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Carol Perkins: Fluffy's wait is over. Fluffy II

The end has come. 'As I opened the car door at the vet's office, we had our goodbye talk. I told him how much I loved him and how much happiness he had brought to me and how I was going to miss him. I think he understood' - The marker Guy made was for "Fluffy Sam." Sam was added because 'Fluffy may have sounded too much like a girl's name. . . - CAROL
Next earlier story: Carol Perkins: He is waiting. Farewell to Fluffy I Posted on 13 Oct 2014 at 02:03amCT

By Carol Perkins

Fluffy, my nine pound Maltese, sat in my lap as I brushed his white hair, soothing him and comforting him as I had done so often when he sat beside me as I watched TV or read, but this time was different. He was barely able to lift his head. Occasionally, he turned his eyes toward me but what I saw was not the fighting spirit of a dog who would often drive me crazy for a kernel of popcorn or a tiny piece of cheese from the snack I was eating. This time he had no demands. This time was different.

On Sunday night Fluffy was not able to lift his head to the water bowl

By Sunday night Fluffy was content to lie on the rug in the kitchen next to his water. Not able to lift his head to the water bowl, I lifted it for him but he wouldn't drink. Yet, when he heard my voice he looked my way with those big brown eyes. I wondered how much he was seeing? I wondered if he could understand me? I had stopped force feeding him by then.

"Guy, you probably need to prepare the spot. I am taking him to the vet in the morning. It is time." Guy is always home on Mondays but this week he had to be away. I knew I did not have the strength to dig the grave, but I would bury him.

That night, Fluffy was spared the usual tuck-in routine

Normally, I would have carried Fluffy to bed with us and put him at the end on the spread. That night I left him alone. I was hoping he would go to sleep and be spared an injection and I would be spared making the decision for him to have an injection. That night, however, something caused me to wake.

I turned on the kitchen light and found him off the rug and on the cold floor. He had scooted himself to the floor and all around him was the aftermath of sickness. If I hadn't woken up, he would have lay in that mess. After I finished cleaning up around him, I moved him back onto the rug and sat in the recliner talking to him periodically and dreading daylight.

Called the vet by eight o'clock

By eight o'clock Monday morning I called the vet and by nine had prepared his box for burial. I put Fluffy up on my shoulder as I always did and, of course, was crying all the way to the door. Just as I passed the bookcase, I saw his favorite toy on the shelf and took it with me. I was going to put it in with him.

As I opened the car door at the vet's office, we had our goodbye talk. I told him how much I loved him and how much happiness he had brought to me and how I was going to miss him. I think he understood. Once again, I put him on my shoulder and held him until the vet finished telling me what the process would be like.

"You can stay with him if you want."

"I just can't. I just can't do that." With great compassion for Fluffy and for me, the doctor took Fluffy in his arms and told me to pick him up around four. He would have him ready.

It had been raining most of the day, but by that time the rain had stopped. I took him to the hole Guy had prepared, eased him down slowly, and within a few minute was finished with what I had to do, crying over the open hole.

Burial was painful, but Fluffy was one-person dog, and I had to do it

Someone asked me why I didn't get someone to do that for me. Fluffy was a one person dog and I had to be the one to do this. However, it was not easy.

"I'm going to make him a marker," Guy said when he got home Tuesday and he did. He created a white cross and said, "Put Fluffy Sam across the top." (We named him Fluffy Sam because Fluffy sounded too much like a girl.)

Another dog? No, Fluffy was enough.

Will I have another dog? No, Fluffy was enough. He was a source of many good stories I have told and given me fodder for articles but the sorrow of losing him is something I don't want again.

However, there are three stray cats who have taken up residence on my patio. I caught myself bending down and chanting, "Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty."

(Many thanks to Dr. Lafever for his kindness during this time.)

Carol Perkins, the writer, is an author, weekly radio talk show Host on The Hoss, 99.1 FM, on the Tuesdays at 10amCT, Susan (Chambers) & Carol (Perkins) Unscripted and is owner of Main Street Screenprinting PO Box 1051 601 S. Main Street Edmonton, KY 42120. Call 270-432-3152 or 270-670-4913

This story was posted on 2014-10-21 03:29:13
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