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Last week, on the 25th of May, my dog Rosie was hit by a car. I didn't post about it then because... well, honestly, I didn't have the wherewithal to do it right then. It hurt too much. So instead I'm posting about it now.
She died of head trauma. The car hit her square on and she was thrown a short distance. She didn't have any external injuries, though, and not even any internal ones that the vet could fine. She looked fine, but she wasn't. She died a few minutes later -- possibly even before we'd managed to get her into the car to take to the vet. I couldn't stop to check.
There was nothing the very nice vet could do for her -- she was already gone. At least she didn't suffer--and quite selfishly, I didn't have to make the decision to put her down. I didn't see it happen... I had let them out to do their business and have a little fresh air. I heard her yelp, though, and the collision, and I ran out to find her in the road. The people there were so kind... the lady who hit her felt terrible, and another man stopped his car and put on his emergency lights so traffic would stop while we got her moved. The policeman who came and the animal control man helped me move her into the car so I could get her to the vet. I think they knew she was dead, but they helped me anyway and didn't argue.
I had them cremate her. I didn't want to bury her, and I didn't want anyone else to have to either. Besides... she isn't there anymore. It's not her, and I couldn't make myself see her body that way. I petted her and kissed her goodbye, but it was for me, not her. She was already gone. Having her body somewhere made that harder, not easier. I didn't keep her ashes either. We're going to put up a little memorial thing here, somewhere in the yard, after the boys come for the summer. I'm going to get something with a picture of her on it to remember her by, and that will be enough.I miss her terribly. Her not being here makes me feel less rooted somehow, less here. She adopted me after my divorce as much as I adopted her, and she was always there for me when I was really very alone. And now my life has changed again, and I'm not alone, except that she isn't here. She was my friend as much as my dog, and I miss my friend.
That said, I am holding together okay. The sharp fresh pain is moving into just an ache. I am going to get another dog at some point--Matt and I are discussing adopting one together. For one, Leo misses her still. There is no one for him to play with and to chew on his ears, and he liked that, which surprised all of us.
After Anaka (the dog who moved to Albuquerque with me, whom I'd raised from a pup) went missing and I couldn't find her, I said I wouldn't have another dog. I frankly didn't think I could handle how much that hurt again. I didn't have a dog for seven years. Then Rosie came to me, and she gave me that love back, even though I didn't want a dog then and tried like anything to talk myself out of it. I owe her so much for that; the only way I can think to repay it is to bring another doggie into my life and give it a chance to have a happy home too.
I love you, baby girl. Sleep well.
She died of head trauma. The car hit her square on and she was thrown a short distance. She didn't have any external injuries, though, and not even any internal ones that the vet could fine. She looked fine, but she wasn't. She died a few minutes later -- possibly even before we'd managed to get her into the car to take to the vet. I couldn't stop to check.
There was nothing the very nice vet could do for her -- she was already gone. At least she didn't suffer--and quite selfishly, I didn't have to make the decision to put her down. I didn't see it happen... I had let them out to do their business and have a little fresh air. I heard her yelp, though, and the collision, and I ran out to find her in the road. The people there were so kind... the lady who hit her felt terrible, and another man stopped his car and put on his emergency lights so traffic would stop while we got her moved. The policeman who came and the animal control man helped me move her into the car so I could get her to the vet. I think they knew she was dead, but they helped me anyway and didn't argue.
I had them cremate her. I didn't want to bury her, and I didn't want anyone else to have to either. Besides... she isn't there anymore. It's not her, and I couldn't make myself see her body that way. I petted her and kissed her goodbye, but it was for me, not her. She was already gone. Having her body somewhere made that harder, not easier. I didn't keep her ashes either. We're going to put up a little memorial thing here, somewhere in the yard, after the boys come for the summer. I'm going to get something with a picture of her on it to remember her by, and that will be enough.I miss her terribly. Her not being here makes me feel less rooted somehow, less here. She adopted me after my divorce as much as I adopted her, and she was always there for me when I was really very alone. And now my life has changed again, and I'm not alone, except that she isn't here. She was my friend as much as my dog, and I miss my friend.
That said, I am holding together okay. The sharp fresh pain is moving into just an ache. I am going to get another dog at some point--Matt and I are discussing adopting one together. For one, Leo misses her still. There is no one for him to play with and to chew on his ears, and he liked that, which surprised all of us.
After Anaka (the dog who moved to Albuquerque with me, whom I'd raised from a pup) went missing and I couldn't find her, I said I wouldn't have another dog. I frankly didn't think I could handle how much that hurt again. I didn't have a dog for seven years. Then Rosie came to me, and she gave me that love back, even though I didn't want a dog then and tried like anything to talk myself out of it. I owe her so much for that; the only way I can think to repay it is to bring another doggie into my life and give it a chance to have a happy home too.
I love you, baby girl. Sleep well.
