I was feeling just fine before I decided I was hungry and should eat a whole mess of yogurt. I downed an excessive 4 cups of the stuff and now I feel like the various fruit flavors are fighting a civil war in my stomach. Who knew that strawberry, blueberry and peach don't mix? Everything is in there roiling and I can't help but wonder which faction will pull out the germ warfare first.
I feel like crap.
Oh, and my parents had the pomeranian put down this morning. Puff is gone. It was a miracle he last this long really. I still remember over a year ago when the vet said he had a week to live. You really can't tell with animals whether they'd be better off being put down or not. It's not exactly like they can make their wishes known. Maybe someone can invent the doggie version of a kevorkian suicide machine that can determine intent.
It looks like the fruit war is over. My stomach settled down after half a hour or so. I tried to get to sleep but other issues cropped up. One thing that's incredibly annoying is that even when I'm not experiencing pain, there's often some level of discomfort. It's not anything major if you're awake and happy to remain so. It's sort of like someone is constantly prodding you a bit in places or mildly unpleasant feelings. It becomes an issue only when you're trying to fall asleep in which case it's near impossible. I've come to associate it with pre-pain since that feeling often means that my pills are close to giving out and it's time to take another dose. The downside I'm experiencing right now is that even with another oxy pill, it hasn't gone away and so I'm more or less forced to stay up. It's a pretty common occurrence and is one reason my sleep schedule is often so screwed up. Either I end up having to wait out the problems (which can take hours) or I end up becoming so exhausted that I pass out regardless.
I feel like I should write about something interesting, but nothing's coming to mind. I guess I should jot down a little more about Puff. He was just shy of 14 years old and had always had health issues. Even when he was a youngster, he would often puke up, after eating, after drinking, or for no particular reason at all. It always felt like he was our own little resident bulimic. When he was younger, he and the peekingnese, Cutie, were constantly at war. They would fight nonstop if they were given the chance. The basic psychology of the situation seemed to be that Puff was scared of Cutie and would launch pre-emptive attacks. These usually involved racing at him, jumping up on his back, and latching down with his teeth on the back of Cutie's neck. Cutie would then freak and start turning, trying to bite Puff in the haunch. The net effect of this is they would spin like a little tornado of fur and spittle.
For years, the only way to keep them apart was to have leashes tied to furniture in each room of the house. They were always restrained so they couldn't reach one another. On those instances where a fight did start, the best case senario required 3 people to deal with it. One person would grab Puff, one person would grab Cutie, and the third would fling a cup of water into Puff's face so he would finally let go of Cutie's neck. It was a mess. I still remember one time when I was home alone and they got into a brawl. I ended up picking up the whirling mess by their tails, one in each hand and lifted htem off the ground. Try as I might, I just couldn't pull them apart that way. I ended up slamming the entire mass of snarling dog into the wall. *WHAM* *WHAM* and then on the third smash, Puff was stunned enough to finally let go. I was left holding a snarling upside down dog in each hand. I stagged across the room with them and hurled Puff into the bathroom and closed the door before he could rush back out. I don't think there was a single person in the family who didn't suffer multiple dog bites in trying to break up those fights over the years.
The really obnoxious part about this story is from almost the very beginning, I suggested we just muzzle them somehow and put them in a room together so they could sort out their dominance issues. My mom objected, fearing that one or the other would be hurt in the scuffle. Because of that, we kept up the enforced separation for years. Then, one day, the dogs were somehow put together for an extended duration and the fights ended. Poof. All fixed. I don't know how they worked it out or who was voted the alpha, but there were almost no conflicts after that.
As he aged, Puff was always sort of sickly. He would often refuse to eat and my dad took to feeding him pound cake. It was one of the few things that puff would eat and it also meant there was always a stock of Entenmann's in the house as dog food. In addition to the ongoing vomiting, he would also display these Parkinsons-like symptoms where he would stand in one place and sort of shake. When my Dad took him to the vet, he was told that multiple organs were shot and that Puff had a week to live, tops. Despite that, he kept going for well over a year and from my point of view, seemed no better nor worse than that lately. Then again, it's not like I saw Puff daily nor had to deal with him. I'm told that at the end, he was constantly pooping blood and other issues had popped up.
I think I've just come to the conclusion that people shouldn't own pets. It's great while they're around and healthy, but nothing lasts forever. I'm just not sure it's worth the negatives in the end. You should just go and play with your friends' pets or something. That way you get all of the benefits and never have to go through all the old age, sickness, and dying.