Nubble visit

She seemed fine when I saw her today, as if nothing was amiss. She always yaps with joy when I come to see her, which is usually to walk her. Today was a little different.

I was over at my parents’ at about 12:30. My dad was off today. He was teary-eyed throughout the exchange (this is rare), with both of us expanding on how fucking cruel the universe is. Here’s this blameless and loving animal, destined to die within weeks. Meanwhile rat bastard murderers run rampant around the country. If there were a God, he’d be welcome to suck my cock.

Yes. I get it. There’s no cosmic justice. Shit happens. Therein lies the problem, at some philosophical level.

I gathered up a bunch of Nubble’s hair as I scratched her belly, and put it in a Ziploc bag. It will stay with me forever. She was calm and welcoming throughout the entire encounter. I have seen this dog on at least 90 percent of the days since I have been back to New Hampshire–probably more like 95 percent–and feel like I am losing one of my own.

I got my hands on Nubble’s paperwork. Formally, she has histiocytic sarcoma. This, as I remember from my own days of playing doctor, is essentially a death sentence. It implies a disseminated carcinoma that we as lowly humans are incapable of halting, for now anyway. This in all surety popped up in Nubble not only in her spleen but in her liver, and maybe elsewhere. Chemotherapy would be of no use. Palliative measures only. She’ll be gone soon, despite how solid she seemed today.

After I gathered up a good bunch of her hair (easy to do with a retriever in the fall!), I simply said goodbye. I’ll see her again, I am sure, but today was extremely poignant.

More later. I’m so tired.

8 thoughts on “Nubble visit”

  1. When Sam, my previous golden, died last June, I couldn’t bring myself to keep any of her hair, or anything else of hers. Instead I tried to purge the house of all remnants of her, cleaning everything, throwing away all collars and leashes, in an attempt to dull the pain (apparently self-medicating with large doses of beer wasn’t enough). The one thing I never fixed was the flattened spot in the corner of the yard where she always laid. Damn if I didn’t cry every time I looked at that spot after she was gone. Now the yard is full of signs of Sophie (she’s quite a digger) and is a happier place. All except that one spot; although greatly faded, it still chokes me up. It should be invisible by next spring I suppose.

    Anyways, pardon my blathering, I’m very glad to hear that Nubble is still enjoying life and is not in pain.

    PS If there is a god he clearly hates us – why else make a golden retriever that only lives 9 years. A loving god would have made them indestructible.

  2. “Oh, gee, don’t you understand? God works in mysterious ways. It’s all too complicated for us humans to understand. It’s all part of his master plan that we can’t comprehend.”

    And it never occurs to these dipshits that if there is an all-powerful, all-knowing, loving god pulling the strings, then he must have the ability to reach these ends without making innocents suffer. Or even those who love the innocents suffer. The concept of god has negative explanatory power. Not only doesn’t it help explain things, it actually makes explanations more difficult and convoluted.

    If this was my dog and someone told me that this was all part of god’s plan, I’d punch him in the nuts.

    1. “God works in mysterious ways?”

      I don’t think so.
      Bone heaven for dogs, boner heaven for Muslims.
      What could possibly be any more clearer?

  3. She’s a good girl Nubble is.

    It took me two years to throw away Sierra’s collar. I got rid of Tasha’s pad immediately. My Tigger-cat died in Mike’s arms.

    They don’t live long enough, our beloved pets.

  4. After Mira (calico cat) died I collected some of her hairs. The was a tri-color, the patches really quite distinct. I glued one of each color to a bit of paper and put that in a locket with her picture on the other side.

    Living in a fairly large city as I was at the time, there was no practical way to bury her in the back yard, and I didn’t want to tote her ashes around for the rest of my life. So I needed a more portable way to handle the grief, one that wasn’t too obtrusive.

    That locket really helped me deal with the mourning period. I still have it, too.

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