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No. 7463
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My family had two dogs.
The first one, a rottweiler was trained by my father, which you could really tell. She wouldn't jump on the couch or bed. She wouldn't whine for food. My father went out to the woods near our house without any kind of leash on her all the time. One time she threw up, my father yelled at her and she ate the vomit and cleaned the floor by licking. That image really burned into my mind.
One time, my little sister and her friend were harrassing her while she was eating, so she bit the friend in her arm. Some stitches and that's it. It was back in the early 90's, nowadays the dog would've probably been put down because local trash mags or some shit would've been all over it.
A long after that, she was put down because of bone cancer, when walking became too painful.
That's the only time I've seen my father cry. He's a pretty tough guy, some history in the military, ex-cop, professional boxer and to top it off, a taxi driver. The dog had to be buried in a spot originally designed for a horse, because the 'dog size' graves seemed to be reserved for smaller, cuter? ones.
Now, the second one. He's still around.
But he's the exact opposite, a cocker spaniel with extremely long ears, so long that he trips on them from time to time and they drag the ground. And by opposite I mean, he's 'trained' by my mother only.. and well.. he's just a complete mess, I've been thinking many times that he's maybe retarded or something, because he's the type that runs after his own tail.. and eventually against a wall because he's going too fast. Sits on the sofa, whines for food every time someone is eating something and howls on middle of the night for no reason. If someone comes over that he recognizes, he goes bat-shit insane and starts to bark like mad, jump around and generally just flip-out.
Personally, I liked our cat more, but he died at the age of 13 or so, something to do with his liver.
He would always be near me, always. I really don't know why he picked me out of all the family members, probably because I was just sitting still 90% of the time.
He would lay down on the desk next to the mouse and I guess to get my attention, lay his paw on top of my hand, so I couldn't use the mouse. I thought that was hilarious.
When I went to sleep, he would jump on top of my chest and sometimes clean my arms by licking, which was a rather long progress and it felt like my skin was going numb, but I remember reading from somewhere that cats do that out of respect so I figured I'd better let him finish.
The day he died I could tell something was wrong, he had already been to the vet a couple of times before for acting strange. Eventually, he just went under my bed, as back far as he could, and stayed there.
I tried to get him to come out, but he wouldn't.
Not any sounds or nothing, just laid there, breathing heavily.
After couple of hours or so, he had died.
It was so fucking unreal that at the time, I didn't cry. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, somehow looking very natural, but when I touched him, it was like he couldn't have ever been alive.
Stiff as a rock and ice cold.
A little after that I moved to my own place and I've been thinking about getting a cat, but.. I don't think I could go through the kitten phase by myself to be honest, I'm having enough trouble with myself as it is.
And people who aren't ready to take care of animals and still take pets, should be fucking shot.
Post edited on 9th Oct 2011, 10:03pm
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