February 23, 2003
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The Day I Killed My Dog
We had this husky, SuSu named it Handout, after she sort of rescued it. It had been abandoned by its previous owner, who had given it a name meaning “shit” in some Native language or other. He was nuts. (I mean the dog, but I understand the previous owner was, too.) He was wild. Take him indoors, he’d wreck the place. He loved to bark, so we kept him out towards the back of the propery where he would warn us of approaching bears and mose. He ate several doghouses. Many times, I would go about my business, see him out there alone and think I really ought to take him for a walk or at least go out to pet him. I was always too busy.
Years passed, we moved across the highway to relatively palatial digs (a leaky, moldy 30-year old trailer, far superior to the squalid hovel that had been our previous domicile). Handout came over, too. And got old.
He was going deaf and blind and arthritic. Sometimes you could walk right by him and he would not even look up. His winter coat failed to grow in right and he was cold all the time. He slept most of the time, and cried when he was awake. When he stopped eating, that did it. It was time to put him out of his misery. So I got one of my .22s and went out to him. I petted him and and told him what a good dog he was and how much I loved him. Then I put a bullet in his brain. The last thing he did before he died was lick my hand. I think he understood. I hope to god he did.
Blinded with tears, I loaded his body onto a sled and hauled it out to the muskeg so his body could go back to the earth. Sometimes I go out there to look at his bones. Rest in peace, pal. I’ll see you soon.
Comments (10)
Handout was a peach of a pup. We all loved him and everyone neglected and avoided him because when young he was such a maniac.
I wasn’t the one who named him, BTW. That was one of the neighbors… not the one who threatened to shoot the pup if he kept getting into their garbage. Handout had his name before I tied him up in my yard and started feeding him kibble, leftovers and doghouses.
You have a lot of strength to do that. Sending you a lot of respeck’
YOu write so well, sparingly, easy to read. I wish I had your gift.
The definitions of humane and inhumane are so diverse in this world. I wish more would understand the humanity behind your post, and your actions. Most claim humanity with their inhumanity when an animal family member is taken to a strange place, with strange noises/smells/people/etc., and handle by strangers until they die.
Animals sometimes understand more than people do!
I so TOTALLY agree with DMo224′s comment. Thank-you for sharing your humanity with us
That had to be one of the hardest things, you had to do. It joked me up, just reading it. I had a German shepard I just loved, and went out to his pen, and found he had pasted away. I was heart broken, I loved that dog so much, His name was Jake. I now have a wolf, which I have wanted, scence I was a kid. Her name is Atoka, and is so beautiful. We are great friends and she can’t wait to see me when I get home from work, I just love her. I know in time you too will find a good dog, to take his place as your best friend. You take care, and I’ll talk to you later. Marvin
I was thinking that I was going to have to do the same with Timber, very soon.
So I told him.
He decided to start eating again. I may keep him around for a while still.
Where have you been dammit? Does totse really need you so, or did you get scared off Xanga because your sweetie uses it to vent her feelings about you and your relationship with her?
You’re missing the meetings of the Xangroup. We need you and you need us.
And every time I read this post, it makes me cry. Handout was such a wonderful weird old dog, a lot like you, actually.
I shed a few tears……it’s hard to let something you love go but you did what you had to do…my neibor had a dog and he was old and the neibor was going to put the poor dog out of pain and told the dog it would be over tomorrow and the next morning the poor thing had already passed. I guess it was over huh?
Gettin’ too old to write, huh? Yeh, someday I might be too old to run but don’t bet on it. Like an overpaid doctor – aren’t they all? – I’ll check in on you now and again. Wouldn’t want you dyin’ on me and me not knowin’.
That was a really touching story. I could feel how hard it was for you. Thanks for writing about it.