It’s been a couple of days over a month since I lost Laddie, and life has pretty much gone back to normal. New, dogless normal. At least I’m no longer grumping in my chair all day and drinking too much at night. I can look back and say, “that was an unusually bad day and night” without some flavor of meltdown.
Mostly, anyhow…
I was doing some stuff behind the Lair when I saw the glint of a little cartridge case among the pebbles. Reached down to pick it up, perplexed because while there’s nothing strange about finding .22 cases on the ground around the cabin, I don’t even own a 9mm. I picked it up and looked at the headstamp.
Oh.
I don’t own a 9mm Luger. I do own a 9mm Makarov – which I last fired at 2 AM on August 20, a day that shall live in infamy. And for a few moments I flashed back so hard I swear my vision whited out.
That had to be the most un-kind of cut of all time.
As if it didn’t hurt enough the first time.
So sorry Joel….
Not maudlin or a fool. Just normal.
I hope it was fast…but yep, certain things one carries to the end of their life.
It was very fast, a perfect shot. He didn’t suffer any longer, but I kind of did.
You did the right thing. Stop beating yourself up.
That final act of loving kindness is one of the hardest things we ever have to do, by whatever means. Bless you for ending Laddie’s suffering.
Time heals, but they never tell us how slowly or quickly. Hang in there.
Naw, once again you have proven that you are human. Scar tissue is tender whether it’s in our hearts or on a leg.
Using a Mak as my EDC, I’m sure that TB Laddie only felt relief from pain. Those of us left behind keep feeling the pain. I feel yours but can only pray for both of you.