RIP, Casey

YGBFKM,

There's no way I should have read this today. But God speed and rest in peace to your wonderful puppy.

My wife and I are going through tough times with our Corgi, Monster. He's undergone extreme behavior changes over the past couple of weeks and has symptoms that all seem to point to a brain tumor. And he's only 3 years old. We're making a three-hour trek to Texas A&M tomorrow for a neuro consult and to do an MRI. I've been a wreck for days, and I can't bear the thought of losing my best buddy.

I hope and pray for a smooth grieving process. Dogs are the best.

 

So sorry to hear that. That's just too young. I hope everything works out for the best and you get many more years with Monster.

 

That's awesome.

 

It's probably fruitless to say this, but don't beat yourself up. This is what counts: you gave her a long, rich life.

 

I'm so sorry, man.

Like others have said, those good memories will eventually outweigh the pain you're feeling right now.

 

That's the grief talking. It'll turn into a Christopher Walken tattoo in a few decades.

 

All the best, Y. Losing a pet is truly losing a member of the family. My condolences on your loss, but remember the 98 good years you shared with a smile.

And that first post on the thread was simply beautiful.

 

That sucks. Sorry for your loss my friend.

I had a Huskie named Casey, the sweetest, stupidest dog I've ever had. She passed away just after I got married after getting hit by a car. I don't think my mom has gotten over it yet.

Sorry again.

 

Bumping this thread for a little catharisis. I wrote a column that will publish Monday, but I thought I'd post it here first as an additional tribute to my old girl.

In a sparse, sterile, tan room, two blankets were placed on the floor. One was plain white, the other was white with blue, pink and brown stripes. Casey was carried into the room on another white blanket. She was not oblivious, but she was not all there. She was as still as I’d ever seen her. She was placed on the floor. I curled up next to her on the blankets, stroking the top of her head, whispering in her ear. Her big brown eyes were open, staring at nothing in particular. I started crying.
•••
Casey was one of a kind. Anyone who was ever around her would inevitably ask, usually within the first minute, "What is she?"

No one ever knew. The best anyone could tell, she was some sort of border collie/corgi mix. Casey didn't have papers. She came from a cardboard box in the back of a pickup in an elementary school parking lot. She was free. She was priceless.

I spent the first hour with that high-strung ball of black fur sprawled out on the wet grass next to a softball field. While church league practice went on around us, I held her close to me, preventing her from scampering carelessly in whatever direction she happened to be pointed.

Casey was always so full of life -- from the moment we met until the moment on her last day when a cancerous mass in her abdomen burst.

For 14 years, she was my constant, loving companion. Through a marriage, through the fallout -- all those lost years -- Casey was by my side. From Arkansas to Florida to Chicago, back to Florida, back to Arkansas, to Indiana, once more to Florida, once more to Arkansas and finally to Virginia, Casey was there.

Then last March, after loyally and happily sticking with me through years of being cooped up in one-bedroom apartments as I tried to find myself, Casey got to meet her new mom. Upon picking her up at the kennel in Arkansas, the first thing she did was race to the nearest patch of grass and pee. That was Casey. The next thing she did was walk up to the stranger I'd brought with me, carefully lick her hand and look at her lovingly with those big brown eyes. That was Casey, too.

I am so glad they got to experience one another, even for a relatively short time. Knowing that Casey received so much love the last year of her life is the one thing -- above even the treasure of memories -- that makes her passing somewhat bearable.

Tonight, I will drive home and think about this column. And just like every night since we said goodbye, I will replay the memories. At some point, guilt will set in, and I will wonder why I didn't take more breaks from work to spend time with Casey, why I didn't make all the walks just a little longer, why I ever yelled at such a sweet, perfect dog.

I suppose in time the obsession will fade and Casey will take up residence in that place in our minds where all good things go to rest. In peace.

But it's been eight days and I'm still replaying ... still wondering ... still crying.

 

YGBFKM, since you were there wishing me and my Belle well after I posted about her being attacked earlier this year, I want to do the same for you. Your dog left us knowing she was loved and that was the greatest gift you could give her.

Peace be with you,

Ape.

(Now if I could just get this water out of my eyes.)

 

Just found this thread. ::Raises glass to the dearly departed Casey:: I'm sorry for your loss, Y. Just lost my best buds in October, and I'm still torn on whether it was a good thing that I wasn't there when they were put to rest.

I hope my next pet will bring me as good a 14 years as apparently Casey did for you.