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Designed by Kris 'Destral' Wilke at Destral.net

Wow! 7 days without updating already? No wonder I took a hiatus. This shit is tedious.

I have a friend who had two dogs. One of the dogs is 13, the other 9. The one that is 13 is on death's door. His health has been failing for a few months now.

Now, my friend, her dogs are her life. She's had dogs and bred those dogs for over 15 years. Always more than two dogs in the house. It's just always been a very lively house. And that is how my friend is happy. She doesn't have kids or a significant other, it's dogs, dogs, dogs. Dalmations, specifically. Plus she's at 40's door, so she's quite alright with that. She's done with the bullshit... well, for now, we all have needs....

Anyway, the older dog, she's been taking care of his every need as he has lost use of his limbs. Her mom has been harrassing her about putting him down for awhile now, but she and I have said, "ya know, it's kinda like having a senior citizen at a nursing home. He's still hanging out. He's still eating. He knows what's going on. And plus, he's not in pain yet." So, hell, if my friend wants to take a little extra care for awhile, what's it so anyone else?

Then from out of freakin' nowhere, the grim reaper came to my friend's house and took the YOUNGER dog. My friend was absolutely devastated. It was a huge shock. She insisted God had made a mistake. We're not sure what happened, but we think the dog's stomache may have turned. The dog had been sick and diarrhea'd on the carpet before my friend had to go to work. I saw my friend at work that night (she works at the same resort but a different department, lucky girl.) She had no make-up on, her hair was mostly a mess-had to take care of her dog. Her mom had promised to go over to check on the sick dog and also the ailing dog. After checking on the dogs, her mom had called her to say that she was just going to go ahead and stay with the dogs and be there when my friend got home. Expecting her mom was going to give her another lecture to put the older one down, she was all, "oh, no, that's fine, just make sure they're ok, you can go home." So, yeah, what had happened was the dog was already dead by the time her mother had gotten there.

Sparky was her name. Ball was her game. To be honest, I didn't care much for Sparky when I first met her. She kept hounding at me with that slimy ball. Plus I don't like throwing balls in the house, in case I break something. My friend really doesn't care, but if something is going to get broken *I'm* not going to be the one to do it. But my friend had me over for barbecue one day, and we were outside and the weather was beautiful, and Sparky and I had a ball. (Heh, sorry.) Plus knowing that the other dog was going down soon, I knew that Sparky and I had better make friends. Anyway, R.I.P. Miss Sparky.

This wasn't even the worst thing to happen to my friend this year. Her brother had died of a drug overdose just a few short months back. She's had a bad year-which is why it has been so hard to put the other dog down....

...which she is doing at 5:30 pm tonight.

Lucky's his name. Garbage rummaging was his game.

He was quite a gentleman. He always said hello to me. Even when his back legs had begun to fail him, he always made it a point to get up on his front legs to say hello, even to just fall over the second I had kissed his head hello. Even after his front legs had failed him, he always made it a point to raise his head.

The last time I saw him, not so much. I think dementia was setting in, and he was confused that I wasn't that blonde lady that usually wipes him down. (I had gone to check on him when my friend was at work because her mom wasn't able to.) Even I, being the only one that supported my friend in not putting him down down quite yet, had finally agreed, "It's about time."

So, R.I.P. Mr. Lucky. Tell Miss Sparky I say hello.

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