A dog's day in hell.
Tyaeda
Published
01/17/2014
Anyone who knows me, knows that I love animals. The 5 pets I have are the closest I will ever have to children, so I kind of treat them as such (But I'm not one of those who carries their pets around in baby strollers). When it comes to their quality of life, there isn't much I wouldn't sacrifice, and money - no matter how little I have, is no object. This might sound a bit overboard, but when it comes to domesticated and captive animals, we as people take them in, we take on the responsibility of their lives. I realize that the quality of life they have is entirely up to me.
I do not have the time nor the patience for ANYONE who doesn't feel the same way about the pets they intentionally bring into their lives. I say anyone, because I haven't spoken to either of my parents in 2 weeks and counting.
About 10 years ago my dad had to go out of town for work. While he was gone, my mother adopted a beautiful German Shepard / Husky mix puppy, creatively named Max. My dad never wanted a dog, or any pets for that matter, so when he got home, he was pissed. I was 14, and was never happier. I spent all of my free time out in the yard (because Max wasn't allowed inside) to play with him. Despite the fact that he would almost pull my arms out of their sockets, I walked him everyday. Max was too much responsibility for me at the time, but I was persistent on keeping him. My parents would nag at me about it pretty steady. They made sure I walked him, fed him, and cleaned up the shit in the yard at least once a week. They would say things to guilt me into caring for him. "He's outside by himself all the time, go play with your lonely dog." and "He can't spend his whole life in the backyard, take him for a walk". Since I loved that dog, I did the best any 14 year old could do. Max was my first dog, so obedience training was slow going, but I still managed to teach him to fetch (kinda), sit, lay down, give paw, etc.
As the years went by, for unrelated reasons, my relationship with my parents deteriorated. I started spending less and less time at home, which unfortunately meant that Max had less and less attention. Although my mother took on a lot of his feeding, it was still up to me to walk him, and just provide the social needs he had. What my parents fail to realize is that if it wasn't for Max, I would have found somewhere else to live out my teens, instead of waiting until after school was done to move, like I did. I didn't know what would happen if I left my parents to care for him, so I made sure to be around enough - for him.
After I eventually did move out at 17, Max was still my responsibility. Despite living over an hour from home, I still made sure to go at least once a week to walk him - otherwise the only interaction he got was when my mom would put food out for him. Taking Max home with me was always in the back of my mind. It wasn't an option when I was living in a trailer park, or the few small apartments I was in. In the meantime I was sure to put the same guilt trip on my parents. "He's lonely, and never sees the outside of the yard". Now all of a sudden, as if they became Cesar Millan, Max was "ok". "He's got the whole run of the yard, he gets lot's of exercise" , "When we go out there we pet him, he likes us". I called them on the hypocrisy, but to no avail.
Last March my husband and I moved into our first house. My husband and I always wanted a dog, so it was a priority to find something that was dog friendly - and did we ever! Our 3 bedroom house sits on 1 acre of open grass field. We're surrounded by forest, agriculture, and quiet gravel roads. Although Max was aging at this point, I still wanted to take him in, and treat him like the senior citizen he was. My husband and I had a lot of talks about making it work. He'd be able to stay inside when he wanted, we would provide the muchly needed vet care, and give him the attention and shelter he was lacking. He was too old to be a strictly outdoor dog. It was time for him to retire to the dog paradise we purposely made just for him.
I don't know exactly why, although I have some speculation, as to why my parents turned us down. Every time we asked to take him in, there was another excuse. My mom was attached to Max more than anything, but unfortunately she wasn't physically able to walk him... he was still heavy on the leash. My dad seemed to like him enough to keep him around, but wouldn't make up for what my mother lacked. "It's your mother's dog, not mine". Max was my dog.
One day during one of our visits, we wanted to take Max for a walk. We went out in the yard, expected to be greeted by the most excited animal on earth, but when we called, he didn't come running like he usually did. We went around the yard, to find him sleeping. After we woke him up, we realized that his hearing wasn't too good. It didn't take long to find out why. His ears were totally infested with mites. It took a lot of convincing, but after agreeing to pay for it, and take him there, he got to the vet. My parents administered the drops we bought, and things cleared up.
Another time I went there, I saw Max limping in the backyard. I asked my mom who told me that he ran out of glucosamine tablets a few days ago, and that he was starting to get sore again. My husband and I rushed to the nearest pharmacy and bought the $16 bottle of pills, and gave them to my parents with the instruction to let me know when he ran out. They seemed grateful, but I wasn't trying to help them.
Again and again we would argue about Max, and where he should live. Given his age and current condition - he needed to be inside. Still they refused to let him in, and denied us the ability to take him. This went on for a while - I never gave up. Now I regret just not taking him without their knowledge. It would have been a couple days before they noticed anyway, and by then I could have had him registered (for the first time in over 8 years), taken him to the vet, and just give him a good remainder of his life.
Fast forward to Christmas Day 2013. We went for what was supposed to be a joyous time, but I left that house deeply saddened. Some day before x-mas, - my parents wouldn't tell me exactly when, Max had what seemed to be a stroke. All one side of him was completely paralyzed, but he was still trying to stand, and get around. He could barely keep his head up, and when he got it up, he kept it crooked to one side. The look in his eyes was of fear, pain, and confusion. I pleaded with my parents to take him to the vet, or better yet - let me and my husband take him. He needed to be put out of his terrible circumstance, and I was willing to do what no dog owner wants to do. My dad's exact words were "We're going to let nature take it's course" I should have just taken him. Fuck.
My husband and I went home, and Max filled most of our conversations. My husband and I were desperately worried, and we crunched the numbers to see if we could afford to just go there and take him without my parents knowing, and taking him to the vet. I worried for days until New Years Eve day.
My little brother sent me a message on facebook. "I don't know if mom or dad called you, but Max has been dead for a few days now". "When did he die?" I asked. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think it was either boxing day, or the day after.... dad didn't say anything until this morning, and when he did, it was like it was no big deal". I guess my dad told them over dinner, and quickly changed the subject right after.
I didn't call my parents at first. I wanted to wait to see if they had the balls to call me and tell me about it. They didn't. Avoiding guilt and responsibility was what killed that dog, so I didn't let them get off for very long. 3 days later I called. My dad picked up "How was your new years sweetie?". It's a good thing we weren't face to face, because I probably would have popped him one. "Shit" I responded. "How come?""How long has Max been dead for?" Not much was established, but I made sure he knew how I felt with the whole thing. Although there was obviously nothing to be done to save Max, I still listed off every little thing they should have done - including rehoming him to me. My dad protested and rebuttled. At first it was "I never wanted the dog in the first place", and after that rebuttal didn't work it was "We knew he had to be put down, we just didn't want to choose a day for him to die". His reason for not telling me - "I didn't want to ruin your holidays".
"So instead you let me and Rob worry about a dog that was already dead?"
I know he didn't want Max, and has never really been one to consider the feelings of animals, but he didn't consider my feelings either. The last thing I said to my father was "The closest thing you'll ever get to grandchild out of me is a dog - I hope the $100 you saved was worth it. I offered you my help and money, and you refused, so from now on, don't call me to take mom (no license) anywhere - if you have to go out of town for work - I am not your stand in. You'll have to find (my little brother and sister) a ride to school and work - I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not buying weed off you anymore either, so don't call me or Rob when you're low on cash, and need to sell some to me." I haven't spoken to either my mother or my father since.
Some of you might think it's a bit harsh to cut ties with my parents over a dog. However, they know that I put animal abusers, and pet neglecters right up there with pedophiles, rapists, and domestic abusers. I HATE anyone who brings an animal into their lives and lets them suffer, and I'm not willing to make any exceptions.
I saw something online the other day.
A little boy had a dog who was old and had to be put down. When the dog was put down the little boy didn't cry. When asked why he said "I know that dogs have shorter lives than people" when asked why he thought that was, he said "We're put on this earth to learn how to love and be kind to people, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long".
Rest in Peace Max - I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you buddy.
I do not have the time nor the patience for ANYONE who doesn't feel the same way about the pets they intentionally bring into their lives. I say anyone, because I haven't spoken to either of my parents in 2 weeks and counting.
About 10 years ago my dad had to go out of town for work. While he was gone, my mother adopted a beautiful German Shepard / Husky mix puppy, creatively named Max. My dad never wanted a dog, or any pets for that matter, so when he got home, he was pissed. I was 14, and was never happier. I spent all of my free time out in the yard (because Max wasn't allowed inside) to play with him. Despite the fact that he would almost pull my arms out of their sockets, I walked him everyday. Max was too much responsibility for me at the time, but I was persistent on keeping him. My parents would nag at me about it pretty steady. They made sure I walked him, fed him, and cleaned up the shit in the yard at least once a week. They would say things to guilt me into caring for him. "He's outside by himself all the time, go play with your lonely dog." and "He can't spend his whole life in the backyard, take him for a walk". Since I loved that dog, I did the best any 14 year old could do. Max was my first dog, so obedience training was slow going, but I still managed to teach him to fetch (kinda), sit, lay down, give paw, etc.
As the years went by, for unrelated reasons, my relationship with my parents deteriorated. I started spending less and less time at home, which unfortunately meant that Max had less and less attention. Although my mother took on a lot of his feeding, it was still up to me to walk him, and just provide the social needs he had. What my parents fail to realize is that if it wasn't for Max, I would have found somewhere else to live out my teens, instead of waiting until after school was done to move, like I did. I didn't know what would happen if I left my parents to care for him, so I made sure to be around enough - for him.
After I eventually did move out at 17, Max was still my responsibility. Despite living over an hour from home, I still made sure to go at least once a week to walk him - otherwise the only interaction he got was when my mom would put food out for him. Taking Max home with me was always in the back of my mind. It wasn't an option when I was living in a trailer park, or the few small apartments I was in. In the meantime I was sure to put the same guilt trip on my parents. "He's lonely, and never sees the outside of the yard". Now all of a sudden, as if they became Cesar Millan, Max was "ok". "He's got the whole run of the yard, he gets lot's of exercise" , "When we go out there we pet him, he likes us". I called them on the hypocrisy, but to no avail.
Last March my husband and I moved into our first house. My husband and I always wanted a dog, so it was a priority to find something that was dog friendly - and did we ever! Our 3 bedroom house sits on 1 acre of open grass field. We're surrounded by forest, agriculture, and quiet gravel roads. Although Max was aging at this point, I still wanted to take him in, and treat him like the senior citizen he was. My husband and I had a lot of talks about making it work. He'd be able to stay inside when he wanted, we would provide the muchly needed vet care, and give him the attention and shelter he was lacking. He was too old to be a strictly outdoor dog. It was time for him to retire to the dog paradise we purposely made just for him.
I don't know exactly why, although I have some speculation, as to why my parents turned us down. Every time we asked to take him in, there was another excuse. My mom was attached to Max more than anything, but unfortunately she wasn't physically able to walk him... he was still heavy on the leash. My dad seemed to like him enough to keep him around, but wouldn't make up for what my mother lacked. "It's your mother's dog, not mine". Max was my dog.
One day during one of our visits, we wanted to take Max for a walk. We went out in the yard, expected to be greeted by the most excited animal on earth, but when we called, he didn't come running like he usually did. We went around the yard, to find him sleeping. After we woke him up, we realized that his hearing wasn't too good. It didn't take long to find out why. His ears were totally infested with mites. It took a lot of convincing, but after agreeing to pay for it, and take him there, he got to the vet. My parents administered the drops we bought, and things cleared up.
Another time I went there, I saw Max limping in the backyard. I asked my mom who told me that he ran out of glucosamine tablets a few days ago, and that he was starting to get sore again. My husband and I rushed to the nearest pharmacy and bought the $16 bottle of pills, and gave them to my parents with the instruction to let me know when he ran out. They seemed grateful, but I wasn't trying to help them.
Again and again we would argue about Max, and where he should live. Given his age and current condition - he needed to be inside. Still they refused to let him in, and denied us the ability to take him. This went on for a while - I never gave up. Now I regret just not taking him without their knowledge. It would have been a couple days before they noticed anyway, and by then I could have had him registered (for the first time in over 8 years), taken him to the vet, and just give him a good remainder of his life.
Fast forward to Christmas Day 2013. We went for what was supposed to be a joyous time, but I left that house deeply saddened. Some day before x-mas, - my parents wouldn't tell me exactly when, Max had what seemed to be a stroke. All one side of him was completely paralyzed, but he was still trying to stand, and get around. He could barely keep his head up, and when he got it up, he kept it crooked to one side. The look in his eyes was of fear, pain, and confusion. I pleaded with my parents to take him to the vet, or better yet - let me and my husband take him. He needed to be put out of his terrible circumstance, and I was willing to do what no dog owner wants to do. My dad's exact words were "We're going to let nature take it's course" I should have just taken him. Fuck.
My husband and I went home, and Max filled most of our conversations. My husband and I were desperately worried, and we crunched the numbers to see if we could afford to just go there and take him without my parents knowing, and taking him to the vet. I worried for days until New Years Eve day.
My little brother sent me a message on facebook. "I don't know if mom or dad called you, but Max has been dead for a few days now". "When did he die?" I asked. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think it was either boxing day, or the day after.... dad didn't say anything until this morning, and when he did, it was like it was no big deal". I guess my dad told them over dinner, and quickly changed the subject right after.
I didn't call my parents at first. I wanted to wait to see if they had the balls to call me and tell me about it. They didn't. Avoiding guilt and responsibility was what killed that dog, so I didn't let them get off for very long. 3 days later I called. My dad picked up "How was your new years sweetie?". It's a good thing we weren't face to face, because I probably would have popped him one. "Shit" I responded. "How come?""How long has Max been dead for?" Not much was established, but I made sure he knew how I felt with the whole thing. Although there was obviously nothing to be done to save Max, I still listed off every little thing they should have done - including rehoming him to me. My dad protested and rebuttled. At first it was "I never wanted the dog in the first place", and after that rebuttal didn't work it was "We knew he had to be put down, we just didn't want to choose a day for him to die". His reason for not telling me - "I didn't want to ruin your holidays".
"So instead you let me and Rob worry about a dog that was already dead?"
I know he didn't want Max, and has never really been one to consider the feelings of animals, but he didn't consider my feelings either. The last thing I said to my father was "The closest thing you'll ever get to grandchild out of me is a dog - I hope the $100 you saved was worth it. I offered you my help and money, and you refused, so from now on, don't call me to take mom (no license) anywhere - if you have to go out of town for work - I am not your stand in. You'll have to find (my little brother and sister) a ride to school and work - I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not buying weed off you anymore either, so don't call me or Rob when you're low on cash, and need to sell some to me." I haven't spoken to either my mother or my father since.
Some of you might think it's a bit harsh to cut ties with my parents over a dog. However, they know that I put animal abusers, and pet neglecters right up there with pedophiles, rapists, and domestic abusers. I HATE anyone who brings an animal into their lives and lets them suffer, and I'm not willing to make any exceptions.
I saw something online the other day.
A little boy had a dog who was old and had to be put down. When the dog was put down the little boy didn't cry. When asked why he said "I know that dogs have shorter lives than people" when asked why he thought that was, he said "We're put on this earth to learn how to love and be kind to people, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long".
Rest in Peace Max - I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you buddy.
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