I haven't wanted to write this post. All of my friends on Facebook and Twitter (essentially everyone who ever glances at this blog) already know, and I've told pretty much everyone that I encounter face-to-face or on the phone. So, really, there's no one left for me to tell. And there's some good in that, since telling leads to crying, and I need to keep myself together and get things done.
But until I make this post, I don't think I'll be able to move forward. So I'm telling you what you already know: Jerry passed away on the night of January 24th. It was completely unexpected. He was fine, and then he wasn't, and within 20 minutes of that change, he was gone. He died in my arms as OrangeCounty Gal drove us to the emergency vet, with Mom in the back seat wondering what was going on, and Linda from the Animal Assistance League on the phone, giving us directions. A postmortem ultrasound showed a large mass in his bladder and free fluid in his abdomen.
And, now, I'm crying, again, after a few days of being dry-eyed.
A few people have (kindly, I might add) pointed out to me that it should be easier for Mom and I to find housing, now, since a lot of places don't allow pets. And that's true. But given a choice between living in my car with Jerry, and living in a house without him? I'd choose the crowded home on wheels.
He was my friend, my best bud, or to steal a phrase from Colleen at Animal Assistance, my "canine soulmate". I'm hesitant to call him a "good dog", because honestly, he was a better person than some of the people I know. He was kind, generous, loving, enthusiastic, smart, intuitive, attentive, mostly-reasonable, and sometimes, just a little bit insane.
I still expect to hear him barking his head off every time I park the car.
I have his ashes in an urn on my desk, about a foot and a half from the laptop I'm using to write this post. And maybe having him here, even in that form, has stretched out what would've been a quicker, more final trauma had we buried him.
But I need to get back to work. So I'm saying now what I should've said days ago.
Good night, baby boy. I love you. See you later.
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