Bundy's gone

Written on Wednesday 20/1/10 at 12:27 pm


The vet couldn't find a vein, Bundy had very low blood pressure.

Bundy 11/4/94 - 20/1/2010.

Bundy was given to me by friends and when my ex-husband and I went to see Bundy I fell in love with his sister, Katie. Bundy was my protector, he would bark at people, just to let them know he was there taking care of me.


One day the council inspector came over to check the accommodation for the three dogs (for which I paid $100 plus the dog rego, as I had to register as a dog kennel!). Anyway, he came around the side instead of through the house and Bundy had a wooo-bark and a snap at him. Oops!


Outside his yard Bundy was a placid bloke, he'd sit nicely and let people pat him. But if you went into his yard and weren't introduced properly he may have had a go at you.

8/3/10
Meg is missing Bundy.

Plan D - updated II

Plan A (Photos)

Plan B

Plan C

Straight to Plan D.

Okay, Plan D was the plan I didn't want to adopt. It's D for 'Do It Yourself'.

I put the sprinkler on the ground inside an upside-down large plant pot and ran it for 5 hours last night. This morning, I dug a little out of the hole, about 10 inches or so. Filled that up with water twice and let it sink in. The day was hot and humid, but overcast most of the day, so I could do some digging.

The top layer is dark garden soil, the earth under is sandstone and sandy soil fill from when the house was built, we had an extra large pad out the back because we knew we'd want to do things with it like build a shed and a pergola and it would be way too dear to do after the house was built. I could sit the crow bar on the bottom of the hole and just push it down with the palm of my hand, mind you, the undisturbed ground is like a rock, no matter how much you soak it, so I'm pretty lucky.

Bundy's right beside his sister, Katie (Katey I've been spellin erratically lately), and close by 48.

I asked my neighbour across the street to check out the grave and see if it was big enough. He was most impressed! He said to just straighten out the sides and make it a bit wider and that would be deep enough. (He couldn't help me, he's got back problems, and he's in his mid 70s.)

When I'd done that (mind you, it takes a while when you're melting and your shoulders are screaming!), I dragged the black bag into the two-wheel wheel barrow and trundled it around the back. By this stage it was twice as big as it was when I brought it home, and it was beginning to emit a rather strong pong. I wanted to let Bundy out of the black bag before I buried him, so I needed a knife to slash the black bag.

I scrounged around the Ladies' Tool Chest (bottom kitchen drawer), and found the stanley knife. I then pondered... I'd need help with this, I'd be hercing from the aroma. Who to get to help? The young fellow next door (about 30), had just got home with his boat, so I walked over there and asked for his help. He brought his two adorable little girls with him, they were all home alone, and he put Bundy in the hole for me. Then he helped me to fill it in. He was most impressed with the hole I'd dug, too. It only took ten minutes to finish up. I'll have to rake the dirt tomorrow because there's some we missed. That's if I can move tomorrow. The temperatures for all thie next week are supposed to be between 36C and 38C max and not under 20C min. Yuk.

I can feel a trip to the physio coming on. I hope I can get in tomorrow.

Update:

I forgot to mention these little bastards, which were in the hole and walking around where I was standing to dig. They got in my shoe and stung me, twice today. They have a nasty sting which can burn and sting for hours. An ice pack, or ice, will ease the pain.

Anyway, Floyd thought these visits from people were for him and was most put out when they left... he's a funny boy. So here's some pix of him for your enjoyment.

Still adorable.

Still way too smart!

Update II

Someone was a bit freaked out about the photos at the top of this post. I just wanted them there because I really didn't think I could do that, dig that deep. I had to and so I did. It has amazed me that I could dig that deep, though I did think that I was going to die somehow and just fall into the hole and that's where they'd find me after they noticed Bundy at the front door....

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.

Update:
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.

What do you say? (9:04PM)

Bundy is dying. Slowly, he's falling apart. Every day there's a change, he's slower. I doubt he'll make it to 16 years old, on about April 11 this year.

Sunday was very hot and humid (about 36C), and didn't cool down very much over night. He didn't eat Sunday night, he seemed to be concentrating on breathing, I fed him on Monday morning as it was cooler and he ate with a little effort.

He seemed to have perked up on Monday, it wasn't such a struggle for him. Monday was a stinker, 38C. When it cooled down just before the usual time I feed them and he seemed okay, it was just the heat knocking him around. He ate his dinner. There was the usual water gone from the water buckets.

Today, Tuesday, I had checked their water before I left home, I would only be gone for a few hours at work (more catching up), and so I thought the water would be fine. It was okay. When I went down to feed them at about 6pm the water wasn't as low as it should be on quite a warm day (it was only about 34C today). Bundy was standing panting, his nose was dry and it looked like he was dehydrated. I put his food down for him, he left it for a while. Quite a while. Then he munched a dog biscuit, and ate a little of it. I brought a bucket of water over for him to have a drink. He drank what seemed like a lot. Then he started 'herc-ing', he wobbled down the yard and I thought he was going to do a 'job', but he tossed the water.

The girl who clips him for me phoned today and left a message. When I hear from her I'll see if she can help me get him to the local vet tomorrow.

*** My friend, the lass who clips the dogs for me and has clipped them for years, was just on the phone. I've arranged for her to come over and we'll see if we can dig a grave for Bundy. Both of us are unfit and have problems with our backs/shoulders so it should be interesting. If we're successful and can make it deep enough we'll bring him home from the vet. She's going to help me take him to the vet, too.

I was thinking about this in the shower. I've been crying a bit tonight.

When I first moved here I got a job at the university, it was local. There was a lecturer there, a vet, very well respected and loved by all his students. I heard that he looked after pets for uni people. He looked after my dogs for many years - not that they needed much, just the initial desexing and then their annual shots, which he'd come to my home to administer and when 48 and then Katie needed to be euthenased he came to my home and took care of that, helping me to bury both the furry kids after they'd been seen to. (The graves had been dug, he helped carry them there and helped bury them.)

He was at the uni for many years. He was a respected member of staff and a leading light in the campus community. He was a warden in the Halls of Residence for years, too. A few years ago he retired (well, maybe about five years ago), and moved to Toowoomba. He would still take some classes each semester, specialising in animal parasites. In the last two years he and his wife retired to Bribie Island. Gone, but not forgotten. A kind and helpful man.

Late last year we heard terrible news of this Vet. He had been diagnosed with an inoperable, aggressive brain cancer. He had not taken it very well and was raging. Understandable.

I dearly want to write to him. To tell him how much he's helped me in looking after my pets. How much I appreciate all that he has done for me. The kind words, the help to bury my pets. To thank him.

But what do you say?