Rusty

I figured today I should sit and write something, since a lot has been on my mind. This week has been the hardest in recent memory. I haven't done so much on Google Plus or anything lately, although don't blame me for having indulged a Youtube argument about religion just to feel a little good about myself. The people who support me are wonderful. And there's been an outpouring of love and support this week much befitting of you all.


The story is that my dog has died. Not Guardian Wennie, but her brother Rusty. Rusty was a 17 year old boxer, who we'd had for about two years. He'd been having rough nights lately, and this has haunted my thoughts for a while. This poem was written on November 16th. And it was terribly prescient. This week warrants an explanation, and you guys are gonna get a good one.

Saturday was when Rusty came in and laid in my arms. He wasn't allowed up on the bed because he had bad arthritis. However, I made an exception this time. He came up and hugged me closer than we ever had before, and I told him in a cute voice, "You're like Weenie now!" We napped there for a few hours, then I woke up and stirred him by accident. The movement hurt him, and he squealed in pain. He completely stopped eating his food at that point, and my mother fed him some old turkey. Evidently it made him sick, because he had diarrhea all over our carpet that night. They put him out and he shat all along the sides of the fence. I'll stop there.

Sunday was when they called me in and told me he was dying. Earlier in the day, my sister talked about putting him down. His kidneys may be failing, she had said. Now he couldn't move. I leaned down close as we all did on the floor, at the corner of the couch. I told him I loved him and that he was the best dog we could have had; he shook with the death tremors. My mother's friend came over and said he could lay that way for days, and I began to accept the idea that we would need to put him down to prevent this. No vet service was open at the time, and so we prepared for a long night.

We gave him comfort, food and water. And to our surprise, he ate heartily. He perked up quickly, and hopes grew high. My mother's friend said "We'd like you to have you around for a bit longer, if we can". Once his condition stabilized, I went to bed for two hours; everything had exhausted me. When I woke up, my family filed off to bed and I laid on the couch, pulling Rusty's bed up close where it was visible. They told me he had gotten up for a few seconds. But he quickly had fallen to the ground again. I stayed up all night giving him water, sleeping around 3am.

Monday morning, my mother asked if we'd still have to put him down. I told her he was looking much better, and he was. Rusty was even up walking now. I stayed with him all throughout the day. When lunch time came, he ate like a sailor. The syringe was necessary to give him water now, because he didn't want to drink. From this fact and from other behaviors, I determined from my knowledge that he wasn't dying of kidney failure. My very early guess was that he was hungry and with an electrolyte imbalance. My sister contributed on Sunday that his skin was stuck to his bones. I also examined his gums, and they were nearly white. Sure signs of dehydration. In hindsight, he was probably dehydrated from the diarrhea and from his strange disdain of water. He also was sick and had fluid in his lungs, evident by heavy, uncomfortable breathing.

Tuesday was only a better day for Rusty. He ate a lot throughout the day, and my grandmother brought me some food to give him. She said to give him as much as he would like, and we did so. We'd feed him that food for the rest of his life, she said. We took him outside and everything was normal. When I finally took off from Rusty watch after probably 18 hours straight, I went and played some Gmod with my friend. Every thirty minutes, I was sure to give Rusty some water and to check his condition. After a while we were having good fun, and I pulled Rusty's bed in so he could watch. It was a rainy day, and later I played World At War with another friend for a little while. Then my internet suddenly cut out. This guy from Cox came to my door and said he was doing some preventative maintenance and he had accidentally loosened my cable cord. I went in and fixed it, and he went on his way. I slept in my own bed for the first time in a while. And Rusty was right next to me in his bed.

The next day, Rust wasn't eating so much. I spent the day with him again, trying to get him to eat. Now he was drinking water somewhat, which looked like a great sign. He went outside quite a few times, things still looking normal. But by 9pm, he couldn't lay down for long. He started to walk around restlessly. Despite being on the tired side, he began crying after a few minutes in one spot. He did this for hours, and every cry on his part haunted me. All he wanted was to go outside. When I put him outside, he only walked into the darkness and tried to dig under the fence. I took this as a vain attempt to escape. He knew he was going to die soon. I called my mother and told her she needed to come home quickly, and that I think Rusty's lungs weren't doing good. We had some Robitussin we had gotten him a few days earlier for the fluid and had not used. I told my mother that's probably what he needed. He was labouring to breathe, and it seemed every breath would induce a sharp pain in his lungs.

By the time she got back, his cries had worsened. We gave him a pain pill and began petting him closely as we had three nights before. My mother was with him the whole time trying to comfort him, while I couldn't help but sit and reflect sometimes about what was happening. I looked for an answer. I kept asking, "What is this?" He would go from her room, to my sister's room, to my room. He'd wander around in search for a spot with no pain, never reaching it. Finally, he came in my room and I found a spot on his flank where I rubbed him. It eased his pain, momentarily. When he got up again and walked into my mother's room, I appealed the Universe for a chance to take half his pain upon myself and to bear it with him. Even if he were to die, I would take any amount of pain to help him.

Soon, Rusty let out a yelp and stopped breathing entirely. His body fell cold and his eyes looked forward and didn't move. All sounds eluded him except for my mother's crying. I didn't immediately cry. I assured him, "I love you, Rusty". At that point, I hopped over to his side and felt his chest, sticking my thumb and my pulse as high in the air as they'd go. His heart was weak, and faded to quiet in my arms. My sister came in. We wrapped his body up in some bedsheets and put him in the garage for the night. I took a warm bath and cried silently but fiercely. I'd wanted to save him.

Thursday, we dug him a grave and buried him. I spent the whole day thinking about how different life would be. I held Guardian Wennie close to me and often made teases at Rusty, although I soon noticed he wasn't there to hear them. There wasn't any blaming him or myself. He had to go, and we'd meet again someday shiny.

Last night I had a dream where my class was graduating in New York City. It was like a huge shopping mall. Consumer products everywhere, except military police blocking the place off with a giant fence! I walked through the place and got to some high floor, with windows overlooking the no-man's land. My class were all eating steaks and drinking wine, socializing like social gentry. I walked into the bar to a table with one broken glass, and they poured me some root beer. I sat alone and scarcely looked around, focusing on eating. On the table, I was eating Rusty's body - completely nonchalantly. Pretty soon I spat out a tooth, and I suddenly found myself at the bottom of the giant slope, at the edge of no-man's land. I walked around and said I wanted to keep the tooth as a memory, like they keep shark teeth. However, my mother told me that point was moot. Quickly I woke up, feeling strangely better.

Rusty was a great friend. Though I'd have had him much longer. I'd have saved him from everything if things would have had themselves that way. But I admit that he died a relatively painless death. And I know that all the love he showed me, and what made him Rusty, was a beautiful expression of the New World. That same spirit is what makes me myself too, and I won't forget it.

So without further adew, I present to you my poem.

Rusty

Today's the day you can't move your leg
You hold it up as you wobble and hop

Some weeks ago, you didn't get up to eat
Now it's a near daily occurrence

And such a thing scares me so much
I feel we party your life away.

I'm writing you away, as you try
In vain maybe, to find a place to rest.

You could be seen unto dreams
Crash into slumber in my arms

Like a true friend, I'd wait for you until morning
Keep watch for you in the night

I want to come with you one day, buddy
We should bring back your vitality

I'd strip half the length of my telomeres
Slap it onto yours in a second

You're my best friend, and I want no less
Take my health and run off

Have some new adventures
Live your life half as fully as have I.