#death of a pet

[steviewashere]

Please Don't Go Away (Is This How It's Supposed To Be?)

Rating: General CW: Death of A Pet, Animal Death, Original Animal Character Death, Cancer in a Pet Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington, Dog Owner Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Senior Dog, Grieving Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, The Lord of The Rings References Title from "Upside Down" by Jack Johnson. Something something, you can't save people, you can only love them. For @steddieangstyaugust Day 3: "The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?"

🦮—————🦮 Steve Harrington has a heart too big for this world. It beats with love and passion. He cares too much about any living thing he comes across. Seen in his friendships with everybody in the party, with his platonic soulmate relationship with Robin, his polite kindness to Nancy, and his deep and all-encompassing infatuating love for Eddie.

Then, a newcomer is added to his roster.

A golden retriever. It’s a senior dog, roughly eight years old. Shaggy yellow fur that’s half-white. Dark brown eyes, almost like Eddie’s. He likes to prance around, play fetch from dawn to dusk, swim in the pool, and get cuddles between Steve and Eddie in bed. He loves sitting outside with them as they smoke cigarettes. Loves being a part of their day to day lives. Sitting on the porch of their two bedroom apartment, gazing at the sky, as the sun dips low and lower. He rests his heavy head on Eddie’s bare foot and huffs in his sleep, drools onto the wood of the porch, and when he wakes up from his little nap—he always gazes at the stars, too.

His name is Sammy—Samwise, otherwise. And he’s Steve’s best pet friend. The first pet Steve has ever had. The one that earns all of his love.

——— “Eds?” Steve calls out, voice soft, near empty.

They’re sitting at their dining table. Eating from the same pot of macaroni and cheese. Both their faces the pure definition of melancholy.

Sammy’s got a tumor, the vet had said just a few hours ago. It’s cancerous. It’s aggressive.

It’s terminal.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Eddie speaks just as quietly. His throat hurts from the cigarettes he just suckled down not too long ago. Pinched inside from the little amount of talking he’s done today. He was driving the car back home, Steve in the passenger seat crying, and himself holding back tears—he had to see the road.

Steve sniffles. His fork is stirring around in the macaroni. He hasn’t had a bite of it yet. “Do you think…” He stops moving his fork. Eyes clouding, glistening as they look down at the dinged up surface of the table. Swallows, the saliva clicking. “Should I just give him one more good day and then…send him home?”

Eddie reaches for him at that. Taking Steve’s right hand in his. The skin he touches is cold, rough, and clammy. His thumb scoots to the pulse point on Steve’s wrist, it beats slow against him. “That’s up to you, baby. He’s more your dog than mine. I can’t make that decision.”

“But I…Eds, I love him so much,” Steve states, warbling, “he’s my baby. I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t want to let him go.”

He quickly drops his own fork in the pot of food. Slower, though, he rakes his hand over the top of Steve’s head, fingers idly tangling in his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, “look at me.” Steve does, raising his heavy head, eyes miserable and dark and red, shoulders hunched to his ears, and that frown of his low to his chin. Eddie hates this. “I’ve lost plenty of pets before,” he explains, voice low in his chest, “some of them passed with old age. Some of them escaped through the door and I never saw them again. But I’ve had two that died because they were sick; one of them I had put to sleep.

“And let me tell you, honey, in a case like Sammy’s, he’s only going to break your heart everyday. Sometimes you’ll think your Samwise is better and ready to play. Then, the next morning, he’ll be back to laying down all day, barely eating, mostly sleeping.

“I love him, too; to bits and pieces, to crumbs, to atoms. But you love him more, Stevie. You love him so much, I see that. I know you do. Listen to me, though.

“You can only love him, Steve. He’s terminal, sweetheart. You can’t save him from this. I think, in this case, it’s best to love him as hard as you can, give him the paradise of his dreams, and then let him…send him home.”

Steve’s face isn’t dark anymore. Just morose. Eyes heavy and exhausted. Tears glistening down his cheeks. Face splotchy red and warm when Eddie brushes his knuckles over it. His lips and chin are wobbling. Eddie hates this.

He cups the back of Steve’s head and brings it to his shoulder. And feels more than sees the way Steve weeps and sobs and gags into his neck. His back is bouncing up and down, choppy with each of his shaking breaths. And on the bare skin of his shin, Eddie feels Sammy brush against him. He blearily reaches down and pets the dog’s back, grounding himself for the last few days to come.

——— They’ve got the van set up for the day. Sammy’s dog bed set up in the back, where the seats usually would be. Pillows upon pillows, the comforter from their bed, and a few of their sweatshirts cushioning Sammy on all sides. There’s a greasy paper bag from the diner in the front seat, a cheeseburger without all the fixings, and a small French fry waiting for their buddy. Windows rolled down for fresh air to hit Sammy’s fur. His face is of pure contentment, eyes wide and giddy, panting heavily. Eddie wonders if this is what he’d look like as a puppy, without the grey fur.

Steve’s quiet in the passenger seat. Head looking over his left shoulder, between the seats. His hands twisted in his lap. Smile small and wobbling and deeply remorseful. Eddie offered to let him pick music; packed up several of Steve’s cassettes, but he didn’t even look at them, didn’t even care. They’re his favorite albums, too. Which makes it worse.

The silence has been one of the worst parts of all this.

After the other day, Eddie had been the one to schedule the euthanasia appointment. For just after sundown. One more sunset before their boy goes.

He drives through backroads, between long stretches of nothing but field, and after some time, he parks at the base of a steep hill. And when he gets out, Steve is already scooting out of the back of the van, Sammy in his arms, curled up tight in a ball, clearly too heavy to be moved like this—if the awkward ambling in Steve’s legs says anything—but he just carries on. One slow step at a time until their little hike ends at the top.

Eddie brought up the dog bed and their comforter, the bag of diner food, and the sweatshirts. He lays it all out. Lets Sammy curl up in the bed, covers him with the blanket, stuffs the hoodies on either of his sides, and then hands the food over to Steve to unwrap and feed. He does it slowly. Tears little chunks off of the cheeseburger. Holds the fries two at a time between his clenched fingers. And when it’s gone, he settles his upper body on Sammy’s back, lays his arm between the dog’s legs, and rubs his cheek atop Sammy’s head.

Then, they watch.

The sky shifts from baby blue. To yellow, like Sammy’s young fur. A muted pink, the color of Steve’s cheeks when he laughs—when he cries. And then a mirage of all of the colors, blending and mixing into one saturated thing. The sun dipping low, just the upper third of it still visible. Stars already poking from their hiding spots.

It’s the best sunset Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. But he looks over to Steve anyway. Watches him pet fur under his hand, twirl it between his fingers into tight twists. His eyes spilling fast, fat tears. Barely making a sound, just the stuttering of his breath. Nasally and sharp through his nose. Lips pinched tight, rolled into his teeth. Eyelashes clumped together and darker than Eddie’s ever seen them. He lays his right hand on the back of Steve’s head and pets him, too.

Steve clears his throat. Rough and raw and probably painful. “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think, Sammy?” He asks quietly, burrowing his head further into the fur. The only response he gets is a snuffle, to which he chuckles at. It’s short lived and terribly bittersweet. “What about you, Eds?” Steve whispers.

He digs his fingers deeper into Steve’s hair, running them all the way down to the ends and then back up. It’s all sorts of tangled from not brushing it this morning, all in his haste to make this a good day. Eddie heaves a small sigh through his nose. “I think it’s the best one I’ve seen,” he answers honestly, the words crackling.

A dissonate grunt.

Steve shifts his head again, his fingers making circles over Sammy’s heart. “How much time do we have?”

His watch is three minutes behind, 8pm, it reads.

“Roughly fifty-seven minutes. But they told me as long as it’s before ten, they’ll be able to do it.”

“And we can be there with him?”

“They said we can be there if we want. From the moment they do it to the moment he closes his eyes. Told me we could stay for a little while after, too. For us to really say…y’know.”

His fingers shift as Steve nods. Heart breaking at the sound of Steve’s stifled small cries. In a strained, quiet voice, Steve admits, “I don’t want another one after him, I think.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Another, though less stifled, sniffle. “You’ll cuddle me tonight, right?”

“Don’t even have to ask,” Eddie breathes.

“I’m gonna miss him.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I will, too.”

Sammy snuffles deeper again. The sky dark and stars endless. It’s quiet, really.

Until, Steve half-sobs, turns his head, and looks up to Eddie. His eyes wide and deep like abysses. Shiny. Blurry with the tears. “Will you read The Fellowship of The Ring tonight?” He asks in this heartbreaking, tiny, wet voice.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees immediately. Because he can’t take this, but he isn’t running.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, tears spilling over again, “I wanna know what Samwise does next. Where he goes.”

Eddie gives a soft smile. A small one. “I think you’ll like where he ends up.”

Steve mirrors his expression, however miserable he is. “Good,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, swallows deep. “I think I’m ready to go. Are you okay to leave?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “and Steve?” He traces his fingers on Steve’s hairline, down the side of his face, mapping carefully over his cheek, brushing under his eye. Taking in this calmer moment before the true storm tonight.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, it’s tight and aching. Then, quietly, “Sammy understands, okay? He loves you. And I love you. And whatever comes of this tonight, just know that it’s not your fault tomorrow. You loved him, you’ll always love him, and that’s all you can do.”

Steve exhales slow through his nose and swallows hard again. His eyebrows furrow very briefly before he relaxes. “I love you so much,” he breathes, “thank you.”

“None of that. Now…” He stands up from his spot, knees aching and back pinched, he offers a hand down for Steve to take and hefts him up, too when he grabs on. “Let’s go, love. I’ll be right here the entire time.”

And he is. Holds Steve’s hand. Pets Sammy’s head.

And he wraps his arms around Steve when he breaks down in their bed later, holding the tagged collar to his chest, wailing straight into Eddie’s heart. But Eddie’s got him, he loves him. It’s all he can do.

🦮—————🦮

[mostlycatsmostly]

There have been a couple of posts mentioning a cat's passing or imminent passing. Would you mind tagging it? Thx and love your blog!

Suggestions on the best tags to use?

[ringo-snail]

something terrible happened today

[eggsbenedict8]

I lost my baby today

I am absolutely devistated she was my first bird she was only 5 and a half and seemed so happy..

I don't think I'll ever move on from this

I am going to miss her so so much I've made her a coffin decorated it and am burying her with a toy her favorite treat her seeds and the feathers of her friends so she won't ever be alone because being alone is what Zazu hated.. I wish I could've cradled her as she passed it hurts so much to think she died in a cold cage with nobody to hold her. im so sorry, Zazu. I'll miss you forever.

[ribbondee]

My 20 year old cat passed away yesterday evening, so I decided to do a eulogy of sorts for my boy.

The story behind Buddy was that his owner was an old lady going into assisted living and I adopted her cat so he wouldn't go into a shelter. He was around 15, already old. He was a very sweet and chill old man, I loved him a lot and I know he loved me too.

I wonder about his previous owner. I hope she's alright, such a nice lady.

Anyway, I remember how he started to slow down as the years went by, even having to take medicine.

But he still had quite a personality, and was quite affectionate.

I've already cried really hard about losing him, and today I took him to be cremated.

Goodbye Buddy, you were such an amazing cat and are missed beyond measure. Our time together wasn't as long as I would have liked, but I cherished it all.

There he is, and yeah that's me too.

[subbymothpimp]

Godspeed, my boy.

Beloved Ralphie passed away this morning around 6-7AM CEST. He made one last journey from his home, across the desk, and to my bed. He cuddled by my body for one last nap before a much further journey. I'm not religious. I think most people don't deserve any iteration of heaven or hell. Paradoxically, I think all those who strive for Heavens don't deserve their access and all those whose books, be it any, condemn to Hell, don't deserve to go there either. But if I were a religious man, I would wish to believe that there's a place for those who truly deserve, for the innocent and loving.

And if anyone deserves to go there, it's our pets. They give and don't take back and all they have is our love.

Ralphie was...well, we always made jokes that he's a demon incarnate. That if any of the Princes of Hell came to our world to cause chaos and mischief, they would take the form of birds. And I believe Ralphie was one of them. One that came here to instil wonderful chaos, who laughed with a villainous chortle during gore scenes in movies and found joy in human screams, one that hated other birds and only loved his obedient slaves, us two. He was a ham. He knew how to be fun and how to rile us up with his squawking songs at five in the morning.

'Wake up slaves, release me and provide millet and seeds'

I cherish that he sought me for one last time, to be released. One last order to his loyal follower.

'Sleep well, slave, I am released.'

I see him now, in some unimaginable demon form of total cosmic horror, sipping tea with Paimon and Baal, and laughing at the times he ruined our food by taking a leap into it, about the time he knocked a pizza out of my hand by lunging himself off the cage in a kamikaze move, about the times he gave me a temporary septum piercing or made a nest of my hair, when he inconvenienced me by demanding to sit on my shoulder and scream while I was having phone calls (because he also had so much to say).

I thought I was ready, he did give us a solid heads-up, and I am ready. But I'm not ready.

I'm ready for today, but not for tomorrow, without Ralphie. And I never will be ready for the next day without him because there isn't a place in my life where I'm not reminded of him.

[slowandsteddie]

His name was Emmett. He was 13 and a half years old. He was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I had to let him go this morning.

Advanced stage congestive heart failure.

I knew it was coming. I didn’t expect it to be so soon.

[uschi-the-listener]

She is forever

Running

At the head of a pack

Small dogs

Ears flapping

Tongues out

She curls up in a warm lap

Eats all the bacon

Except when she has chicken

A whole piece to herself

Bones and all

Because she has no body

And her soul doesn’t care

There is no pain

No struggling to breathe

No dimming eyes

No fleas

It was a good life

Long for her kind

They cried

The Mommy and the Daddy

She misses them

She tried to comfort them

Of course

But this was no stranger at the door

Nor bicycle

Nor skateboard

Nothing she could protect them from

Oh well

She rolls over

In her new soft bed

Under the sky

Finally free

.

[embyrinitalics]

.

A fox killed 4 of our hens over the weekend and now I’m in WDW for a trip with my hubby and I’ve been so fixated on predator-proofing and other stuff I have to do when I get home that I can’t relax and keep worrying I’m going to give myself a panic attack.

BUT I ALSO DISCOVERED RELIEFBAND, AN ANTI-NAUSEA DEVICE THAT ACTUALLY WORKS, AND HUBBY SAID WE CAN BUY SALMON FAVEROLLE CHICKS THIS YEAR, AND I FOUND AN AMAZING SONG THAT’S GIVING ME ACTUAL FEELINGS FOR TOTK ZELINK SO I CAN FINALLY FINISH THAT PIECE I’M WORKING ON WHEN I GET HOME SO THAT’S ALL GOOD NEWS

[honeycollectswhump]

talk about death

i hate when you know death is approaching but not yet. you’ll have to watch someone you love slowly deteriorate and even if they aren’t in pain they are still slowly going to a place you can’t follow. it hurts to be left alone even though i know life has to continue. it just won’t be the same. there will be a hole left

[lindentreeisle]

Raz died a week ago today

I'd inadvertently turned my ringer off, but I picked up the phone and the text I'd received said "There is an emergency and I can't get in touch with you or your emergency contact. Please call me back." I've never received a text like that. I knew the news was more likely to be about my bird than my cat, and I knew it was going to be devastating.

On Christmas Day, they told me, she was chirping and seemed normal. On the 26th, she was motionless on her side on the bottom of the cage. I had them send me photos. I had them promise to freeze her for me since I wasn't due home til the 31st. Then I broke down and sobbed before cleaning myself up so I could go out in the living room and break down again as I told my parents and brother and a pair of family friends what had happened.

There's no sign on her body or in the cage of what could have killed her. Even if I got a vet to agree to a necropsy I'd probably never know for sure. It could have been a virus, or bacteria, or nothing at all. She was 9 and a half, which is late middle age if not old for a budgie. It might have been something that if I'd been there, I would have seen the symptoms and acted- birds hide illness even better than cats, and close observation is often the only way to realize something is wrong. But I might not have. It's quite possible that if I'd been home, I would have been the one walking into the house after work or a night's sleep or a trip to visit a friend and finding her dead.

I don't feel guilty for not being there; I'm honestly glad that it wasn't me that found her. Stupidly, the thing I felt guilty about was that the week before I left on my trip, she'd barely gotten any out of cage time because I'd been so preoccupied by work stress, emotional stress, and some pain issues I was struggling with. I felt bad leaving her to spend all day every day in the cage while I was out of town, and I promised that when I got home I would spend some quality time with her.

I'm glad I was with my family when I found out: I had distractions, people to talk to and hug, reassurance that even when we were just hanging out in the same room with our separate pursuits, I wasn't alone. By the time I flew out on Sunday, I thought I was as ready to go home as I was going to be. The thought of cleaning out her cage no longer broke me into pieces. I had researched crematories. I was still looking often at pictures and videos of Raz, but I no longer cried continuously while I did it; I was able to look at them with fondness instead of just fixating on the fact that I would never hear that call, see that behavior, ever again. I was starting to think about getting more birds and looking at breeders; the idea of cleaning out Raz's things felt more bearable when I thought of it as preparing for future tenancy rather than clearing away the remains of a life.

Sitting in the airport and then on the plane, I was full of anxiety and dread, which seemed out of proportion to what I was facing.

The first thing I did after turning on the lights and putting down my luggage was to go to the freezer and examine her, because I had to know if there were any obvious signs of what killed her. When I've euthanized cats, I was holding them when they still died. Maybe it's that slow transition of the body from something alive to something clearly dead that makes holding it at that moment so painful. Raz was the first pet I'd seen dead without experiencing the death. It wasn't hard or even really sad: it wasn't her, she wasn't there. It was when I walked upstairs and into the back bedroom (her room, my office) that I burst into tears, looking into her empty cage.

I didn't sleep until 4 am, when I was too exhausted to feel sad any more. A friend chatted with me on the phone for most of it, keeping me company. Yesterday I kept the grief at bay by keeping busy: breaking down some old furniture I'm throwing out, cleaning out the cage, throwing away the toys too worn to reuse or impossible to sterilize, washing and boiling the ones I decided to keep. Trying to think ahead, not back. I even managed to collect all my photos and videos of her from their various sources and make sure all were backed up in two locations.

Grief can be delayed, but not denied. Not when the house itself, which Raz has lived in as long as I have, is a reminder of loss. I come home through the backyard after dark and the light in the back bedroom is off- because Raz doesn't live there any more. I start up the stairs and want to call out "hey birben!" and hear her call back, but I can see the back bedroom door is ajar and the room is dark- because Raz doesn't live there any more. I get up in the morning and want to go to the bedroom and pull the cover off her cage, saying "good morning, smallest friend!"- but Raz doesn't live there any more. At 10 pm it's bird bedtime and I want to cover the cage, turn off the lights, and hear the chorpling that only happens when she settles down to sleep- but Raz doesn't live here any more.

I don't know how to live in this house without her in it. I don't know how to sit at this desk in my back bedroom without her sitting next to me. I don't know how to exist in total silence without her friendly chatter- yells and shrieks of outrage or excitement, sharp chirps to greet or check on me, soft "nheck"s of affection and acknowledgement, gentle squeaking when I was nearby and she was thoroughly happy.

I have people who will talk to me, keep me company, try to comfort me, when I need them. I'm grateful. But it doesn't ease this unshakeable sense of absence, the sadness that comes from the near-constant reminders that despite Marduk's company, despite the support of friends and family, I've lost something that I valued immensely but have only now realized was a much larger part of my life than I had fully appreciated.

I just miss my friend.

[1-million-interests]

rib of a dog

A few months after His death

I had a terrible, terrible nightmare,

That when they took my Dog away,

(After they had stuffed him in the freezer to dry),

They had performed the cremation,

But not before they took his cold, hard body,

Sliced it open,

And stole a rib.

In my dream I asked my Mother for the ashes,

(She had already scattered them.)

And instead she presented me with the bone,

Casually,

As if she was handing me a cup of coffee.

I cried that night in my sleep,

And I cried in the face of my Mother,

Blurry in my dream.

“Why have you given this to me?” I wailed and wailed,

“I don’t want this!”

I don’t want this.

“Take it back to him.”

He needs it.

“But what about his hair that you cut from his head?”

She had asked me,

"Won't he need that?"

As I held the smooth bone in my hands,

The neatness and lightness of it struck me.

It felt like a theatre prop,

And not the rib of a dog.

[try-and-try-and-try-again]

15.10.23// TW pet loss

Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my dearest Polly. I got home from university and found her collapsed in a corner of her cage. I immediately thought she was gone but then noticed she was still breathing and twitched her nose when I stroked her. She was also peddling her back legs every so often. I thought she might be in torpor so spent a night and a morning trying to gently warm her up. Then we went to the vets. They confirmed the worst. It wasn’t torpor, it was a coma. She had lost a lot of weight under her long fur so they suspected she might have had a tumour or some other internal issue that had caught up with her. On top of that she appeared to have a UTI. As I feared they said she was beyond help and the kindest thing to do would be to euthanise her.

I’m heartbroken and feel guilty. If only I’d picked up on her weight loss. I had noticed it under her long fur but assumed it was just a part of her getting older. She was otherwise happily ambling around and eating and drinking well. Now I wish I’d insisted on taking her to a vet sooner. Things might not have got so bad.

I will miss her so much. At least I got to say goodbye.

[slowandsteddie]

27 June 2010 - 8 February 2024

When I laid on my side, Emmett used to start at my feet and walk up my entire body before digging his tiny, little paws into my ribs. His stinky, old man breath would assault my nose, and then he would cram his entire tiny, fucking face into my armpit before purring so loud that I swear you could hear it in the next room. I’d lift my arm up at angles that actually really hurt because of my collar bone having been previously broken and drop my hand down at the right angle to be able to play with the fur that was from his mid-back. Grip and shake and tug while he is purring somehow, impossibly, louder. After awhile, I would adjust my arm, that always fucking popped, and cradle him on one side with it. He’d pull himself up just a bit and proceed to start licking/chewing on my chin and cheek. I’d use my other hand to half-ass cover us up. We’d fall asleep like that. I’d wake up on my other side with him laying across my face most days. Some days I’d wake up because he was trying to steal my nose piercing again. Occasionally, I’d wake up with him on top of my dresser. “Excuse the fuck out of me” was always met with the cutest little mew before he’d come running back to me.

I’d set my alarm for an hour early so I always had plenty of time to pet and snuggle my old man before I had to get up and get ready for work. As I walked around my room, making sure he had everything he needed, he’d follow me by walking quickly across my bed. Back and forth. When it was time for me to get dressed, I’d grab three random shirts and drop them on the bed. He’d pick the one I’d wear by laying on it. I always had to carry him to the bathroom with me, even if I was just going to pee, because he would cry the entire time I was gone and it broke my heart. Now he’s gone and I’m the one who can’t stop crying.

He was given to me when he was just 8 weeks old. My aunts cat had had a litter and I was promised one of the babies. My mom was taking too long to be “ready,” so her sister brought him to me. Zipped up in her coat. When she got out of the truck, I remember thinking “it’s so warm, why is she wearing a jacket?” She looked at me with a grin while unzipping it about half way and presenting him to me with a very smug “I brought you something!” I instantly pulled him into my hold and ran inside. I remember my mom saying something along the lines of “well, I guess I’ll be back. Have to go to PetSmart.” I was too busy giggling and introducing Emmett to his new space. I did have to rearrange my room a bit so that the dresser was under the window for him — needed to make it easier for him to see the backyard.

He had me keeping my room very clean because he would knock everything off of whatever it was on if it was out of place. His favorite place to hide was in the laundry hamper, and it was even better when there was clothes in it. He also liked to go into my closet when the door was opened. He’d crawl up and find a comfy spot. Most of the time, the comfy spot was on top of my Bag of Bags. Sometimes he’d squeeze between all the clear totes and then mew at me until I fixed it AKA either made more room for him or helped him get back out.

When I moved out of my mom’s house and couldn’t take him with me was the hardest two years of my life. I’d go see him everyday after work and would see him for at least an hour every Saturday. It wasn’t enough. When I moved in with my dad’s sister and was able to get my baby back, full time… I’m so glad I had him with me the last two years of his life. He got all of the loves and attention and vet visits he needed/wanted. He made friends with my aunts dogs, Gunner and Bandit, and fell in love with her cat Jackson.

Emmett left us a few days after Bandit did. I just know they’re together again and that Grandma is taking care of them.

I think it makes it a little easier for me, thinking that he’s not alone wherever he is. Picturing Bandit waiting for him and then slobbering all over him before taking him to Grandma.

A huge part of me is missing, but I’ll figure it out. I have to.

[famkoe]

Why can't pets just be immortal. I don't think i can handel another dog dying man:(

[mostlycatsmostly]

RIP Oreo. The thrashy thrashy will live on forever.

i needed the full songs worth of this not 15 seconds