It’s been well over twelve hours and I’m still having trouble processing last night. I’m going to write this now before the tequila I’ve lately been drinking starts processing brain cells.
Rather than come up with a long original explanation of what happened last night I’ll just paste a redacted version of an email I sent a friend earlier…
FYI I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this but Laddie stopped being able to breathe last night around eight. I kept waiting for it to stop; he had a couple of spells like that on Wednesday. But this didn’t stop – he kept whooping and gagging, getting more frantic and terrified and exhausted, it just went on and on.
By 2 AM he was just croaking, still at the same rhythm as when it started. He seemed to be getting just enough air to not die, it was torture. And 2 AM is when I led him outside and put him out of his misery.
I could have maybe kept him alive until this morning and [Neighbor L] would have driven us to a vet. That was my plan last night. But it sure wouldn’t have been the kind thing to do, he was really suffering.
Never did sleep; I started digging his grave (next to [Ghost], by the fence) at first light and finished up around 8:30. So that’s done but it’s probably going to be a while before the whole thing is only another ugly memory. Probably best to just spend the weekend by myself.
I don’t recall ever hearing of a dog that got so sick so fast.
So that happened. Talk among yourselves, I guess we’ve disproved my hypothesis about the blog being a block to Murphy.
Am I the only person in history to have shot a Corgi? Because who does that? I typed that, and now I want to throw up.