Arg, there is supposed to be a link, but I am doing something wrong and its not happening, so you all can just copy and paste it if you can be bothered too. *probably wouldn't be able to bothered to myself* lol

www.petfinder.com

oh yeah, heres the other one.
www.southkingstown.com/arl

If you click the link, and go under animal shelters, and RI, and then scroll down to Animal Rescue League in Wakefield, you get to see some of my work, and some of my animals. I'v somehow found myself as being the sole person in charge of keeping the websites up to date with pictures of the animals and descriptions, plus picking and writing about an animal of the month every month, and finding *interesting* things to keep people coming back. Oiy.
Ok so today is 12/16/02. At approx 2:30, it will be 3 months since my dog was pronounced dead. Because thats what they actually do. After they inject all of the... errr.. medication (?for lack of a better term I guess) and pull the needle out of his leg, I sat there holding him, refusing to cry, knowing he was dead, waiting for his heart to stop. He had already stopped breathing. The vet sat on the floor with me, listening for a heartbeat for what seemed like a good 10 minutes. All in all it was probably maybe a minute or two. He was dead weight, not breathing, his eyes not closed. And I was slightly repulsed by the fact that I had 78.3 lbs of dead animal in my lap. I was thinking that I wish it would hurry up and be over because I didn't want to hold him any more, and because I wanted to go cry, but not for nothing did I want to cry in front of the vet staff, and make their job any harder. So I just held on. Finally the vet nodded, and told me his heart had stopped. So I layed him on the floor, and stood up, and then offered to carry him somewhere for them. After I stood up I wanted to hold him again. I had been sitting there wanting to get him out of my lap, and when I did, I just wanted to hug him and kiss him and tell him I loved him again. Even if I felt that the claim of loving him must be false. I had to get the gentle leader and leash out from under him. I gingerly lifted him up a little and he was so heavy and awkward that he almost slipped, I almost dropped him back on the painted concrete floor. I managed to hold on and move the leash and such out from under him and put him gently back on the floor. I simply said thank you to the vet and tech's, and walked out. Proceeded to get in my car and head back to the shelter. Started bawling like crazy not 5 minutes down the road, and continued that most of the way back to the shelter. Stopped in time to pull myself together before going back in to work. I didn't really know what to say when I walked back in. I think they had expected me to come back with him, as I had warned them I might. The entire time I was simply waiting for my resolve and logic (as much as I hate it I know thats what it was) to fail me and for me to put a stop to it. I never really thought I could do it. Given the chance to save him, I thought that I could never make and follow through with the decision not to. The entire time at the vets office, I kept thinking to myself, is it too late to change my mind. They had to drug him first because I couldn't bring myself to muzzle him. I was walking him around thinking if I should go inside and tell them to cancel, that I would bring him home and wait for the drugs to wear off. Even when they were actually killing him I was thinking it. At that point I really knew it was too late to stop, as if they had stopped, he could have had severe internal damage, and could of ended up dying anyway.

Its been 3 months, right down to the day in the week. And the pain isn't as bad as it was. I believe it was in a book I read that said time is a young mans best friend and an old man's thief. Or something like that. I don't know. I know that time heals all wounds, or atleast dulls them, even if we don't want to it too. It still hurts, and it still makes me cry, and I still miss him. One day at work I found a tuft of orange fur on the floor. A tuft that used to be Cubby's calling card. We left orange fur everywhere we went. LOL. Anyway, My very first and highly delusional thought was "Hey thats Cubby fur. How are we still finding his fur at the shelter more than 2 months later? Oh my, it must have all been a dream or a trick, and any moment now I will run into the kennel and he will be sitting there waiting for me!"
Quickly I came out of this delusion, and realized that whether it was his fur or not, I couldn't rest any hope on the idea that it was a dream or trick, because the memory was so real, and I couldn't stand to believe it and find out I was wrong. So I didn't go run into the kennel. I went into the office and just glanced at the adoption board and the kennel board, and saw that his name wasn't on either of them. Then I laughed and asked the kennel worker who else could be leaving orange tufts around. Quickly realized it probably came from Sammy, who resembled a St. Bernard mix. *Sigh* I just sort of laughed it off and never told anyone about my mad dash of hope.

There was more, but I realized that what was more was more than should be shared. Not that the above should be, but what was to follow was a step or 2 or 345 above that.

Anyway, I miss my dog. But not as acutely as I did. 3 months. Pain goes away when you blink it seems. Its there and there and there saying hello pay attention to me, and then you have to stop paying attention for just a moment, and it goes away. It comes back, but not with the same intensity. And, as time goes on, it will continue to become less and less. It will never be painless completely, for the halflife of pain somehow seems to get longer and longer as it halves, and halves again. And I don't think there is any real final point, where it decides to stop existing, instead of halving again. But only time will tell it seems.