What not to say to a person whose pet just died:
"Eleven is old for a greyhound, isn't it?" OR any combination. That does not make me feel better. Because to me he wasn't old. He. Wasn't. Old.
There is a big emptiness in the house without Rim. He had such a quirky personality that we can't help but feel the void. At least the humans feel the void. The other three canine nimrods could care less. People ask me, "how are the other dogs?" They don't care. To them they are hoping they get his portion of treat, food and bed space.
I used to get upset that the dogs wouldn't show ANY type of sign they knew one of the pack was missing. Instead we were met with the same "hey, what's for dinner" attitude. Then it hit me how awesome dogs are and I wish I was like them. Life is a moment to moment type of gig. You don't worry about what is coming next, who left or why.
Rim wasn't scared. Wasn't freaking out because he knew what his fate was. All that concerned him was he didn't feel well and was tired. His big heart was sick.
He had an infection that went to his heart. We think the cause was from his dental. It was sudden and he was extremely ill. Monday morning he could walk into the vets office, but by the evening when we had to move him to critical care at an overnight hospital, it took 2 techs and a vet to get him to the car. When I saw him. My heart shattered into a million pieces. The suffering in his eyes was too much to handle.
The ER clinic was wonderful. By the time we went to see him again later in the evening, he was much more comfortable -- lots of pain meds, antibiotics, fluids, and his fever was going down. He was laying on the super comfy bed we had made and his favorite, with his head on a soft fleece pillow. I had some hope.
The next day were a lot of tests. At lunch I took him a couple hamburgers to see if he would eat. Nothing. He was getting around with little assistance, but was clearly still struggling. X-rays showed an enlarged heart and ultrasound showed some concerning views around his heart. Later in the afternoon he started having an irregular heartbeat. The infection was going to win. That was when we decided to let him go.
They brought him in and he laid down on his bed. I laid behind him and we spooned. Rim always was a dog that had to be touching you when napping. Either he wanted to be right up against you, or he would snuggle his nose in the crook of your neck. I held him, stroke his soft ears, kissed his nugget head and let the tears softly fall on his beautiful fawn fur. All the time telling him how much we loved him and what a good boy he was. He was sound asleep. I put my hand where his heart was and felt it slow to a stop. He never opened his eyes. He left this world peacefully and doing what he does best. Sleeping. That was precious to me.
**I miss him pushing me from behind with his head to get me to hurry up.
**I miss him using his big mits called paws to get my attention.
**I miss seeing his beehive (ears standing straight up)
**I miss him play bowing in front of me and giving a slight "woof" when he wanted to go outside.
**I miss his 80 lbs body snuggles and practically pushing you off the side of the bed.
**I miss his nose rooting around your neck to get it tucked in just right.
**I miss how he loved to pee on something and then give a few swift kicks to let the other dogs he was a bad ass.
**I miss how he fretted.
I miss him.