Sad call from Dad.
Nov. 20th, 2005 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saffronharePerhaps it's my Irish heritage, but whenever the phone rings after about 10 p.m., I figure it's because somebody is dead. I hate it when I'm right.
Dad called to tell my his dog died. He was sitting in the car outside the vet's office and just couldn't drive yet. Polky was a really, really great dog...but it was very hard to hear my dad crying, knowing I needed to keep him on the line a bit longer so he'd be okay to drive. I guess now I know why I wanted to take the phone to bed with me tonight.
UPDATE: Thanks for all the well-wishes. Rowan took the news okay this morning, refusing to hear details until after school because she didn't want to get "all puffy." (sigh) Sometime soon, a sock will be misplaced there will be Tears All Out of Proportion with a lost sock.
See, Polky was supposed to be my dog. I picked her out of the litter the Christmas after I'd left West Point. She was an engagement gift from my parents -- a pure-bred, show-quality American Cocker Spaniel. I handed her to my then-fiancee for inspection and, when she proceeded to crap all over him, I decided she was a Good Dog. The name on the paperwork is Polka-Dot Pooch (aka Polky). I was commuting back and forth to KU at the time, and eventually got an apartment was less expensive than the gas and time. My folks kept the dog at their place, but she was a hoor. Dad was having a rough time of it -- coming to terms with retirement and an emerging disability -- and a fluffy little puppy was just the ticket. They fell in love and there was nothing for it. If you've ever met my dad, you can imagine the comedy gold in the picture of him with a black-and-white spotted puppy. Somehow, she escaped the curse of overbreeding and turned out to be calm and good-natured, decently trained and everything.
When we moved out to RI and mom started watching Rowan, this dog slept in her crib at naptime. Polky even played dress-up. When we were out visiting over the summer, Polky was her shadow. Make no mistake: this was a very old dog, who by most estimates should have been dead long ago. She had a siezure on the bathroom floor tonight. When dad leaned down to rub her to say good-bye, she started breathing again, so they rushed to the vet's office. She siezed up again on the table, and they gave her the shot right then.
In the grand scheme of things, the death of a very old dog isn't a big deal. But shit, I really wish I had a shoulder to cry on tonight. And I dread giving Rowan this news in the morning.
Dad called to tell my his dog died. He was sitting in the car outside the vet's office and just couldn't drive yet. Polky was a really, really great dog...but it was very hard to hear my dad crying, knowing I needed to keep him on the line a bit longer so he'd be okay to drive. I guess now I know why I wanted to take the phone to bed with me tonight.
UPDATE: Thanks for all the well-wishes. Rowan took the news okay this morning, refusing to hear details until after school because she didn't want to get "all puffy." (sigh) Sometime soon, a sock will be misplaced there will be Tears All Out of Proportion with a lost sock.
See, Polky was supposed to be my dog. I picked her out of the litter the Christmas after I'd left West Point. She was an engagement gift from my parents -- a pure-bred, show-quality American Cocker Spaniel. I handed her to my then-fiancee for inspection and, when she proceeded to crap all over him, I decided she was a Good Dog. The name on the paperwork is Polka-Dot Pooch (aka Polky). I was commuting back and forth to KU at the time, and eventually got an apartment was less expensive than the gas and time. My folks kept the dog at their place, but she was a hoor. Dad was having a rough time of it -- coming to terms with retirement and an emerging disability -- and a fluffy little puppy was just the ticket. They fell in love and there was nothing for it. If you've ever met my dad, you can imagine the comedy gold in the picture of him with a black-and-white spotted puppy. Somehow, she escaped the curse of overbreeding and turned out to be calm and good-natured, decently trained and everything.
When we moved out to RI and mom started watching Rowan, this dog slept in her crib at naptime. Polky even played dress-up. When we were out visiting over the summer, Polky was her shadow. Make no mistake: this was a very old dog, who by most estimates should have been dead long ago. She had a siezure on the bathroom floor tonight. When dad leaned down to rub her to say good-bye, she started breathing again, so they rushed to the vet's office. She siezed up again on the table, and they gave her the shot right then.
In the grand scheme of things, the death of a very old dog isn't a big deal. But shit, I really wish I had a shoulder to cry on tonight. And I dread giving Rowan this news in the morning.
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 06:17 am (UTC)My shoulder...
Date: 2005-11-21 08:57 am (UTC)The world will continue to turn. Turn with it and all will be well.
(comforting hugs)
no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 01:46 pm (UTC)I'm sure Polky is doing well wherever she is, though. And still watching over Rowan, and crapping on people who need it (ethereally speaking, anyway).
no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 02:45 pm (UTC)words fail
Date: 2005-11-21 04:07 pm (UTC)So Sorry
Date: 2005-11-21 09:25 pm (UTC)Re: So Sorry
Date: 2005-11-21 10:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-21 10:49 pm (UTC)