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There seems to be a lot of stories on the forum recently about people losing their pets. I read each one with special consideration, as I knew I would be writing one in the near future. That time has come.
Sunday I brought our mini-dachshund, Gibson SG (his registered name!) to the emergency vet clinic to have him put to sleep. He was 14.
Over the last year, his health started to deteriorate. After he turned 14 in September, it really started to go downhill. It reached a point over the last week where he stopped eating, couldn't walk without falling over, and then Sunday morning, he was whimpering. My wife Diane and I couldn't bear to watch him suffer any more. We woke the kids up (ages 4 and 7) and brought them downsatirs and told them that Gibby was very sick, and I was bringing to the vet, and he wasn't going to make it.
After everyone said goobye and held him one last time, I brought him to the clinic. My dad drove Gibson and I, so I could hold him and tell him what a good dog he had been, and how much we were going to miss him. On the drive there, he was whimpering from the pain he was in, and I cursed the icy roads that slowed our arrival to the place that would give Gibson his much needed peace.
The staff at the clinic were supportive, and made an impression of Gibson's paw print in clay just before he was put down. They etched his name and Sunday's date in the clay, which can be baked and hardened for an eternal memento. The doctor andministered the injection, and as I was petting him and telling him he would be running with his friend Daisy soon, he passed on.
It had been decided that we would bury Gibson at Diane's parents farm in South Dakota, which was one of his favorite places. Diane stayed home with the kids, as the trip would have been too long, and too hard on them. So my dad joined me on the 4 1/2 hour drive to the farm, and I buried Gibson next to Daisy, her parent's dog who died the year before. She was Gibson's closest friend.
We buried him with his favorite toy, his favorite snack, a picture of the family, and some cards that Diane, Kristina, and Megan made while I took him to the vet. We take solice that he is sleeping now in peace, in his favorite place, next to his best friend.
Here are some pictures of our little buddy.
<font color="yellow">Gibson</font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson on his 14th, and last, birthday </font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson sleeping in my bath robe</font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson's paw print they made for us at the clinic</font>
Thanks for listening, my friends.
- E.
Sunday I brought our mini-dachshund, Gibson SG (his registered name!) to the emergency vet clinic to have him put to sleep. He was 14.
Over the last year, his health started to deteriorate. After he turned 14 in September, it really started to go downhill. It reached a point over the last week where he stopped eating, couldn't walk without falling over, and then Sunday morning, he was whimpering. My wife Diane and I couldn't bear to watch him suffer any more. We woke the kids up (ages 4 and 7) and brought them downsatirs and told them that Gibby was very sick, and I was bringing to the vet, and he wasn't going to make it.
After everyone said goobye and held him one last time, I brought him to the clinic. My dad drove Gibson and I, so I could hold him and tell him what a good dog he had been, and how much we were going to miss him. On the drive there, he was whimpering from the pain he was in, and I cursed the icy roads that slowed our arrival to the place that would give Gibson his much needed peace.
The staff at the clinic were supportive, and made an impression of Gibson's paw print in clay just before he was put down. They etched his name and Sunday's date in the clay, which can be baked and hardened for an eternal memento. The doctor andministered the injection, and as I was petting him and telling him he would be running with his friend Daisy soon, he passed on.
It had been decided that we would bury Gibson at Diane's parents farm in South Dakota, which was one of his favorite places. Diane stayed home with the kids, as the trip would have been too long, and too hard on them. So my dad joined me on the 4 1/2 hour drive to the farm, and I buried Gibson next to Daisy, her parent's dog who died the year before. She was Gibson's closest friend.
We buried him with his favorite toy, his favorite snack, a picture of the family, and some cards that Diane, Kristina, and Megan made while I took him to the vet. We take solice that he is sleeping now in peace, in his favorite place, next to his best friend.
Here are some pictures of our little buddy.
<font color="yellow">Gibson</font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson on his 14th, and last, birthday </font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson sleeping in my bath robe</font>
<font color="yellow">Gibson's paw print they made for us at the clinic</font>
Thanks for listening, my friends.
- E.
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