Of course I've always known that the day would come.
For the past two days I've woken in the middle of the night to see Cracker's head off my arm, looking into the darkness of the room. I take him out and he walks around the house as if aimlessly. But I noticed, he visits the spots where Peipei used to lie. The black and white cupboards along the corridor, under the sofa, and sometimes he scratches the floor mat where Peipei used to lie and rests there, something he never quite did before.
He didn't have such a string of medical problems. When he was younger he was diagnosed with a blood disorder and arthritis (yes, already when he was young). My sister said, "He's a puppy mill dog." And I understand why. But after those initial medical appointments (during which my mother refused for him to be put on long term steroid medication) he was fine for the years thereafter. He lived for maybe a 8 or 9 years without ever having to visit the vet. This year, or this month of December, he's visited the vet for about 3 times already. Sometimes I wonder if it's purely old age and sickness, but sometimes I link it to the death of Peipei. Surely it can't be just a coincidence that such episodes are happening only after her death?
How should I say this. I guess I'm just preparing.
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