If you have been reading this blog, you are aware that I "rescued" my daughter and son-in-law's cocker spaniel when they had to move to a pet-less rental home in Muncie three years ago...but didn't want her back when they bought a house there. I had been Frodo's buddy since she was four months old. I loved the dog, but I certainly didn't want her. She had never been housebroken and was a shameless food thief and garbage rummager. I agreed to take her until I could find her a good home. I decided that no one would take her until she was housebroken, so I worked on that...but Frodo had other ideas. I bought "Puppy Pampers" to put on the carpeted kitchen floor and worked endlessly to get her trained. It just didn't work. She would endeaver to hit the pads in the kitchen for her piddling, but would poop anywhere in the house if she didn't get outside--and she wouldn't tell me if she had to go. Recently, the problem got worse. With the rains outside, she would just stand at the back door and look at me when I opened it for her...then ten minutes later, I would be cleaning up yet another mess. Then there was the time that Frodo chased my granddaughter down the hall and bit her on the hand. I could go on and on...
I had been toying for months with the idea of having Frodo put to sleep. She wasn't adoptable...and even if she was, she would languish because I wasn't there. (I forgot to mention that the dog was also neurotic.) I just never acted on how I felt because I didn't know how I would be able to deal with the guilt. I take pet ownership very seriously. Every pet I've ever had was part of the family. You deal with what you get when you own one. It's just that I didn't want to own this one... Meg was getting impatient with me, thinking that we just needed to take Frodo to a shelter. I felt that doing that would stress and confuse the dog...especially since she would probably not get a home, anyway.
Meg and I were both concerned because the house smelled like dog and urine. Picking up dog feces was a daily chore. Every time I saw something on the floor, I questioned what it was. The children were forbidden to walk in the kitchen without shoes on...and anything that hit the floor (be it food or a utensil) was out of bounds. Everything was totally unsanitary. I was beginning to worry that some of the illness in the house was because of the dog. It hit me this week that I was tolerating the intolerable only because I didn't want to give up on my grandpuppy...but she wasn't going to get better. At age eight, she was only going to get worse in time.
As you have probably guessed by now, I made an appointment to send Frodo over the Rainbow Bridge today. It was an act of desperation. I feel like a total criminal, but I told myself that I had done the best I could for the critter. I also told myself that I wouldn't cry...but, of course, I did. The vet and assistants (one of which is a former student of mine) were very sympathetic and supportive. Meg called Nathan last night to tell him of the plans. (HE was the one who just had to have the puppy!) Even he agreed that it was the best thing to do. The grandchildren don't seem to miss the dog, either.
Having said all of that, I came home this morning to feelings of sadness--but total relief. I gathered the dog's bowls and leftover food to give away. I got out the carpet shampooer and some high-powered shampoo that is supposed to do the trick in getting out stains and odor. I ran it over the "toilet" area of the kitchen floor--four gallons worth--and every gallon of return water emptied black! The carpet looks a lot better, but Meg tells me that it still smells "uriny" in the kitchen...so I'll keep working on it. (The carpet will be replaced by vinyl flooring someday, when we get the funds.)
My sister, God bless her, called tonight to see how I am faring in the aftermath. She and her husband are only a few months past having to put their beloved dog down because of a "cerebral accident"...most unlike my putting down a relatively healthy pet...but she understood how I felt (and now has a puppy to take up the slack--something I won't do!). Thanks, Shari. I needed that!
And so, the traumatic day is over. Meg and I took the children to Chuck E. Cheese for supper tonight. Tomorrow, they will go to Muncie to visit their father. What I did, I did...and will never look back. I tried. I suppose Hell is full of souls who said they tried....