Mr. Bizkit

I love dogs. They're flipping awesome. They're better than most people according to me. So when it's time for them to do the whole rainbow bridge thing it hurts. It hurts me like people loosing a child. I guess I have a super deep connection. 

I am also the man of the house and as that man sometimes I have some jobs I really dont find appealing. Tops on my list of jobs that suck is dispatching my K9 friends.  Some people might find this  unfathomable. I find having a stranger kill my dog to be unfathomable. I couldn't let a stranger do that because I would be angry at them for killing my dog. Unfortunately that leaves me. So when Mr.Bizkits time came I was heartbroken to say the least. 

A few days earlier........

Wife and I are in the garage and I see her dog eating a rat poison block. I freak out. Yell at him to drop which he does. I run over and clear his mouth of any poisin that still lingered. I tell wife "Dude that was rat poison. We need to get him to the vet." She says something like "Oh he'll be ok. We'll just wait till morning to see how he is." I was dumbfounded to say the least. See thing is with poisons that affect your nervous system dont always show the bad signs quickly. Took 2 days. 

Now you have to understand that we'd been fighting about the Andrew B.S. pretty badly right then so I let her have control on day 1. 

She gave up on him. And me too I suppose. I spent the rest of that day making a coffin for him.

 Tell ya what. That was an emotional rollercoaster. I was bombarded with memories of past pets that got cancer or became too old to live a non painful life. See my sperm donor of a father dipped out when I was 5. So I've been doing man stuff since then. Which clearly includes sending cherished pets to the Great Beyond.  

So I get said coffin done and now I'm tasked with how! I pick up Mr. Bizkit and place him in his coffin which i lined with his blanket and a couple of his toys. And towels underneath because I know how this goes. I take an end of his blanket and put it over his head. Then yank it back and say where's Mr. Bizkit? That's a game we played since he was a puppy. I thought that might make him happy. We do it again. Wheres Mr. Bizkit?  So another blanket over head an boom 9mm to the dome. I left his blanket on him and apologize profusley for what I had to do. Hopefully he understands. 

So in her typical ungratefull fashion she fucks off any sort of helping me bury her dog. That leaves my 12 year old son and I to take turns digging his grave in 100° plus summer heat. 

We hate her so much.