BrokenFingernail.com

So, my night was great. I got into the shower around twelve, hearing Butterfly (my 16-year-old Beagle/Bloodhound mix) making a strange barking/whining noise outside. I just figured she was scared ’cause it was storming. (See, she’s been afraid of storms since her pen blew away twice in a week back in April.) So, I went out after I got out of the shower and got dressed to go check on her. Had to go back in and get the flashlight so I could see where the hell I was going. It was already around three am by this time and Joey had just called to say he was off work and coming over. So, as I get out the door, he’s pulling in. I quickly explain that I need to go check on her just to make sure she’s alright. We both went out there and she’s laying in her pen in the middle, outside of her dog house, curled up in a ball, unable to get up and basically screaming. My god, that was horrible. I went inside and told my grandma, to which I got the reaction of “Well, me and your mom were talking about that today because she hasn’t been able to move around that much here lately. There’s nothing we can do about it.” So, my dog that I’ve had since I was four-years-old is in the backyard screaming in pain because she can’t get up and she’s slowly dying, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help her. Honestly, the only thing I wanted to do when I went back out there alone to check on her a few minutes later was to shoot her. She just looked at me, (well, the best she could since she’s almost completely blind) and she was so sad, so much in pain, & all I could do was tell her it was okay to let go. And, of course, the only thing I can think about now is that I told her when it was hot out and she wanted to run around the yard that I’d let her once it cooled down, but now I’ll never get the chance.

This post was originally from my MySpace blog and the entry can be found here.