I went to work

Thursday, June 15th I woke up and went to work, which wasn’t unusual.

Except I had spent the last 2 weeks worrying about my dachshund, Nixon, and was up all night with him.

Our vet appointment was at 11am so I logged in for a morning meeting and worked.

I knew Nixon was dying.

He had gone from 21 pounds of muscle and sass to 9 lbs, skin and bones. He had spent that last night crying, whining from some unknown ailment.

We’d done the tests. Bloodwork was fine. No worms or bugs. Despite losing weight his thyroid was underactive. He had been on a series of meds for a couple weeks but nothing was helping.

So I went to work.

Then we went to the vet, found he had lost more weight and the bloodwork hadn’t improved. It was cancer, the vet was sure of it. We just couldn’t find it without a slew of tests and Nixon was dying. He was in pain and I held him secure in a blanket, swaying him in my arms.

I signed the paperwork. They gave him the shot to go unconscious. Then the shot to end his life.

I paid. Carried him out wrapped up in the blanket.

I met the eye of an older woman who had been complaining about the cost of her dog’s shots and tooth cleaning. She got to take her dog home. I had to bring home a body.

Nix was only 13 years old and, until those last few days, hyper, loving, and would do anything for a treat.

The very worst part of that day was going out to the backyard, in 100 degree heat, and digging a grave with my shovel. Okay but not there because too many rocks, okay here is fine.

It had only been a few hours but he was already stiff.

I carried Wilson out to the yard, then brought Nixon over so he could smell and understand why Nixon was gone.

I filled in the hole.

I cried so much I hyperventilated.

That night there was a massive thunderstorm, the kind that Nixon hated. I sat inside, crying at the idea that he was outside, all alone.

Then I had to tell the people who loved him that he was gone.

Today I did it all again.

Wilson went to the vet on Thursday, he wasn’t eating.

Acute renal failure.

There was some small hope that if we could get his kidneys up to 25% capacity, he could manage on special food and careful observation.

He spent 2 nights at the vet. He still wouldn’t eat but drank and peed, a sign that the kidneys were working.

I visited him on Friday, petting his nose through the cage and careful not to disrupt the fluid drip.

I went to work. Even though, in the space after losing Nixon, this client ended my contract and treated me/my work with enormous disrespect. I went to work.

Saturday I brought Wilson home with kidney friendly food and a port still in his little paw. I held him in my lap and pet him gently.

He wouldn’t eat or drink.

I built him up a castle next to my chair, his favorite bed, layers of blankets, a fan to keep him cool.

I sat in my chair, sewing quietly and watching him. Petting him. Watching him.

About six hours after we came home he breathed his last and I fell to pieces.

I closed his eyes, cleaned his body. Took off the tape holding his IV port in place.

I went back outside, dug a grave. No, not there, too many rocks. Over here, in the shade where he liked to dig and chase squirrels.

It still felt cruel, to lift his lifeless body and put him in the dirt.

I didn’t want to hold onto him, his body, on another hot day with flies already in the house. So I carried him outside and laid him to rest.

Then I went and sat in my pool completely dressed and sobbed some more.

It has been exactly 30 days since Nixon died. I’ve spent 12 of those days battling the flu and dealing with losing a client of over 2 years because they believe I’m easily replaceable.

My heart? It’s over there on the ground all stomped on and smashed to bits.

My body? Still weak, achy and now dehydrated too.

My spirit? Crushed.

Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, today I told people about Wilson. I posted on socials and texted close friends. I did it because I am thick in the grief and did not want to wring things out.

After all, Monday I have to go to work.