Tuesday, January 26, 2010
♥ Dear Montana,
Dear Diary,
Today my dog died. He had lung cancer and we had to put him down. He was probably the best dog ever, he never did anything wrong, and he was extremely friendly. He was a corgi, and his name was Montana, and he was 12 years old. He would always cuddle up to me on the couch and comfort me when I was sad, and he'd give me friendly kisses and lay on my bed when I slept at night. I'd come home to his wagging tail everyday after school, and I'd always feed him Mom's meals when she wasn't looking. He was sweet, and he knew every trick in the book. He would jump up and down when we used the words "ride" or "walk", and he'd go out into the backyard with me whenever I took care of our other animals. But as we drove down the street towards the vet, I looked behind me where he sat, looking up at me with sad eyes, saying "Where are we going, sissy?" he was having a hard time breathing because of the cancer and we hadn't gotten any food in him for days.
But as we drove down the street, I knew we were delivering him to death's hands. Even though everyone comforted me, telling me that "He'll be in a better place" and "This is putting an end to his suffering", I couldn't stand the fact that little did my dog know that we were just handing him over.
As we spoke, yet again, to the vet, we comfirmed that he had cancer in his lungs, and it was uncurable. That was when we made the final decision to put him down. My mother left the room, while me and my step dad stayed with him, wanting to be there.
In the 14 years of my life, I have never, ever seen my step dad cry.
But as the doctor prepared the injection that would literally "put my dog to sleep", we cried. We sobbed. As the injection was given, I petted Montana and he looked up at me with his brown eyes. That was the last time I ever saw my dog. He was looking at me as he died.
All day I tried to sleep, but I just fell into a light slumber that I woke from five minutes later with a nightmare, panting, and crying. Why? Why was it that I felt so guilty that I let those people hurt my dog? Despite the fact that it was the cancer, I blamed myself. I blamed myself for not being able to save him.
My birthday is on Thursday. My dog has passed.
Happy birthday to me.
RIP Montana
Today my dog died. He had lung cancer and we had to put him down. He was probably the best dog ever, he never did anything wrong, and he was extremely friendly. He was a corgi, and his name was Montana, and he was 12 years old. He would always cuddle up to me on the couch and comfort me when I was sad, and he'd give me friendly kisses and lay on my bed when I slept at night. I'd come home to his wagging tail everyday after school, and I'd always feed him Mom's meals when she wasn't looking. He was sweet, and he knew every trick in the book. He would jump up and down when we used the words "ride" or "walk", and he'd go out into the backyard with me whenever I took care of our other animals. But as we drove down the street towards the vet, I looked behind me where he sat, looking up at me with sad eyes, saying "Where are we going, sissy?" he was having a hard time breathing because of the cancer and we hadn't gotten any food in him for days.
But as we drove down the street, I knew we were delivering him to death's hands. Even though everyone comforted me, telling me that "He'll be in a better place" and "This is putting an end to his suffering", I couldn't stand the fact that little did my dog know that we were just handing him over.
As we spoke, yet again, to the vet, we comfirmed that he had cancer in his lungs, and it was uncurable. That was when we made the final decision to put him down. My mother left the room, while me and my step dad stayed with him, wanting to be there.
In the 14 years of my life, I have never, ever seen my step dad cry.
But as the doctor prepared the injection that would literally "put my dog to sleep", we cried. We sobbed. As the injection was given, I petted Montana and he looked up at me with his brown eyes. That was the last time I ever saw my dog. He was looking at me as he died.
All day I tried to sleep, but I just fell into a light slumber that I woke from five minutes later with a nightmare, panting, and crying. Why? Why was it that I felt so guilty that I let those people hurt my dog? Despite the fact that it was the cancer, I blamed myself. I blamed myself for not being able to save him.
My birthday is on Thursday. My dog has passed.
Happy birthday to me.
RIP Montana
Much love,
JaspperSAYSrelax128
5:26 PM
