I had to euthanize Buster last Thursday. He kept having seizures that would appear a week or two after increasing his medication. The doctor said that this indicated that his brain tumor was progressing. He was up and walking and in good spirits when I made the decision, so that was hard.
I've mentioned that I inadvertently trained Buster to be my emotional support dog. When he was a puppy, whenever I would exclaim, "Goddammit!," which I do a lot, whenever I couldn't find my glasses or for any other reason, and he was nearby, I'd say affectionately, "No, not you, Buster!" and I would pet him. It got to the point that whenever I would say, "Goddammit," he would come up and nuzzle me, because he would associate that with getting petted. As he got older, he would just kind of come near, but I would pet him just the same.
I found Buster across the street from my old house. He was about ten or twelve weeks old. I figure that someone was too cheap to pay the shelter to take him in, so they saw that I had a big back yard with a dog, and they abandoned him out front. He looked well fed and not as if he'd been homeless for any length of time. I took him to the shelter for "processing" and put out an ad on Craigslist if anyone wanted to claim him, no takers. When I picked him up from the shelter, the tech had named him, "Mister Waggy Tail." He was happy to see me again. He lived to nine years.
I still have thoughts cross my mind that I have to feed him or walk him when I get home. The stuff the vet gave me said not to get another dog right away. I still have to deal with Buster's ghost, I guess. I can sleep better, because my sleep is not so regimented around giving him his medicine.
I'm coming along on the new book really well, as usual. Again, my problem is not productivity, but lack of sales. I'm trying to play more songs when I practice, so that I can get ready to start playing live. I would like to see if I can get myself down to Red River and hand out flyers later this week.
I've mentioned that I inadvertently trained Buster to be my emotional support dog. When he was a puppy, whenever I would exclaim, "Goddammit!," which I do a lot, whenever I couldn't find my glasses or for any other reason, and he was nearby, I'd say affectionately, "No, not you, Buster!" and I would pet him. It got to the point that whenever I would say, "Goddammit," he would come up and nuzzle me, because he would associate that with getting petted. As he got older, he would just kind of come near, but I would pet him just the same.
I found Buster across the street from my old house. He was about ten or twelve weeks old. I figure that someone was too cheap to pay the shelter to take him in, so they saw that I had a big back yard with a dog, and they abandoned him out front. He looked well fed and not as if he'd been homeless for any length of time. I took him to the shelter for "processing" and put out an ad on Craigslist if anyone wanted to claim him, no takers. When I picked him up from the shelter, the tech had named him, "Mister Waggy Tail." He was happy to see me again. He lived to nine years.
I still have thoughts cross my mind that I have to feed him or walk him when I get home. The stuff the vet gave me said not to get another dog right away. I still have to deal with Buster's ghost, I guess. I can sleep better, because my sleep is not so regimented around giving him his medicine.
I'm coming along on the new book really well, as usual. Again, my problem is not productivity, but lack of sales. I'm trying to play more songs when I practice, so that I can get ready to start playing live. I would like to see if I can get myself down to Red River and hand out flyers later this week.
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