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Found 2 results

  1. I somehow can't move forward. My young little dog passed away unexpectedly due to fatal mistake by a bad vet. I am riddled with guilt for letting him go there. This was a different vet we found out too late he was incompetent and killed my dog, just for a routine dental cleaning. Something that takes less than an hour. He did nothing right and everything wrong. My dog did not deserve this. It was voluntary and I regret sending him there. I grieve and cry every day. I don't now how to manage this. It's a big loss. He was the pack leader and such a wonderful friend to his 2 brothers. What do I do? I am beside myself. He didn't need this done. He was only 6 and very healthy. He was a fearful dog. It's possible they kept him in fear against his will without calling me to alert me that he was frightened. It' only my 2 other dogs that keep me going. Is there really a bridge? I need some kind of hope. I am lost. I don't eat right. I'm down 17 lbs and haven't gained any back. His passing is tearing me apart inside. I loved my little guy and I feel I failed him. I had on word to say to prevent this fro happening. I could have said NO, that he was not coming in and I would have kept him home. He'd be here today instead of in a box in my closet which I still cannot open!!!
  2. A rose is a rose is a rose. Accidents are accidents are accidents. I understand this all too well, but it doesn't make things any better. As pet owners, we all know that the absolute worst thing that could ever happen is accidentally killing our life companions. The blood on our hands, so to speak, doesn't wipe off easily if at all. Our minds go on a loop of could have, would have and should haves. The days that follow feel so cold with their absence, and knowing their abrupt demise was on your watch makes the atmosphere even colder. They did not deserve such an awful end, we tell ourselves. They really don't. No one does. But, it happens. This is my story. My daughter's nanny found an abandoned kitten a street or two away and brought it back to our doorstep. I jolted out of my nap when my husband told me that there was a kitten outside. She looked around two months old. We took her in and loved her as our own. Morrigan filled a certain space in our lives that made us feel complete. My husband, the dog person, even fell in love with her. Most of all, finally having a cat again made me so happy. That was until one unfortunate Monday morning, almost two months later. I woke up to find Morrigan playfully biting my sleeping husband who was annoyed by the habit, and then moving on to my sleeping toddler's foot. She was in that painful biting phase and we were trying to discipline her. My lack of a morning person made me pick up the kitten and put her in a box. I thought I would leave her there for a very brief moment as I went to drink a glass of cold water and then go back to her immediately. But, when I did, I spaced out and forgot about my poor little kitty. It wasn't until 30-45 minutes later when I went to fill her food bowl did I realize that I left her in the box. I panicked and ran to get her out of the unventilated box only to find out I was too late. Her body was still warm but she hung lifelessly on my hands. I tried administering CPR but my efforts were futile as her brain would have already collapsed by the lack of oxygen. The nanny found me by the bathroom crying and screaming. My husband, who was awakened by my relentless bawling, came to comfort me and was also struck with grief. I held her to my chest the whole time. I'm one of those pet owners who treat their pets as if they were their children. Morrigan was more than a family pet. She was my baby. And, I killed my baby. When I finally gathered myself, I put together her belongings in a pretty shoebox where I also laid her to rest, all swaddled and snug in one of my baby's gauze cloths. We held a small funeral as we burried her by the tree in our secret garden, where I used to take her so she can graze on the vegetation. I moved all of her photos and videos from our phones to a zip folder in my computer. I rearranged the space where her feeding station used to be. I wasn't getting rid of her, but I knew what I had to do to make moving on easier. On our first night without Morrigan, I had a dream about her. It was one of those ethereal-esque dreams you have when someone close to you dies. I woke up with tears of joy. That sense of relief didn't last long. Guilt, as we all know it, is a very powerful affliction. I was back in that cold place again. The tragic scenario played over and over in my head. I tried to go on with my day as usual, but I was dying inside. I didn't want to talk about it, thinking that dwelling upon it might make moving on harder. I feared that in a heated discussion of our grief, I would be blamed for her death, which I knew I deserved but couldn't bear to hear. So, I kept it all inside. But, silence reaches a point where it becomes deafening. I was furious. I have been through a lot (a rich backstory that I won't discuss), but this by far is the worst thing that has ever happened to me... because this time, I brought it on to myself. Everything was just right. I had a beautiful family and she completed the picture. Above everything else, she filled a hole in my heart that I didn't even know was there (or refused to acknowledge). There was something about having a cat that made me whole. After another restless night of tossing and turning, I got up and googled: "I accidentally killed my cat and I feel devastated and I don't know what to do." That's how I got here. Somehow, being able to write it down helped, but I know dark clouds may hover again some time soon. So, I'm taking it one day at a time. To my daughter: I'm sorry that your best-kitty-friend, "Monggan" is not around to play with you anymore. To my husband: I'm sorry. I know how much you loved her and I know you are just as heartbroken. Thank you for being my rock. And, to my sweet, little Morrigan: I could never apologize enough. You were gone too soon, and I'm so sorry it had to happen that way. I will miss having you perch on my shoulder as I do things. I will miss the funny way you look when you're pooping. I will miss how you follow us to the bathroom. I will miss separating the bigger pieces of your dry food from the small fish-shaped pieces and soaking them in water/milk so you can eat them easily. I will miss refilling your water bowl with clean tap water every couple of hours. I will miss fish day. I will miss watching you and my little girl, playing. I will miss giving you nice, warm baths and swaddling you after because you start shivering. I will miss how my husband tells you you look ugly and funny when you're wet from your bath. I will miss brushing your fur with a soft toothbrush. I will miss that one claw nail that was injured (pre-adoption) which took longer to grow than the rest. I will miss how you come running straight towards me when I call you. I will miss your baby kitty smell. I will miss your smooth, round belly. I will miss how you playfully bite my nose/chin and lick it immediately after. I will miss how you cuddle up with my hubby when he's sleeping. I will miss how you beg for food when we're eating, and how we pick you up and put you down when you get too close to the food. I will miss how my hubby falls for your cutie-patootie tactics and give you a sliver of chicken anyway. I will miss waking up and finding you somehow snuggled in between me and my hubby's embrace. I will miss everything about you. Mommy loves you so much. You were family and more. You made us very happy and we miss you dearly. You will always be in our hearts. ?
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