WCSHe has been around (im refering him like he, him, etc. because is perfectly natural doing so to me)for the last 17 years. I was 9 when in september my parents came home with that little hairy dumbass blond with long ears and a frentic little tail. I remember that night when i was playing with him, on the cold floor, spring, i am with a shirt and he is over me licking my face, i am laghing. I remember that he pee on the floor and that was the first of many pees that i had to clean.
Back then i lived in a big house with a huge yard, my family had another dog, Pancho (like Pancho Villa), He was 7, black and ugly, dumb and tender, huge danish hund head, stylish german sheppard body, basically he was a hell hound. He passed away many years ago. But not my little cocker spaniel, keno is his name. When i was 10 we moved to a condo. Me, my family and my dog. Was a pain in the ass, small breeds usually are very social, so he didnt wanted to stay alone. I had to take him everywhere, and both, me and him, got used to it. We went to parties when i was 17, we went to the beach every summer, sometimes i satyed home alone with him just to take care of him.
We used to walk around the neighborhood, long walks, with him i started to drink, with him i met girls, always with him i tried weed for the first time. He is a huge part of my life, some kind of mix between my best friend with a family link, sometimes like a son, many times as a badass partner.
Now he is 17, and now he is blind, deaf, skiny, slow and dumb. But he is alive, even while he cant walk the stairs up anymore. He has some tumors on his skin. Like injuries that never completly heal. Today i found a new one just in his forehead. This year i had to start cleaning pee and shit again, like 17 years ago, when he was a puppy and didnt knew how to let me know. Now because he is old, lazzy and blind. Sometimes he just cant find me. He cant walk for hours anymore, so i take him out like 5 or 6 times a day for short walks where he do what he should do most of the time, but sometimes dont. Sometimes he just want to be home. And shit home.
Today i saw something new, anyway. He took a shit right on my kitchen. I have been the last hour first cleaning the kitchen, then cleaning him. I think i will take a shower now. While i was cleaning him i notice him really sad. He was quiet and still while i turned him around many times. After he was clean I let him on his bed, and stayed there still. I was worried, he was like over. And started to think.
In this last two months many people has told me about killing him. But i think live is worth living it, any condition. Of course this would be different if i saw him sad, but today was just first time that i saw him like that. Today is the first time I actually think about it as something possible. I am something like a naturist freak, i dont go to the doctor, and i rarely take him to the vet. So I dont really know what to do.
Is not the work, i love him and have not trouble cleaning the house, or himself. I actually like it, because it force me to spend more time with him. Now that he is old and deaf is harder to connect with him, but i can see how much he enjoys beeing brushed so i feel like when i was 10.
Maybe i am pushing, surely he has a pretty good life, he is alredy many years above the average, he is healthy... I dont know. I think it would be much easyer if he was ill. But i can see him enjoying the sun while taking an afternoon nap. Who am i to private from such a plessure an old fellow that is probably wizer than me.
So, something is really clear to me. Sometime soon he will start to be sad and sadder everyday. And in that moment i think i will have to kill him. And i am thinking that morphine could be the best way...
