Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Plan B - Update 21/1/10

Sometimes you need to go to Plan B.

But what if there is no Plan B?

Then you have to make it up.

The vet appointment is at midday. I've not slept much last night, thoughts swirling and Floyd barking at something several times (the neighbours are away, I hope they were not being burgled, though I think they came back yesterday.)

I can't talk about Bundy or anything at the moment, particularly Bundy, because I just cry. But I can type. When I phoned the vet I just dissolved into tears - makes transacting business a little difficult.

Earlier I phoned a friend (betcha didn't know I had that option outside of a game show), the farmer friend who delivered my new washing machine. He's raking and mowing today (have to do it), but he can come over and dig a grave for me thisafternoon. He said I should cover bundy with a wet sugarbag and he'll be OK until the afternoon. I just don't want the ants to get to him.

Now I've spoken with the clipper lass and cancelled, so I have to get this done on my own. The vet doesn't have a cool room or large fridge to put Bundy in until later so I'll have to bring him home.

My sexton didn't turn up.

In a phone conversation with Mum last night she suggested that I put Bundy in the freezer, after all, that's what my Brother and SIL did with William. I said "No, can't do. Freezer is full of food."

Mum said "Well, they couldn't bring themselves to bury William until about two years after he died, so they kept him in the freezer."

I said "Hmm."

William was a sulphur crested cockatoo. Bundy is/was a German Shepherd/Cattledog cross.

Hm. Last night I put the sprinkler into an upturned garden pot and let it run for about five hours, "That should soften the ground." I thought. Thismorning I checked Bundy and he was still in the shade at the front door, and I wet down the sugar bag over him. Then I got the spade and began to dig. The grave is about 8 inches deep or so (okay, maybe only five... who knows?).

I checked Bundy again. Unfortunately I miscalculted the shade, and found him in the sun. Getting bigger. ARRGH! If he gets bigger I will never be able to dig a big enough hole for him. I moved him into the shade, and replenished the water in the hessian bag.

I phoned my sexton. He'll be here at about lunchtime, after he takes a delivery of feed into Brisbane. I have instructions to keep the sugar bag wet and to fill the hole with water to soften the earth. I told him he should come soon, "Bundy is getting bigger."

The problem with me digging the hole is that I can wield the crow bar (a very heavy, very old, plaited crow bar made by a blacksmith for my Grandfather, or his father), but I can not lift the soil out of the hole with the shovel.


Anonymous said...

Been there, Kae. My eyes seem to be leaking.

Take comfort in knowing that Bundy had the very best life because he lived it with you.


Pogria said...

Sandi is right.

It's the only way to get through. Remember the good times.

It makes it a lot bloody harder though when reality hits you in the head like a bloody cast iron frying pan.

I'm glad you brought him home.

It really helps to have them somewhere in the garden, especially when you're cursing yourself because you've been wondering whether you could have waited "just a little longer".

The "little longer", never works. It's always better when you make the decision, and you're there to say "see ya".

kae said...

Thanks, Sandi. It's hard, isn't it.

Hi Pogs.
I'd made the decision months ago, before it became imperative on Tuesday night that I have him euthenased. I'd rather make the decision sooner than later.

Well-meaning animal-lover friends talked me out of it. I don't think they realised how bad he was. I knew. I should have been stronger. He wasn't in pain, but he wasn't having much quality of life.

It's funny, but with Bundy and 48, who were both old and infirm, deaf and blind when they were euthenased it's not the same. They aren't the same dog they were. They just aren't the same.

Katie was different. She had cancer and was only 7 years old. I knew how sick she was, too. And when I watched I saw the life leave here eyes. But with Bundy and 48 I didn't see that. It was like the spark had already gone. Bundy was really passive, just concentrating on trying to breathe. I couldn't let him go on like that, it would just be cruel.

I won't let anyone talk me out of it again.

Bundy must have been terribly distressed at not being able to breathe.