Hi. Life kinda sucks these days and this is something I need to get out of my system, but since I do not have a whole lot of people around who care to listen, I have found myself compelled to share it here with my paltry number of watchers, who probably delete journals without even looking or only care about porn. Well, I am pretty much out of options here, so I will have to take what I can get.

Anyway, I have two dogs, both male boxers. This other day, I woke up very early in the morning and went downstairs to retrieve a glass of water. Was still dark outside. I pushed open the door to the kitchen and felt a dog was lying on the other side. Oswald, the largest and oldest of my dogs had fallen horribly sick and had curled up on the other side of the kitchen door, clearly wanting to go outside as soon as possible. I assumed that he needed to throw up, like dogs sometimes do when they have eaten something bad, and quickly opened the doors for him to get out. That is when I realized that the situation was a great deal more serious than I surmised. Oswald could not walk in a straight line. He swayed ominously, then collapsed onto the garden. I rushed to his side and assessed his condition. He heaved for air and whimpered lowly. There was no doubt in my mind that he was in great pain and I had no idea what ailed the poor thing.

This was no situation I could handle alone so I woke up my parents. They wanted to bring him inside because it was incredibly cold outside so early in the morning, but it was not an option. We tried to carry him, yet regardless how gentle we were, he snarled angrily. Oswald has never, ever snarled at any human being in his life. We were left with no choice but to go with plan B - blankets. Lots and lots of blankets. Oswald was literally swaddled with blankets to keep him warm. My parents went back inside to call the vet. There was nothing else that could be done. I decided to remain by his side. He was dying and I knew it. It felt like he would pass away any second and I refused to have him lie out there in the cold and die alone. I wore a jacket to keep myself warm, yet it didn't take long before the it got colder and colder for me, compelling me to get swaddled by blankets too. Still freezing so much that I could only define it as painful because my body has never coped very well with low temperatures. I didn't care about my health. Just wanted to remain by his side.

One hour went by. Oswald kept breathing. Two hours went by. Oswald was still breathing. No improvement, he just kept breathing, clinging onto life like a true fighter. It ached my heart to see him suffer for so long. I begged him to let go. Nothing would have pleased me more than if he could just have recovered, gotten back up and shrugged it off, but I knew in my heart that he would never set foot inside the house again, so I begged him to let go with tears in my eyes. The vet was not available to come before 8:00 in the morning so we felt pretty helpless. Once the vet finally did come, Oswald was still alive, against all odds... yet his condition was beyond redemption. The vet assessed him and said there was hardly any blood circulation left in him. He had suffered a fatal seizure of some sort, inflicting severe brain damage. She gave him the lethal injection, putting him to sleep, finally at peace after hours of excrusiating pain in the cold.

I know what you might be thinking.

"Gez, it's just a dog. I've lost 5 dogs, 2 cats and 4 rabbits throughout my lifetime, so get over it already"

Yeah, fuck you. Oswald was among the best friends I have ever had, and for a person such as I who do not have many people to rely on, you learn that animals are living creatures too who deserve to be loved as genuine family members. I am relieved that Oswald is no longer in pain... but the aftermath of his death could hardly be more depressing. He was buried in our garden and I know exactly where he is. Memories haunt me. I see him everwhere. In the house, in the garden, everywhere I go, even places where I have never brought him. It happened so quickly that I was nowhere near prepared for this loss. The grief was so overwhelming that both my parents have fallen greatly ill, and now they do what they always do when they feel miserable, which is let me function as the outlet for their frustration and not give two shits about how this scenario has affected my emotions.

If you read this far, then... thank you. Even if you despise every fibre of my body or cannot emphathize with my feelings, I appreciate that you at the very least cared to listen.