I’ve been surprisingly saddened by the recent decision by my parents to give away their Manchester Terrier Seven. Surprisingly because I don’t really like the dog, he barks at every noise and is all nose and elbows, plus he’s a dog. I like my dogs like I like my men, fluffy and quiet and only around for brief visits.
I think my parents got Seven in 2003 or 2004, I don’t remember exactly. He was the runt of the litter (of 9, hence the geeky Star Trek Voyager “Seven of Nine” name) from a breeder in Terrace, BC, and I was visiting when they got him (though I didn’t name him, I was so over Voyager by then). He was cute, but he wasn’t cuddly, though he eventually became so in spite of being all pointy bits and unfluffy, when curled up into a ball beside you in a chair.
Our dog Dom, a Maltese Poodle (very cuddly), had died a few months or maybe a year previous, and he’d lived to be 15 or 16 or so and I’d grown up with him around. Dom’s best friend/worst enemy Samantha (my cat) had died maybe 2 years before that, at 14. I sort of felt when they were both gone that it was the end of an era, as we’d got them when I was in Grade 5. Here they are, old farts at this point, too weak to fight over the sunbeam:
I guess I see pets as family, and I would because I’m an only child so it’s either that, imaginary friends or hardcore drugs. I feel like I’m losing a family member here, and I did something I never do, which is question a parent’s personal decision. I argued with my mom a couple times in the last few days about how I think this is a mistake, but ultimately we agreed that it’s the best thing because she and my stepdad obviously have no soul.
Bah, it still sucks. The reason, really, is that given their move to a small condo from a very large house, plus other life changes, taking care of the dog is harder than it used to be. And the dog is a purebred and while stupid is still quite cute, so there have been a bunch of people wanting to take him. He’s not gone yet but he could be this week, and I’m sorry I was too tired to visit this weekend and say goodbye.
The other household pet is Mom’s Maine Coon cat Spooky, whom they got maybe a decade ago from the SPCA, who guessed the cat’s age at that point to be around 10. That cat is old and crotchety and its fur is all clumped up and matted, and I figure it’s still alive only out of spite for us. Spooks’ kidneys are starting to fail, though, so we probably will be saying goodbye to her sometime in the next year. Oh well, it’s hard to be that upset about the death of a pet that’s had a good life and is frankly on borrowed time at this point.
I think the real reason I’m more upset than I expected is because I’m imagining what it would be like to have to give up my cat Shebang, and that’s a really, really sad prospect. As far as I’m concerned, my home is not home without my pet, and neither are my parents’.
