I’m sad to say that Pico is gone, as you might have predicted. Life seemed so miserable for him.
I will blame myself for making the call, because I don’t know how long he would have lasted, despite the chronic pain and cognitive issues.
I miss him terribly but I’m not traumatized, because it seems like I’m already stuck with permanent PTSD that time won’t budge.
However! I am still capable of being dismayed.
I fucked up my back when I had to carry Pico inside from the backyard. He was only 40 pounds but I managed to lift him improperly.
So after whimpering (i.e. screaming) about my back for two weeks, I went to the doctor. The first blow was when she measured my height. I am supposed to be 5′ 6″ but now I measured 5′ 4 1/2″ for a loss of one and a half inches of valuable height!
Fuck me! I can’t believe this, even though I know that age and shitty bones lead to shrinking. What next? A dowager’s hump? I’ll probably go bald and whatever else is available to elderly women. I had to have ex-rays of my back, which revealed a degenerating spine or something that sounded like that. All those years of weightlifting, for nothing.
I’m going to get physical therapy for my back, but for now I have two new prescriptions plus a bottle of Pico’s narcotic pain-killers.
To further drive home the old age thing, my husband and I were talking about TV hosts and we couldn’t remember Larry King’s last name. It was a moment of shared horror as our eyes met and we silently acknowledged that our brains have turned to mush.
Trying to retrieve Larry King’s last name was like gazing into an infinite black hole where a memory bank used to be. I hate Larry King now. I would say He’s dead to me, except now I’ll probably remember him as a symbol of senility, both his and mine.
I am so sorry for your loss of Pico. Please know that he’s in a better place & that no one can take away your memories of him.
As for the back thing, I just had a laminotomy on both sides of my spine for spinal stenosis caused by arthritis, which reared its ugly painful head after we got another dog, a puppy, after we had to put down our sick dog. Well, getting a puppy at age 60 is a lot different than getting one at age 50. I found I had pain whenever I walked her, which was 10X a day in the beginning. Well, a year of physical therapy, pain meds, MRIs & steroid injections later, and last Monday I found myself in the operating room so the dr could kind of roto rooter out the bones at the L-4 & L-5 vertebrae which were putting pressure on my nerves casing the horiffic pain, numbness, & weakness- all due to arthritic changes!! Arthritis? I am too old for that. And I kind of resent that all these degenerative changes were happening without my knowledge. Well, we’re the same age so I thought I would go you a heads up. I am too young to have these problems. And height?- I think I also lost 1 1/2 inches too. isn’t getting old fun? The only good thing is maybe we won’t remember.
Andrea – Oh dear, how awful! I hope the surgery makes everything better.
I have trouble with the name of that bloke in the shaving mirror every morning, hang on, I tell him, it’ll come to me in minute . . .
I am so sorry for your loss. Hope your back is quickly on the mend.
It’s OK. I don’t know Larry King’s first or last name.
Larry who?
King of ………..?
Who gives a fuck?
On the brighter side, I do know David Duff and I’ve seen him in his long underwear, the mere thought of which should cheer you up.
I know it makes me laugh!
Sorry about your puppy. xx
Andra – The day I forget David Duff in his long-johns, just shoot me.
I am aware that this blog is regularly visited by ladies with huge sexual appetites some of whom may have missed my tantalising fashion shoot by which, single-handed, I brought long johns back into fashion.
Ladies, you may take a glimpse here:
http://duffandnonsense.typepad.com/duff_nonsense/2011/01/david-duff-fashion-icon.html
But please, please, don’t send me items of your underwear as tokens of your worship, my postman is of a delicate disposition!
Losing a pet is so achingly difficult because they’re the only beings in our lives, which love us without cause… they just do & that can be counted on day after day. Even if one is lucky enough to have a supportive relationship of any kind, we still at times look at that person as someone who should be unceremoniously relocated to an unknown island in the middle of the night sans map & vice versa. Yet, me make it though our tiffs & squabbles despite not always wanting to be near our ‘loved one’ & more often than not, never understanding them fully. Pets just get us through that non-judgmental, metaphysical, psychic-ish, all-knowing intuition-ness that we mere humans can only aspire to grasp.
I’m sorry to hear about Pico & do empathize. I had 2 kitties… 1 lived to age 14, the other 19. When the time came I felt they should no longer suffer, I gave the head nod to the executioner & still can’t alleviate the guilt at having done so. Yes, I know I did the right thing realistically, but since I spent well over a decade protecting & caring for them, old childhood Catholic guilt still nudges at me today. The last time was 2004 & I still can’t bring myself to adopt again. But, I think that’s mainly as I’ve not know other supportive relationships & haven’t felt as cherished by the human race as I have the feline kingdom. Alas, that’s my lifelong issue.
I have back issues, too & deal with them more by denying I’m in pain, refusing to admit there’s a diagnosis & just go on about my life as best I can, sometimes wrapped in multiple waist cinchers & Ace bandages. Still, I refuse to utter the words ‘back problem’. I call it a glitch & occasional bother… sometimes that F’n glitch/bother… haha. But, I seem to live my life in a fair amount of denial & I suppose it suits me.
I’m stretching to keep my back flexible & stronger & feed/pat/talk to all strays, regardless of species. That seems to be my way to heal scratches that any psychologist would probably label a Band-Aid covering deep wounds. Still, I let no one define me.
My pets had magnificent lives & more love than any human could ever hope to experience. I’ve often said I’d like to be treated for 1-yr in my lifetime as well as those 2 vixens enjoyed into their teens. They were lucky, pampered & adored, I’m sure like Pico. So, although we’ll always miss them, we can also know we gave them a place in our hearts & homes many would never experience in 100-yrs’ time.
You were a good heart to your little one. So was I. Sometimes that’s enough. Feel better, heal easily & be well.
Pico is resting now, and, he left you that nice little gift!
You did the right thing, Sis. It’s really rough but ultimately the best decision for your dog. R.I.P. Pico
I am so sorry about Pico. The hardest decision was putting our sheepdoggie to sleep. There was just no way she would ever be better. I loved her so much, i am crying typing about it.
It was just the more humane thing to do, no matter how much pain we were in emotionally. She didnt deserve to suffer.
Now she can play with Pico, and know their lives were worth living, and how much we miss them.
Oh, there’s something royally fucked with us humans every damn era along the way – brains not developed enough to be able to give much of a shit; all impulse with matching frustration; gonads rule the world with perky tits & shiny hair & tight barnacle-free hides just along for the ride; grisly thoughts of losing it, terror to get it; too short, too fat, too bent, limp, saggy; then too damn dead. I know you’ll want to punch my lights out, but fuck the one and a half lost inches, and fuck ’em when you had ’em too. Do all you can to try to stay relatively pain-free – the new prescriptions, the physical therapy, Pico’s pills. Larry King’s last name is Montmorency.
You gave Pico a good home and lots of love. Now he’s free from leash and collar, boundaries and limits, to run wild in that big redwood forest in the sky.
It’s best to forget about forgetting Lawrence Leibel Harvey Zeiger’s name. I won’t remember it 2 seconds from now. Same goes for that 1 1/2 inch.
Be well.
If you’ve shrunk 1.5 inches then your hair must look 1.5 inches longer….upside?
So sorry to read about your poor dog.
xoxox
When I got my first dog I was 24. My boyfriend and I had just got our first house. Our friends would come over on the weekends and drink champagne on our little verandah. Charlie would hear the pop of the cork and canter off with it in his mouth. My face was unlined, my jeans were tiny. We treated the dog like our child.
Charlie was a blue cattle dog. By the time he was 12, we were married, mortgaged again and had two children….and my jeans were substantially larger.
When Charlie was nearly 12 we had to have him put to sleep, he had tumors and had gone senile. My husband and I were devastated. We filmed our last visit to the park with him, but seven years later, we’ve still not been able to watch it.
I think animals are a living, breathing connection to our own history. It’s difficult to explain but I understand how sad it is to not have your Pico around anymore. Those pups can leave a gaping hole.
Pets make us human…
I’m so sad for your loss of old Pico. It is wretched to let them go.
Perhaps adopting an adult (not a puppy- ugh) dog from L.A.’s hideous animal control would be a tribute to Pico.
Look at the punim on this wee guy! http://www.laanimalservices.com/adopt/finding-a-companion/
Take good care of yourself.
Oh dear, I didn’t leave all those spaces in that sentence!
I am so sorry about Pico. My poodle is fifteen now, and I live in fear of the day coming….
Not remembering Larry King’s last name is one of the funniest things I have heard in a while. I needed that laugh. Thank you. Wasn’t it great when, before he went Hollywood, as it were, Howard Stern had Larry King’s mug shot as a permanent prop in the studio?
Pico is with Max…no worries, no pain.
XO