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lest you for some reason think my night has been all sunshine and roses: I found pictures on my phone that I took of Riggs on his last day, and have crying ever since. 
I miss my dog so much and am filled with so much regret.
I miss my dog so much and am filled with so much regret.
He lost the use of his back leg, and I thought maybe he’d sprained his ankle. Took him to the vet and it was bone cancer that had already spread to his chest. The decision was made to euthanize him then, before he ever knew any pain.
But it was the first week of the Coronavirus lockdown, everyone was scared and senseless, and we couldn’t go into the vet appointment with him, and when we were waiting to euthanize, we had to sit outside the vet with all these cars in the parking lot loudly running
(Because everyone was just sitting in their cars, no one could go into the vet.) Riggs was freaked out, kept putting his head in my lap for comfort, couldn’t understand why we weren’t going home.
He had bad arthritis and we were struggling to drag him around on a blanket since he couldn’t use his back leg. I keep thinking we could’ve gotten a wheelchair, could’ve given him more time. But what if he had fallen and broken his leg? Or the wheelchair was too much for his arms
We could barely get him into the car, and he was trying so hard to help us lift him. I don’t know. I just feel so guilty. Guilty I didn’t sit in the trunk with him on the way over. Guilty that I was so tired (we hadn’t slept for 3-4 days tending to him). Just so guilty.
11 years was not enough time.
I’m turning off replies because I just want to vent this into the ether. These thoughts cycle through my head every night when I lay down to sleep, and it’s so much sometimes.
Plus today was just STRESS and SUPER DARK READINGS WITH SUICIDE AND CHILD ABUSE and there’s a pandemic and politics are terrible — Can everything just stop being horrible for ten minutes???
Anyway. I miss my dog. My entire schedule, routine, every decision I made during the day (whether I’d work inside or outside, what room I sat in, how loud the TV was) was determined by what he wanted. It cuts me down to the bone that he’s not here.
Riggs would have absolutely loved quarantine. Okay. I’ve vented. It’s twitter, not a therapist’s couch. Please don’t DM me about this thread, I just needed to put words down and let them out.
Oh gross, is this why all the students in today’s creative writing class wrote about graphic suicide and horrific sexual assault?? To vent their feelings?? And now I’m doing the same?? 
at least I’m not asking you to comment w at least 200 words and a suggestion for revision
at least I’m not asking you to comment w at least 200 words and a suggestion for revision
ugh. goodnight.
I will say that this guy came clunking out of the closet (where he was apparently sleeping on my clothes??) as I was writing this thread and came to sit next to me. 
