Broken

Sunday, October 8, 2023

This has been the worst day of my life.

The day started out fine. The kiddo and I packed up the dog and her cat into the car and drove the hour to her softball practice. The animals and I just hung out in the car. After, we drove to the parents house so I could continue to work on my studio.

Montana was a bit weaker than normal. I had to help him go outside to go to do his business. He then just laid on his bed by my desk while I worked. He wouldn’t eat, not that that was unusual. So I had to syringe feed him, again.

Around 9pm, all Hell broke loose. My kiddo was in the studio, at my desk, and I was cleaning up. I looked over to see Montana standing up. He looked at me and the collapsed, loosing control of his bladder. I immediately ran to him, picked him up and ran outside, calling for my dad. I knew. I instinctively knew, he had a stroke.

My dad came running over, as I sobbed, saying that something was wrong and I think he stroked. He was limp, breathing, but limp. He got me a towel so I could wrap him up, and I sat on a lawn chair with him cradled to me. I knew this was it. He wasn’t going to make it. That was when my kiddo started hyperventilating with a full blown anxiety attack. My dad got her emergency meds while the step-mom got a blanket for me and Montana to lay on.

My kiddo kept begging him to get up, and I sobbed. I kept trying to get her to understand that he was basically already gone. He couldn’t focus, although he was looking at me. His tongue was lolling out and his gums were white. He tried. He really did try to move, but all he managed was to whimper and tighten up, almost like he was going to have a seizure.

My parents called the nearest animal hospital that would be open at 9:30 on a Sunday night… which turned out to be over an hour away. Even though I didn’t think he would make it, I decided to take him, just in case, because I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. So my kiddo said her goodbye, as did the step-mom, and they stayed while I held my baby boy as my dad drove us.

For 45 minutes, I stroked his head and his nose and whispered how must I loved him and how he was the such a good by and the best dog ever. I told him that it was okay to let go and that I would be okay… even though that was a lie. About 10 minutes before reaching the vet, Montana, my fur baby, my baby boy, my shadow, the best dog in the entire world, took his last breath in my arms.

When we got to the vet’s office, I was inconsolably sobbing. I carried the body of my fur baby in and let him know that he didn’t make it. The tech was kind in the way she took his limp body from me. And that was it. The last time I would ever see him. The last time I would ever stroke his fur. The last time I would kiss his head and tell him how much I loved him. I went back out to the truck while my dad filled out all of the paperwork because I was in no condition to do so. Then we silently drove the hour back so I could pick up my kid and go home.

I texted the boyfriend what happened. He cleaned up all of Montana’s things before I got home because I couldn’t handle it.

I am utterly broken.