For the second Sunday in a row I am
without cable media. A good size thunderstorm rolled through here in the wee hours and
took with it my access to television and Internet. I haven't started to freak out yet,
but the morning is still young.
As I'm posting this, it's obvious
I'm not completely dead in the water. I never have dropped my old dial ISP, just for
circumstances like this. It seems foolish, 99% of the time, paying for something I'm
not using. Mornings like this one help rationalize my decision.
So there's no tennis championships
from London this morning. As soon as the wife awakens and wants to use the phone,
the Internet will be nothing but static too. Perhaps this will be a good day to go
to the library, or maybe I'll hear the whisper.
Okay then, let's get something a
little less morose up here. Enough with the dead dog stuff already. Blech. Have you
noticed how nobody seems to want your business anymore? It's no wonder the stock
market is unstable and the general economy can't decide whether to recess or go to
the principal's office.
I spent probably a total of an hour
on hold today, through four different phone calls to my cable company. Never heard a
human nor spoke to one. Telephone menu pong. What did I want? To give them more money.
Did I ever get to tell them that? Nope.
Then, I made another call to a
professional whose services I may require as a new client. The receptionist politely
told me the individual was busy, but they would return my call. Seven hours later,
had they? Nope.
I killed my dog today. The lethal
injection administered by the veterinarian seemed painless as I watched his tiny body
go limp for the last time. His coal black eyes showed no fear, only curiosity. They
say pet euthanasia is humane. Problem is, my dog had no choice in the matter. For all
I know, his final thoughts may have been, "Hey wait a minute, I don't want to die. Yes
I'm in terrible pain, but I'm not done living yet." I will never know. I sentenced him
to die, and death is so final.
Rheumatoid arthritis robbed this
playful little guy of mobility. His back, hips, knees and elbows were shot. His mind,
however, was still very sound. He received love and gave love. His toys were always
within his reach when someone wanted to play. His tail wagged contentedly, and often.
Putting him out of misery was my human reaction to his suffering, but who made me God?
Heartache swept through me each time
I debated whether I was doing this for him, or doing it for me. I struggled with that
medically, morally, intellectually, and spiritually before concluding that euthanasia
was simply "the right thing to do." It permits dignity, it puts an end to extreme
physical discomfort, and if I am to be true to my faith, it enables entry to a better
spiritual plane. I believe life is measured in quality, not quantity.
Don't feel sorry for me. My decision
is over. I can move on with his love forever in my heart. Think instead of those who
may face the same dilemma tomorrow — for a parent or spouse, sister or brother, or
just another furry little friend like mine. They're the ones needing our empathy today.
Yes, I killed my dog today, but he is free, and I better understand my humanity.
"I am well aware of the toil, and blood,
and treasure, that it will cost us to maintain this declaration, and support and defend
these states. Yet, through all the gloom, I can see the rays of light and glory; I can
see that the end is more than worth all the means, and that posterity will triumph."
— John Adams in a letter to his wife on July 3, 1776
Last week my wife came home with a 15
gallon aluminum tub, a truck full of creek bedrocks, a bunch of stuff that looked sorta
like seaweed or something, and fish. Yes, about 30 goldfish. It seems the latest outdoor
gardening fad is to torture poor tropical fish by putting them outside in a rock garden
pond. I couldn't help but ask, "Well, what do you do with them in the winter?" Her
response, "Shirley says hers were okay."
Not wanting to miss this excellent
opportunity for debate I asked, "Doesn't the water freeze when it gets real cold?" Taken
aback by her response of "So?", I added, "Then the goldfish don't mind being frozen?
Kinda like suspended animation or cryogenics." Being just a man and understanding fully
that I have absolutely no chance against the tender gender's deployment of logic, I
knew it was time to retreat when she said, "We'll just have to worry about it when the
time comes then won't we?"
Our new homemade hatchery has created
a very interesting night-time zoological diversion right outside my window. Lynn's fear
that nocturnal creatures may explore the pond inhabitants was well founded. A curious
raccoon hasn't quite figured out yet how to remove the screen from the top of the
aluminum tub after several tries. It seems the raccoon has enjoyed better success at
other neighborhood diners, he's as big as my husky.
I didn't know until this week that
raccoons are more afraid of an attack chihuahua than they are of man. When I step out
on the porch and holler, "Shoo! Vamoose!", that silly 'coon just looks at me and
goes pffft. But when I send out Daisy, the viscious killer Taco Bell doggie, that
rascal hightails it outta here like he's seen Rosie O'Donnell.
Lynn has since added snails to eat algae,
little fronds and flowery thingies, for decoration I guess. I keep waiting for the other
shoe to drop when she wants to put some kind of electronic fountain gizmo in the midst
of all this hokem. Sometimes I wish winter would hurry up.
