Kiwi Crocus (cranky__crocus) wrote,
Kiwi Crocus

I'm joining Lash in tears. My 14-year-old pug, Muggzzey, died today.

What's worse is that he was hit by a truck that was only being moved about 12 feet in the driveway; the driver was my uncle's best friend, who has not yet met me and was going to meet me this evening. I know he feels terrible ("This is how I'm going to meet your niece? Killing her dog?") and yet it could have been anyone. Mugz was the worst around cars.

There was a yelp but he did much of his dying in my father's arms and was mostly gone by the time they got to the vet, where she gave him the Last Shot. I was not there. Yes, it is going to be something I feel terrible about for the rest of my life. I spent my dog's last week and weekends looking after other people's dogs.

There is currently some difficulty--in conflicting feelings--because my family was all prepared to bury him (my brother dug a hole) and however ridiculous it may seem, I want to cremate him. He was my first pet, I had him more of my life than I didn't, and I want to be able to spread him all the places we loved together--plus some of the ones I never got to show him, like the park near my new house. I want to be the sort of crazy pet woman who has a necklace with a few of her first pet's remains. I don't care. My mother thinks I am dragging things out and I know I am making this more difficult on her.

But of course I'm mindful of the fact that my mother wants the closure of a fast burial. I do feel guilty, and I will no matter how this turns out, although I'm fairly confident they will follow my desires as he was my lifelong canine friend.

Everything just hurts. Understandably--and expectedly.

I'm about to go over there and say my last goodbyes to his fuzzy old-man pug body, the husk in which I loved him so very very much.

23 November 1999 - 20 September 2013.

The old boy snuggling up with my unicorn plushie, which I got at 13 for being too short to ride a rollercoaster my brother could ride at 11. Mugz never minded my height; it meant I found it easier to duck down and love him.

I love you, you crazy little huffle-puffer. I'm sorry I didn't get to cuddle up with you for one more night my baby boy.

[Crossposted from dreamwidth.]
Tags: death, grieving, muggzzey
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