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"He's gone now"
Singing Agathe
wilowisp
On Thursday night, 10/10/13, we said good-bye to Buttons. The vet counseled us to the conclusion that we already had in our terrified and aching hearts; his body was failing him, there would be no recovery and the best thing for him was a release from the pain.

The troubles started one week earlier, with vomiting. We ended up at the emergency pet hospital at 11pm. From there is a long list of visits and medications and hopes and fears. Late nights laying next to him anywhere that he could be comfortable, from the floor beside our bed to the kitchen floor covered in whatever towels and blankets we could find. We cursed him when we had to fight to force the pills down his throat, and clung to it as a sign that there was still spirit in him, despite the fact that he wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink.

I cried so much, all throughout the week. It came in fits and bursts, seepage from the cold iron I stamped into my heart when others (or he) was around. I ate so little - I am still eating so little. At times, I dreaded coming home, returning to the place where my beloved Buttons was not getting better, only suffering.

Early Thursday morning is when things truly reached the end, but in our blind optimism, we thought that something had passed out of him, and all he needed was rest. We came home, after a full day of adoption training, and there was another spark of hope, him barking for us. But we brought him in. They knew at the vet, even though we carried him high with hope - they knew what had to happen, and tip-toed around us. The vet (one of so many that he had seen in his troubled life) brought us to the right conclusion, and then we were on a path we could not reverse.

They sedated him. I held him. Andy held his face. The vet quietly gave him the injection. He took three last breaths in my arms, and then the vet listen for his heart. "He's gone now." I couldn't bear to look at Buttons' face, and maybe sometime I will regret not having one last look into his eyes. But I held him, and that's one of the ways I remember him most. He love being in my arms, and carried about. He knew he was safe, he knew that Papa and Daddy were there.

We brought him home nearly seven years ago. He was my first canine companion, and the first addition to the home that changed my husband and I from a couple to a family. He was my baby boy, my little prince, my dragon, my Buttons-Boo, my Butt-Butt. He was a bug-eyed, snaggle-toothed little pain. I loved him utterly and completely, and I have worn my eyes, throat and heart raw in grieving him. Now, in the back of my mind, I think that if I am good enough, if I cry hard enough, if I mourn truly enough, then I'll get to bring him back home. I hurt so much.


I don't want to breathe.
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