The day life took a shit in my mouth,

Tuesday night at about midnight Grubb had his first seizure. I knew from when we took Sluggs to the vet that old dogs who have never had a seizure it can only mean that they have a brain tumor. It was violent. While I was holding him he tore my shorts. He vomited all over. He shit himself. He didn't have the strength to open his mouth and for a minute I thought he would choke on his own vomit and I had no idea how to fix it. After about 10 minutes he came out of it and he paced and panted. Finally he went to sleep. I woke up at 7 in the morning to Grubb having another seizure. That one didn't last as long. He didn't have anything to vomit or shit, though he tried.

At 9am I called the vet. My suspicions confirmed, it was only going to get worse. Worst case scenario his seizures start to snowball and they don't stop. I didn't want that. I didn't want Grubb to have to have another seizure. I called Kyle. He came over and stayed with him while I went to the grocery store to get him a steak. I cut the steak up into pieces and fed him while we all laid on the bed. The three of us spent a couple hours talking and crying. I laid on Grubb and told him how much I love him. Kyle thought of really great Grubb stories that I hadn't thought about in years. I love thinking about when Grubb was young.

The first day I met Grubb it was love at first sight. He didn't look like his brothers or sisters. He wasn't wrinkly at all or lethargic. He was curious, and wandered around the house to look at things. His little white face was the cutest thing I had ever seen in my life. He had absolutely no interest in either of us that day, he was more interested in looking at his reflection in a brass planter in the kitchen. He was born in a little house by the lake. I drove while Kyle held him in a baby blanket on our way home. The memory of that drive is so clear. I remembered how badly I wanted to touch him and be the one holding him. It was a long drive. Grubb's last car ride was the same. I drove while Kyle held him. Every chance I got I looked over to touch him. Both times worrying if he was alright, is he nervous, will he hate me.

In the vets office they had a blanket on the table with a box of kleenex. Kyle and I waited. The vet came in and gave Grubb a sedative to relax him and left us alone while it took effect. He was nervous, but he was so sick all he could do about it was shake. I held him and talked to him. The sedative started to kick in and he laid down on the table in my arms. He was still breathing heavy. Very shortly the vet came back in with the needle. It was filled with something that was bright pink. Something about that color reminded me of Sonic the Hedgehog. In one of the games there was pink ooze that when you touched it made you shit all your coins. I hated the look of it. It didn't look real. It was like all of a sudden we were in a sci-fi movie. It made my stomach hurt. The vet tech that taught me how to give Grubb his shots came in and she stood beside me. She told me at an earlier visit that she remembered Grubb when he was a puppy. I was glad it wasn't strangers. They shaved Grubb's front leg. Grubb didn't move, just a steady loud breathing was all he could manage. The tech held his leg to make his vein bulge. The first time the needle went in he jerked his head a little. The vet stopped. They tried again that time with no reaction. He pulled the plunger back and Grubb's blood mixed with the pink ooze. A syringe full of death. I watched as the vet pushed the plunger in. Grubb quit moving immediately. The syringe was still full and I had to look away. I closed my eyes and laid my head on Grubb. The vet checked his hear beat. He was still alive, but his heartbeat was weak. I whispered secrets to him in his ear. The vet checked again and he was gone.

Grubb was never a very affectionate dog, but occasionally in his life he let me hold him while he slept. These occasions were few and far between so when it happened I cherished it. His lifeless body felt just like he was sleeping. He felt so good in my arms. I didn't want to let him go. His tongue was hanging out and it was a peculiar shade of purple. His eyes were barely open. But his body still felt like Grubb. I didn't want to let him go. I petted him for a while. I tried to wipe away all the tears and snot I had left on him. I cleaned his face a little. Little by little I got a little further away. I started having irrational thoughts. Grubb wouldn't want to be left alone. He hated the vets office. He wouldn't want to be in there without me. I had to force myself to leave. I had to force myself to believe that Grubb wasn't in there anymore.

It was a long, quiet ride home.

Kyle and I got back to the house and laid down on the bed and held each other and cried. I needed the human contact more than air.

My every thought is consumed by Grubb. When somebody invites me to do something I automatically worry if I will be away from the house too long. Who will take Grubb out, who will give him his pain pills. When I come home he is the first thing I think about when I put my key in the door. I start to have more irrational thoughts. Then I tell myself that it is completely irrational. I can't help it, I think it anyway.