Alas, poor Bailey...
Those who know me know that I'm generally not one prone to flights of sentimentality or things of that nature, but today's entry is going to be a bit of a departure from my usual fare.
My flatmate S's dog, Bailey, a three year old pale yellow lab pup (Not really a pup, I know, but I have this thing for calling all dogs pups) appears to have gotten into something and had been acting out of sorts over the weekend, just throwing up a lot and kind of hiding out around to the side of the house, which is weird, becasue he really never does either; definitely not an outdoorsy dog. I guess it's a well-known fact that labs love to chew on and potentially eat everything they can get their jaws around, and this guy was no different. He loved to run off with all manner of items, "no matter how personal", according to S. He had a couple boat bumpers that were all chewed to bits that you could play fetch with him with, or he'd be walking around woth something in his mouth, trying to keep it away from you if he got your attention; S's checkbook, his chew toys, the little bag thing I keep my condoms in, mail, literally anything. Otherwise, he'd go out to the recycling bin and pull out all kinds of things: 2-liter bottles, food cans, milk jugs, whatever.
I've always liked dogs, and Bailey was a fun pup, content to lounge around the house with me all day. He liked to get riled up and fetch things in the yard, but definitely not so much so as to be persistently annoying like many other dogs his age, esp labs. Probably his only shortcoming was that he liked to jump up on you from time to time, definitely nowhere near as frequently as some dogs, but a little bit. Tough with a hundred pound dog, even one time can be overwhelming if you're not expecting it. I'm sure it was all just youthful ebullience, though, and have no doubt he'd have given it up with a little encouragement. I'm definitely wary of getting a dog myself, now especially, primarily because (and many of these are similar to the "no kids" rationale,) 1) all the hassle and expense of having a dog, 2) emotional attachment and eventual separation pains, 3) the removal of spontaniety in planning, always having to make arrangements for care and such, in this case much more os than say cats or fish...I'm sure there are others, but you get my point.
So Sunday night, S says he's not doing well, and decides to take him to the emergency vet's. Several hours later, like 1am, he gets back and says that they want to do exploratory surgery; he doesn't seem like he's getting any better, and they can kinda feel something in there. S and I kinda talk about it, alternating between "yeah, definitely, operate if they think it'll help", and "dogs have been eating things they shouldn't for thousands of years, he'll be fine" mentalities. He decided to sleep on it and talk to the vet some more the next day.
Monday evening, S gives me the update that they did indeed operate, and that they found some sort of hard yellow plastic thing in two pieces, attached to a string or rope of some kind. It had somehow gotten caught up in his intestines, and bound up a 2-foot(?) section, which had to be removed. Things were touch-and-go for a while, and they needed to keep him until Thursday, but that he should be okay after the ordeal. What the hell could he have gotten into? Hard yellow plastic/rubber with a string attachment? What could that even be?
Imagine my surprise when I saw that S was home when I got up today, around noon. He tells me that Bailey's died, and that they've buried him in the backyard. I'm glad, and that seems to be the right place for him, he so loved romping around back there. S seems to be taking it well, but I'm still in shock. I just saw him and was playing with him a few days ago! He was the very picture of dog health! How can this be? I never even took any pictures of/with him! Never got to take him to the park or anything! We were going to pick up girls together! It's funny how attached we can get, sometimes without even knowing, to pets in such a short time. I first saw/met Bailey exactly a month ago today...it's still all very surreal, not having him running off with my socks all the time.
I suppose it's kind of morbid to note that today's April 4th, 4.4. The Chinese (a culture that tends to be fundamentally superstitious to begin with) have a belief that 4 is an unlucky number, because it's a homophone for death, or to die. Creepy.
It turned out to be a weird, weird, weird weekend; mildly rough times, to be sure. We'll miss you, Bales.
My flatmate S's dog, Bailey, a three year old pale yellow lab pup (Not really a pup, I know, but I have this thing for calling all dogs pups) appears to have gotten into something and had been acting out of sorts over the weekend, just throwing up a lot and kind of hiding out around to the side of the house, which is weird, becasue he really never does either; definitely not an outdoorsy dog. I guess it's a well-known fact that labs love to chew on and potentially eat everything they can get their jaws around, and this guy was no different. He loved to run off with all manner of items, "no matter how personal", according to S. He had a couple boat bumpers that were all chewed to bits that you could play fetch with him with, or he'd be walking around woth something in his mouth, trying to keep it away from you if he got your attention; S's checkbook, his chew toys, the little bag thing I keep my condoms in, mail, literally anything. Otherwise, he'd go out to the recycling bin and pull out all kinds of things: 2-liter bottles, food cans, milk jugs, whatever.
I've always liked dogs, and Bailey was a fun pup, content to lounge around the house with me all day. He liked to get riled up and fetch things in the yard, but definitely not so much so as to be persistently annoying like many other dogs his age, esp labs. Probably his only shortcoming was that he liked to jump up on you from time to time, definitely nowhere near as frequently as some dogs, but a little bit. Tough with a hundred pound dog, even one time can be overwhelming if you're not expecting it. I'm sure it was all just youthful ebullience, though, and have no doubt he'd have given it up with a little encouragement. I'm definitely wary of getting a dog myself, now especially, primarily because (and many of these are similar to the "no kids" rationale,) 1) all the hassle and expense of having a dog, 2) emotional attachment and eventual separation pains, 3) the removal of spontaniety in planning, always having to make arrangements for care and such, in this case much more os than say cats or fish...I'm sure there are others, but you get my point.
So Sunday night, S says he's not doing well, and decides to take him to the emergency vet's. Several hours later, like 1am, he gets back and says that they want to do exploratory surgery; he doesn't seem like he's getting any better, and they can kinda feel something in there. S and I kinda talk about it, alternating between "yeah, definitely, operate if they think it'll help", and "dogs have been eating things they shouldn't for thousands of years, he'll be fine" mentalities. He decided to sleep on it and talk to the vet some more the next day.
Monday evening, S gives me the update that they did indeed operate, and that they found some sort of hard yellow plastic thing in two pieces, attached to a string or rope of some kind. It had somehow gotten caught up in his intestines, and bound up a 2-foot(?) section, which had to be removed. Things were touch-and-go for a while, and they needed to keep him until Thursday, but that he should be okay after the ordeal. What the hell could he have gotten into? Hard yellow plastic/rubber with a string attachment? What could that even be?
Imagine my surprise when I saw that S was home when I got up today, around noon. He tells me that Bailey's died, and that they've buried him in the backyard. I'm glad, and that seems to be the right place for him, he so loved romping around back there. S seems to be taking it well, but I'm still in shock. I just saw him and was playing with him a few days ago! He was the very picture of dog health! How can this be? I never even took any pictures of/with him! Never got to take him to the park or anything! We were going to pick up girls together! It's funny how attached we can get, sometimes without even knowing, to pets in such a short time. I first saw/met Bailey exactly a month ago today...it's still all very surreal, not having him running off with my socks all the time.
I suppose it's kind of morbid to note that today's April 4th, 4.4. The Chinese (a culture that tends to be fundamentally superstitious to begin with) have a belief that 4 is an unlucky number, because it's a homophone for death, or to die. Creepy.
It turned out to be a weird, weird, weird weekend; mildly rough times, to be sure. We'll miss you, Bales.
posted by Gene at 10:32 PM
2 Comments:
RIP Bailey. We humans are a bad lot, and are lucky to have creatures of your ilk among us.
That makes me sad and want to just hug and kiss my babies that much more. Sorry for your & your friends loss. They may be troublesome (for the reasons you stated) but they are so worth the love they give & happiness they bring.
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