The First Failed Attempt to Euthanize Cooper

I have been avoiding writing this post since last Thursday. Mostly because it makes me sad, partially because I know when my mother reads this, (as she undoubtedly will) she will be very sad, and partially because I wanted to make sure I had enough time to really be able to get the point across of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation at hand.

My dog Cooper was found as a pup by a rescue agency on the side of the road. After three months or so, he still hadn't been adopted. One last ditch effort found Cooper at a Petsmart in Chesterfield Valley, where my recently divorced mother, my little brother and I happened to be passing through on our way to our Aunt Tracy's. We went into the Petsmart on a whim, not really expecting to find a dog, but there he was: all long legs and scared eyes and his tail tucked under. He came over and put his head between Mom's legs and we were sold... or he was sold, to us.

Nine years later, we still had our long legged, scared eyed, tail tucked under Cooper. He had gone from being a skinny little boy to a fat happy boy that loved squeaky toys, pineapple-pepperoni pizza, and bananas. We adored Cooper, and he was in puppy love with all of us.

It was only in the past few months that he seemed different. His usual routine, (because he was a very regimented dog) was to eat a mountain of food in the morning, and then again at supper time. Then he stopped eating as much, and then altogether.

We tried changing his food, finding softer foods, only giving him things he liked, but after three months he had lost almost forty pounds. He looked emaciated, with his ribs poking out and his spine visible all the way down his back. Even the fat on his skull had begun to diminish leaving his brow ridge protruding like a cave-dog's.

We finally agreed that it was time to put him to sleep when he stopped drinking water for two days. He couldn't get upstairs, he wasn't eating, his breathing was even labored.

Mom and I waited for Adam to get home, then we dragged him out from under the table, (since he couldn't even get up from that) and loaded him in the car, taking him to the vet's office. They put us in a special room, (forever seared in my mind as the Killing Room) and took Cooper away to put in a catheter. This was apparently going to help making the euthanasia get delivered faster. This was an incorrect assumption.

They brought Cooper back with a red armband on and asked us if we wanted some time with him. Part of me wanted to snap, "No, we've had nine years, Jesus Christ, we are here, this is really horrible, we don't need more time, we need to get this over with or I am going to fall into a million little tiny glass pieces, which for that stupid question, I hope you step on and get tetanus."

Instead I just shook my head and said, "You can send the vet in." For whatever reason I was making the decisions for the whole group. Mom was crying too much to talk, and Adam I think didn't want to be the bad guy saying, "Put this animal DOWN!"

Anywhose, the vet came in and then proceeded to explain how 'this' was all going to work. Apparently it wasn't going to be that peaceful. He was going to first get really confused, look around, then 'fall asleep.'

Here is instead what happened.

The vet took Cooper's skinny little arm and pushed the needle in. She started to depress the nozzle thing at the end, then said, "Oh, hum?" She then pressed harder.

And the pink shit exploded EVERYWHERE.

"Oh, my," she said, pulling the needle out. "I think this catheter is all clogged up. We are going to need to put in a new one."

"What, why?" I said.

Cooper was so incredibly dehydrated that his blood had actually clogged the catheter to the point of no return. I was almost like, "Fuck this we are taking him home." I mean, the euthanasia failed! That was a sign, right? It meant he was going to get better, he was going to start eating and feeling healthy and playing with his toys again, right?

Well, no, that it not what any of that meant. It really meant that he was just dying in his own way, and we humans were going to speed up the process by a few days, maybe a week.

So she took Cooper away and brought him back a few minutes later with a yellow and green armband on, assuring us that, "This one was flowing good."

Attempt number two was the one that did the trick. (Third time is not the charm).

She injected the stuff, and before she had gotten in even a third of it, he swung his head around once and then toppled over dead. His eyes didn't even close.

I wanted to get out of the room immediately. He was dead, therefore he wasn't Cooper anymore. It was just his body, his worn out, half starved body. And his eyes were still opened. I was done.

But the vet wanted to talk, and she tried to say nice things like, "If you guys need some time with him."

Oh, my God, it's not him anymore, please leave so that we can leave.

Finally she left, and I scooped up Cooper's collar and leash and left the hospital.

I was sad, heart-broken. And all I could see was his dead body in my mind. It was horrible, and mom was upset and I was upset.

Mom needed hugs, and I was willing to give her them, but my own grief has been and probably will always be to not be held while I cry. Instead I like to chew on a knuckle while I wait for my quiet sobbing to pass while I look out the window.

So I hugged mom while she cried, walked over to the car and did just that.

Adam drove us home, and I put on clean clothes and went to work with swollen eyes and a sore throat.

And that was the end of our little Cooper dog, who was a little bit like a live action Courage the Cowardly Dog.

Cooper: Horribly Unphotogenic, but Dearly Loved.

Concert Night

So, Ambria and I went to the Cage the Elephant/Silversun Pickups/Imagine Dragons concert last night. And it was awesome!

I mean, we assumed it would be really great, but still. My younger brother discovered Cage the Elephant a few years ago before they were popular, so I had heard and liked a lot of their music. In concert, they were really good. At first, the sound was really kind of off. I think the mic was just screwy, but the more they played the better they sounded, and by the end, they sounded amazing and had this great energy. And of course, having the singer run around in tight white bell bottoms and nothing else was great eye candy.

Silversun Pickups was great. They came on and were basically like, we don't need to introduce ourselves, we are just going to play and it's going to be amazing. And it was. They were so good, and obviously into just playing and letting the music speak for itself. And I loved how they didn't just sing and then go onto the next song, there were little solos thrown in for everyone.

When it finally came time for the main event, (when I bought the tickets I didn't even know what other bands were going to play) Ambria and I were really excited. And because we had lawn tickets we were able to get super close to the stage behind the seated sections. They were just incredibly awesome. The sound was clear and crisp, and the music was awesome. We could feel the music in the ground, and of course there was a lot of dancing and cheering and revelling in the sheer awesomeness.

I mean, the only thing that could have made it any better would be if the beer wasn't eleven bucks a pop. But other than that, the lawn tickets were a great idea, and because we didn't bring a blanket or chairs, Ambria and I were able to get really close to the front. It was great. Sure, it took like two and a half hours to get home, but seeing Cage the Elephant, Silversun Pickups and Imagine Dragons all in one night was worth sitting in parking lot traffic. Because they were all incredibly, amazingly awesome.

I'm a Fat Person in a Skinny Body

Okay, I have this problem. I have been living in Lala Land, otherwise known as the land of cheese, beer, and all fried foods. And I have been living here for probably six years. Now, it hasn't necessarily caught up with me, (I have heard of the freshman fifteen), but still, I am feeling all of that cheese and beer and fried food. I feel it all around my tummy and thighs, to be exact.

See, there was a point in time, (post-break-ups) that I would just drop weight. This had a lot to do with the fact that I would simply stay in bed and watch Grey's Anatomy and listen to Avril Lavigne. But now that I have been officially not seeing anyone since November, I have moved past the break-up-weight-loss, and moved into the I-like-food-and-I-live-by-myself-so-I-can-be-a-pig stage. This basically entailed me buying boxes of my favorite cereal, leaving the boxes in the book shelf, and using the same bowl for a few weeks at a time, whilst watching Grey's Anatomy and listening to Linkin Park.

I then moved into the I-am-going-to-Puerto-Rico stage, and decided I needed to lose some of my "cereal weight." So I stopped eating cereal and went on a wonderful diet I call the yogurt-and-beer diet. It was a wonderful way to lose weight quickly because everything that went in came right out. A quick fix wasn't going to make me feel better overall though.

See, it would be the little things that bothered me, like huffing after three flights of stairs or sweating my face off after a mile of easy strolling. Those things never used to really bother me, but all of a sudden they were. And on top of that, I was feeling more and more lethargic. I hated that. I would sleep for hours and hours and never feel totally rested.

So I decided I had to do something. I asked my mom if she would invest in running shoes for me. I used to run, when I had good shoes, but after I broke them past the point of no return, I stopped running. I wanted to pick it up again. I wanted to feel strong and sweaty and full of endorphins.

She bought me some new shoes, and I broke them in with a vengeance. My current goal of doing a 5k seems very attainable, especially since I have been doing two mile of running and one mile of walking almost every other day.

But the best part is this: I haven't necessarily been losing weight, (and I am not super sure I actually need to) but I am feeling better over all. I wake up and I feel rested and ready. And the best part is that I actually want to run. I want to exercise and feel strong and powerful. And it is incredibly fulfilling.

So, no, I am not going to give up all the food I love like pizza and hamburgers and gyros. I am not going to try to force myself into being model skinny or have a tummy so flat it's concave. I am not going to say, I need to look like her.

I am instead going to say, I feel amazing and healthy and beautiful, and everyone is going to have to deal with it because I can't stop grinning.

I like me the way I am; a fat little kid who wants to feel amazing, not sluggish and squishy. And the past few weeks have made me think that as long as I move the cereal boxes into the kitchen and my running shoes stay nearby, my goal of running a 5k and eating a bucket of hummus is totally within reach.