One of the hardest things I’ve had to do recently was to give up my baby boy. He was just a dog to everyone else, a major pain in the ass dog that is, but to me, he was my heart.
I frankly didn’t even want him…a friend of mine came to work all sweet like and casually asked if I wanted a dog… My quick response was NO! She persisted though and before I knew what I was doing I was on my way to her house to pick up this tiny little puppy that I had already named Rigby.
Rigby was babied from the beginning. He was sick a couple weeks after I got him and after taking him to the vet, I cradled him in my arms, letting him lick water out of the palm of my hand in an attempt to keep him hydrated. I cooked chicken and rice for him that weekend and slowly got him back to eating and drinking normally without making him sick.
He licked my toes each time after my shower and snuggled at my feet under the cover each night. He was afraid of loud noises and each time my dumbass neighbors would shoot off fireworks, his eyes would be wild and he would cower and shake long after the last one. He even went in the bathroom and shut the door by head butting it, to try and block out the noise.
I couldn’t go two steps in the house without him being right beside me. I often didn’t clean the house because I couldn’t get him to leave me alone long enough to get anything done. Every time the door opened he thought he had to go outside. If only to see why I was going to my car. He always went in search of something dead and decaying so he could roll around on it and bring the smell back inside with him.
I loved my baby boy and can’t believe its been almost a week since I had to say goodbye. As much as I dread it, I’m looking forward to the vet calling me this week to pick up his remains just so he will be back with me.
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