The Complaint Department and Playing with fire

My dog has been really sick. A couple of weeks ago, after the first dosage of pills didn't work I was given the option of some really expensive antibiotics that may, if they seem to make a difference, may need to be given for three months. No problem. Short of the horrid 3k operation that I'd not do even if it was 20 bucks and short of Sarah doggy not being overly stressed, I'm all for giving it a go. But, the odds aren't real good and I asked the vet that had been treating Sarah that IF she doesn't get better or is too miserable if she could come to our home and do the deed. Sarah is extraordinarily terrified of the vets and making that trauma be her last moments just isn't an option. The vet said that she didn't see why she couldn't come and do that; she's witnessed Sarah's distress at the clinic. It was a HUGE relief for me to hear those words, that if I had to make that decision, at least I knew that option was open for a peaceful home ending. Fast-forward to Thursday when Sarah was doing real bad. Her steroids had run out and I suspected that is why she was having a big relapse, so I called the vet and this time she said she would have to ask her superiors about coming to the house to euthanize Sarah if needed after saying it would be okay. I asked her to please ask and also told her if she could not come to the house, I'd start making phone calls and find someone who would. The next day the person at the clinic who gave me Sarah's steroids said the owners of the clinic 'would prefer I tranquilize Sarah and bring her in to be put down' if it comes to That. I repeated that I would not. And even though he said the owners would give me a call (this was Friday morning) I've not heard from them.

I'm resolved to not get another dog. I can't take another loss...but if I was so inclined I sure as hell would never take it to this clinic.

So, I get to call around town, yellow-pages in front of me open to Veterinarians and look for someone who would be willing to come to my house and assassinate my dog if the situation comes to that. Fuck.

My nerves are completely shot. Sarah is a brave soldier and I am a total, bawling wimp. August 1988, I quit smoking. I was a two packaday fiend. The last couple of years, I've considered trying it again--crazy I know, I hate the smell, but liked the sensation. In a desperate move to find an outlet to calm down and also as an excuse to give it a shot, I've have six cigs in the past five days. They smell awful, but still taste good and there is nothing else like the focused, relaxing sensation of having a few puffs. I get dizzy, just like I did when I was thirteen and started up. I really don't want to have that monkey on my back...but I am counting on for now that one cig a day won't result in a habit. It has been a small, but welcome respite. Did I mention I am a wimp?