In Memorium (Pet Bereavement)

Member Name: Otjiwarotji

Product:	Pet Bereavement
Date:	10/11/01 (186 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Having a pet is wonderful, It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all

Disadvantages: Losing a pet is devastating, All creatures have to die sometime

I apologise in advance for the length of this op, but all I have said I NEEDED to say. This is my memorium to two much loved and still missed companions.

As I suggested the category for pet bereavement a while ago, I thought I had better take the bull by the horns and write about my experiences even though I know I am going to upset myself writing it! The death of a pet is such an emotive subject. I have found that it can be easily as traumatic as the death of a relative, if you are an ardent animal lover you may agree if you are not then you may just think I'm weird!

You see with a pet you are usually solely responsible for that animals well being, you often chose the pet yourself and took on responsibility and nurtured, cared for and loved the little creature, so you can feel a kind of responsibility when it dies, that is seldom felt with the death of a person.

When I was a young child we had several pet cats, probably a foolish choice of pet on my parents behalf, seeing we lived on an extremely busy main road with lots of heavy traffic including buses and lorries. Several pet cats met their maker on this busy stretch of road. But I was quite young and don't remember it that well, I think younger children can accept death quite easily as they have less preconception of the finality of it.

The deaths of two much loved pets form the basis of my experiences and what I hope to do here is introduce each of them and share the trauma I felt at their loss.

BENS STORY

When I was married (to my ex-husband) we bought our first home which had a lovely big garden and overlooked fields, where we watched many people enjoying excercising their dogs. I had never owned a dog, only cats but he hated cats so we began thinking about getting a dog. His preference for a big boisterous animal was eventually outweighed by my arguments of space and exercise needs, you see I am just a bit nervous of big dogs and what I really w
anted was a small lap dog which could be my "baby". It was only by chance that one day we passed a cottage on the outskirts of town which had a notice board outside saying " dachshund pups for sale" and reluctantly he agreed to accompany me to see them.

It only took a brief glimpse of these tiny, miniature long haired dachsund babies for me to be instantly smitten, and of course I didn't choose one, one chose me, this tiny, feisty little chap came straight over to me and that was it ... I wanted him . They had pedigrees as long as your arm these tiny little bundles of wriggling fur and the cost was quite horrendous, but as my birthday was on its way, one could be my present.

The day came to collect him, I called him Ben, thinking a small dog should have a small name. We had bought just about everything we thought a young pup would need, and took him home, where he was instantly petrified of everything, including my tall, noisy husband. After I got Ben out from behind the fridge and settled him in a bit it was time for bed. So we went off upstairs leaving Ben in his little doggy bed in a kitchen lined with newspaper, and discovered that the smallness of an animal bears absolutely no relation to his capacity for NOISE.

The crying commenced almost immediately and rose to such a crescendo that half the street must have been awake. So I got up and set a precedent for the following few nights.... sleeping on the sofa with a small warm puppy inside my nightie! Eventually it became apparent that Ben would only sleep if he had bodily contact and he soon made it upstairs to our bed where he would sleep nestled into me. This of course enhanced the bonding process!

Ben soon began to accompany me everywhere. My ex hubby even became less embarrassed about taking him places too as Ben proved to be quite a feisty little crittur. A neighbour had a St Bernard pup and the two became friends, it was a delight to watch th
e enormous St Bernard being mercilessly bullied by the minute Ben, who would steal the big dogs toys, eat his food, run rings round him. Yet they loved each other.

Not quite as much as I loved Ben. Even though he would now sleep alone downstairs, that initial bonding had set the seal we were inseperable. I trained him and he proved a quick learner, most of the time I exercised him and beggared the belief that a tiny dog wouldn't need long walks, he took me for hikes! We took him to the seaside and to the park and began to look at pet friendly holidays for the following year.

Ben was my loving companion, my baby, fiercely loyal and always amusing, seldom naughty, he was the perfect pet and I ADORED him.

Hubby and I shared a car, sometimes I would take it to work and on those occasions Ben would accompany me to work. While in the car I would keep him on the lead with the end looped around the inside handle. Ben had learnt from me that when he was on the lead he had to do just as he was told and would sit quietly, even in the office, if his lead was on he would sit quietly and he knew that ONLY when I took his lead off, outdoors in a field or the garden or the beach he could then run amok and jump and play to his hearts content. Which wasn't bad learning for a little puppy not yet a year old.

One day hubby had a dentist appointment, so he would use the car that day. Ben would stay home all day and hubby would drop me off and pick me up at work, after his appointment. I wasn't too surprised when he was a bit late collecting me, the dentist must have taken longer than usual. I heard the car pull up, he seemed to be taking a long time to come into the office ... then the door opened, I glanced up saying " How did the dentist go?" and then I saw his face, he looked so glum, he couldn't speak, he was shaking his head. My blood ran cold as I didn't know what was wrong and the daftest thought came into my hea
d ... Oh my the dentist has told him he has to have all his teeth out!

Then I saw there was blood on his sweater, and still I thought it was something to do with the dentist and I said " Oh my poor love, have they taken a tooth out today?" and he shook his head and said the worst words I have ever heard in my life.....
"Bens dead" just like that, he said it, his voice choked with tears.

I couldn't take it in, my baby couldn't be dead, I had only seen him that morning, I had bought his favourite, chicken, for his tea... I had it, here in my shopping bag, see, HE COULD NOT BE DEAD! The blood rushed to my head and I nearly fainted and he guided me out to the car saying he would tell me about it once he got me home. He just kept saying "I'm so sorry" but I couldn't grasp what he meant.

I made to get in the car, and he made me get in the back and I didn't want to and then he said " you can't get in the front, I haven't had time to clean the blood up!"
That was when I lost it, big time. I got totally hysterical, screaming at him to tell me what exactly had happened, I wouldn't budge until he told me.
What he told me was this....

He had taken Ben to the dentist with him and then thought he would pop back home for something he needed, I can't even remember what it was, something unimportant, and when he pulled up outside our house, as he was only nipping in for a second he thought he'd leave Ben in the car. So he got out but Ben jumped out beside him, and he ran around the side of the car, all excited and into the quiet cul de sac where we lived, thinking it was time to play, just at the very second a neighbour was driving past and ran straight under the wheels of this car. I wasn't even there and I heard his screams, in my mind, I can still hear them 20 years later and I didn't WANT to hear anymore but still he went on, he was in shock t
oo.... telling me Ben was dead by the time he picked him up .... and it was whirling round in my head ..

I could hear someone screaming,
They were screaming " But didn't you have his LEAD on?"
" you MUST have had him held by his lead"
" He knows its SAFE if he hasn't his lead on"
" YOU KILLED HIM"

I was completely inconsolable. I was totally irrational. I wanted to kill my husband. I wanted to die myself. It was horrible of me to lay the blame at his door when he felt bad too but he had as good as admitted it was his fault.

I wanted to know where his little body was, I MUST say goodbye.
It was the last chance I had.

"Where have you put him?" I asked " Where is my baby?"
When he told me he had rushed him straight to the vets to see if anything could be done he almost redeemed himself ... almost.
But when he went on to say that the vet confirmed his massive injuries had killed him outright and offered to take the body and DISPOSE of it, and that he had just left him there. Well, I honestly think that was the final straw.

I grieved so much I was off work for a few days, I was devastated. I would lie in bed at night and I could HEAR him, downstairs, crying wanting to be with me, honestly I really could. Nobody could console me. We couldn't even console each other, the blame and the hurting put paid to that.

I never really got over it. I still haven't, I only have 3 photos of him and one of those had my ex on it. It doesn't now. I carefully cut him off and only Ben remains. It was almost 2 years later that we got divorced. Irreconcilable differences. Many reasons. But I was never able to quite forgive him for Ben dying. I haven't quite forgiven myself. I know it was an accident which could have happened to anyone. I know it was a moments carelessness which ended his little life. But some things hurt too muc
h, deep inside to ever be completely healed, and the grief never quite goes away.

TUPPENCES TALE

Now let me take you back, many years to when I was a teenager, which is where this story begins. I was 16 and if you remember at the beginning I told you that we had many cats when I was very small, but after several accidents on the busy main road my parents lived on, we had no more.

My friend lived over the road and one wintery rainy night I was returning from her house when I spotted something in the middle of the road. Half way across the road cowering in the middle of the traffic was a tiny black shape. It was a kitten and it was about to meet the same fate as many of my erstwhile pets had on this same road. Rather foolishly I waited for a brief gap in the heavy traffic and ran into the road and scooped up this tiny trembling, soaking wet kitten and dashed back to safety.

So I tucked it inside my jacket and took it home. I went in the house quietly and into the kitchen and grabbed a towel and began to dry it and it purred like a pneumatic drill, Then I gave it a saucer of milk and my Mam came in and she looked and said
" Oh, NO, where did you get that? We can't keep it. I don't want another cat"

I agreed, wisely realising that seeming to comply might be my best tactic. I even opened the back door, letting the wind and rain rush in and saying " I'll turf it back out there then shall I?" My Mum reluctantly agreed that it would be cruel and we could keep it for a day or two, while we advertised for its real owner and she settled down with the kitten on her lap, in front of the fire. She did tell me she had put a card in the corner shop window about it, but I went in there for sweets and never saw it.

No more was ever said and eventually we christened the cat Tuppence. It was a she cat and having her speyed put paid to her wanderings and reduced the risk of the main road, or maybe
it was her initial brush with death there but she never went near it, ever.

I was so happy that this cat had become such a fine companion for my Mum, my Dad too was very devoted, she was a lovely cat. When I left home, at 21 there was no question of me taking Tuppence as my Mum and Dad would have missed her, probably more than they were going to miss me! Over the years I would go back and visit and Tuppence was always there, always affectionate, nearly always by my Mums side. Until, when I was 28, my Mum died of Cancer. Tuppence became my Dads companion, quite an elderly cat at 12 but still healthy and loving.

Now to try and cut an extremely long story a bit shorter, I will gloss over the reasons for a rift with my Dad which resulted in my losing touch with him after my Mums death. Until one day, by which time I was 36, I received news that he had died, (it really is another long story) I was given the keys to his house and the person who had been looking after them told me he had been going round to feed my Dads cat. Oh No I thought not another cat, why on earth had my Dad got another cat?

So my partner and I went round to the house I hadn't set foot in for 8 years, and there on the sofa, was Tuppence! Yes it really was the same cat I had rescued as a teenager. She was obviously very old, unsteady on her pins and absolutely STONE deaf. She seemd to recognise me too, creeping onto my knee and purring. It wasn't until I saw her that the floodgates opened, I am an only child and I suddenly realised that this very old animal was the only living link I had with my family now. It was far too late to make up the rift with my Dad but it wasn't too late for me to give Tuppence a warm place by my fireside for what I expected to be her few remaining months. She seemed so ancient and frail. I had had no idea at all that she was still alive and had assumed that she must have passed away after all this time.

The few relatives wh
o turned up at the funeral were scathing when I told them I had got Tuppence, saying I should have her put to sleep, they had been trying to persuade my dad to have it done as not only was she deaf, she was incontinent, nearly toothless and obviously near the end of her days. But as the days went on and after she got over the trauma of being uprooted from the place she had spent all her life she began to flourish.

I think it was the fact that my dad wasn't able to care for her properly as he was so ill himself which had made her seem so ancient and decrepit and here she was finding a new lease of life, she was not incontinent, she became playful and quite lively and she was 20 years old which is pretty darn ancient for a cat. Her deafness was no problem at all, in fact it was a bonus in some ways as we could play really loud rock music and she never batted an eyelid.

However it was not a partnership without its problems. Anyone who has read my op on my present feline, Smokey will know that my partner Brian is asthmatic and TERRIBLY allergic to cats, and having Tuppence at home caused a flare up of his asthma, Yet he grew so fond of her as she was such an adorable animal that we contrived to minimise his asthma by constantly clearing up all cat fur and making sure she never went in the bedroom. She did make him quite ill though, yet we put up with it, knowing that cats seldom live to much more than 20 and we knew her days were numbered and I became so emotionally attached to her, she was my only link to my much missed Mum.

She went from strength to strength. Loving to sit on my knee, adoring warm cosy spots near a radiator, and we spoilt her rotten! No tinned whiskas for this miraculous survivor, but fresh fish, chicken and prawns. After we had had her for almost 3 years she began to become less active. She slept more than she was awake and one day her breathing suddenly became very laboured. We rushed her to the vets who by now, knew
her well, we had her regularly checked and she was his eldest feline patient. He checked her and I was sure the worst was coming... it would be time to have her put to sleep, we had known this day was coming yet I still wasn't ready for it.

But to our surprise he said she had some fluid on her lungs and he thought he may be able to drain it off successfully which would possibly extend her lifespan a bit longer. Her heart was remarkably strong and he thought she may be able to cope with the operation despite her age. But because of her age and deafness he gave us the option of having her put to sleep there and then.

In hindsight I feel we should have said yes, enough is enough. But we didn't, she had the op and it worked! She came home with us one more time, and for a month or so she was her old self, but gradually she just sort of faded, her sparkle went, she seldom left her bed, she only ate tiny morsels of food. She tried to get to her litter tray but sometimes she didn't quite make it and she hated this, I could tell, she was a very clean fastidious cat.

I was selfish, I didn't want her to die, this was my chance to play God and decide whether we let her slip away peacefully, now, or hung on a bit and gave her a little longer. What I didn't realise at the time was I was giving US a bit longer. I was hanging on, longer than was kind. Oh we gave her love and care and so much affection. But I still couldn't take the final plunge.

It was a weekend, Saturday night when she refused to get out of her bed and I KNEW we should take her to the vet straight away and let him give her an injection. But I said lets just wait until after the weekend, maybe she will pick up again. But she stayed in bed, until Sunday night, she tried to get up and come to me for a cuddle and as she reached my feet she collapsed, on the floor, purring and couldn't get up. It was late at night and the vets was closed and I put her in
her bed and neither of us thought she would still be alive in the morning. We thought, no, we hoped, she would slip away peacefully in her own little bed at home.

In the morning Brian got up very early and he went down stairs and she wasn't in her bed. He found her in her litter tray, just lying in the cat litter, she had tried to make it one last time without making a mess, he thought she was dead and went to pick her up and got the shock of his life when she began to purr again. She had laid there so long she had cat litter in her eyes and he gently wiped it away before shouting me to get dressed QUICK we had to go to the vet and we had to go NOW.

She was still purring when we rushed into the vets before surgery was due and he took one look and laid her gently on the operating table on a blanket, saying "I will have to give her an injection to help her die peacefully". I held her while he put the needle in, and she was so ill by then he couldn't find a vein, her system had all but stopped functioning and it took forever for the lethal drug to do its work as her blood was moving so sluggishly. We only knew she'd finally gone when the purrs ceased. I cannot describe how awful I felt.

I feel so guilty that I was too selfish to realise when enough is enough. If this very long story helps just one person not to make the same mistake and let go while their beloved pet can still remain in their memory as a fairly happy animal that is all I want. My lovely memories are forever tainted by the dreadful sight of her with cat litter stuck in her eyes and the knowledge that I was too much of a coward to let go when I should have.

I just know this is going to lose some people half way through but I couldn't shorten it and say what I needed.

I LOVED my pets and still grieve and this is in memory of two wonderful characters.

Summary: