Losing a pet is hard. But its a hell of a lot harder when youre eleven. Here is the situation, feel free to stop reading now, cause this one will probably be long. So I have two dogs. Well had two anyway, Morgan, who is a beautiful Old English Sheepdog and Achilles Ankle Biter who is a miniature pinscher. I have joint custody of these dogs with my ex-girlfriend Jessie. She is the custodial parent, meaning that for the most, part they live with her, and I take them now and then as well as pay for half of their vet bills and grooming, which is no small thing when you are the people to an Old English Sheepdog. Anyway, Morgan is a great dog. Obedient, sweet and beautiful. Achilles is a tenacious little shit whos joy in life is escaping and eating garbage. Well a few weeks ago Jessie contacted me to let me know that Achilles was getting out at her house. She has a completely fenced in yard with that is fortified with an electric fence. But we have had more than our fair share of snow this year and the Houdini was using the snow banks to make his escape. So I brought both the dogs over to my house. I have a six foot privacy fence around my yard and with a little fortification here and there it was mostly Achilles proof. On Monday night my dad, who lives with me, yes my dad lives with me and Im 41 years old, was out walking his dog. As he was trying to put his dog in the yard Achilles made his escape through the fence. Now once Achilles is out there is only one course of action. Let him run. If you chase him, you will never catch him and it will be ten times harder to get him back inside the fence. But like any glutton, eventually they tire of the spoils and return home. My father was unaware of this protocol and gave chase. Achilles was more than happy to oblige and ran. I live one block west of Mill Ave. Mill is a busy street and this was going on 9pm. As the chase was on, Achilles ran across Mill Ave and was hit by a car. He only weighs 9 pounds and he was lucky enough not to be struck by the cars tire, but as he passed under the vehicle he must have clipped the muffler of something and took a good tumble. When my dad gathered him from the road he was conscious but unable to move. There was a phone call from the roadside where dad, in his long winded way, explained the situation to me. I was in the process of trying to cut in and explain the Achilles Protocol when he said, “Well, he got his by a car.” I cant remember my exact words, but I am fairly sure they were not pleasant and I am glad I spent the extra money on the Otter Box because my phone took a digger into the wall. I charged down the stairs and out the door. Dad was just a half block down the road caring my battered pup. In a time of crises there are people who fall apart, and there are people who dont. I dont. I took Achilles from him and started to perform a medical evaluation. Now, I am not a doctor, or even a vet, but I have been to both and like those people who stay at the Holiday Inn Express, I can do just about anything that needs doing. Here were my professional findings: No apparently broken bones. All joints seemed functional. Cuts above and below left eye. No bleeding from either mouth or anus and belly not bloated indicating no apparent internal bleeding. Lungs sound clear (I actually made a stethoscope out of a microphone and a headset) so no apparent puncture of lungs. Outward appearance, lethargic, like maybe he just got his ass kicked by a Buick. So Im thinking, this little bastard just dodged a bullet. Yeah sure, he got Fed up, but going to make it. And maybe, just maybe, he will learn a lesson in the mean time. So I call Jessie and explain the situation. She comes over. I figure he is probably in shock, so I made up a bed for him and put him on a heat pad. Jessie sits with him for awhile and then takes Morgan home with her. Morgan liked to use Achilles as a chew toy, and that was probably not the best plan under the circumstances. Sometime during the night he died. My guess is a brain bleed, but again I am not a doctor, but I have been to the doctor and it doesnt seem that hard. So the next morning Payton, my eleven year old, gets up for school and we talk about it. He seems okay. I deal with all of the stuff that has to be dealt with. Like taking care of the body (put him in my chest freezer until thaw) and called Jessie. We met for coffee and had a good cry. Anyway, the point of this post. Tonight when I got home from training my father was sitting at the table. I said off handedly, “Whats up pop?” He said, “You know, you have a very special kid.” I said, “Yeah.. Thats one way to put it.” Payton is extremely ADD, not the hyper kind, well hes like me, but 4 feet tall. Dad said, “You know what he said to me tonight?” I said, “What did he say?” “He told me that I shouldnt blame myself for Achilles death. He said that accidents happen and that Achilles was a free spirit who loved to run.” I said, “Thats good pop, he gets it.” Then I made my way up stairs to write this post. I really dont know what to say in summation. I guess I have a good thing going. A family who cares about each other. RIP Achilles Ankle Biter 2009ish-2014
Posted on: Thu, 03 Apr 2014 07:00:21 +0000
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