Bookie the Dorkie Velveteen Rabbit
Uncategorized
Over the last few years, you have heard me talking about all my little dorkies, and I have posted lots of pictures of Twinkle, Sparkle, and Agnes Rosebud.
Someone I haven't talked about much is Bookie. He's the reason I call my Yorkshire Terriers "dorkies". Because when he was just a pup, he was so silly, I'd always tell him that he was a big ol' dork. He was such a goofy, little odd ball.
I don't have a lot of pictures of him, because he didn't like to be bothered. And after fathering litters and litters of pups, I figured he'd earned his time to relax and be left alone. Plus, the little guy was about 16, so he was around before I had a digital camera and was constantly snapping photos.
Last year, he was diagnosed with canine dementia, which is basically, doggie Alzheimer's. The poor guy had been becoming more and more reclusive and confused.
He started getting lost, in his own living room.
He would go out the doggie door and not find his way back in, so that we'd have to check in bad weather to make sure he wasn't stuck outside on the porch freezing.
He didn't notice where he was peeing. One day he even lifted a leg and peed right on my foot, and didn't even see me standing there.
He'd pee in the other dog's food dish. We got rid of every rug, and carpet, and kept vinegar and a mop nearby all the time, to clean up his messes.
He had no teeth and had to be fed special food away from the other dogs who wanted to take it from him.
He always had a bad cold, and was congested and snotty, so he couldn't smell things very well. Which was lucky, because he was spared smelling himself, and he was always pretty rank.
There's more, and its all sad. The saddest part was that he lost that Dorkiness that made him so lively and cute. He was just a worried, scared, little old man who just wanted to be left alone on his pillow by the space heater.
So, when he took a turn for the worse this week, and I decided that his time had come, and made a vet appointment for him to be put down, I thought it was the best choice and that I'd be fine about it. After all, I've complained and kvetched about his pee constantly for a couple of years. And he was such a loner, that sometimes I forgot he was even around, until I had to get the mop out again, that is.
If I tried to pet him, he'd panic. I think he associated me with baths and hair cuts, things that he hated. Plus I was always the one who took care of him when he was hurt, or sore, so when he remembered me, he remembered pain.
I've been cracking jokes for two years about his odor and said that he already smelled dead, I nicknamed him Zombie Dog because he looked so bad. No matter how often I bathed him, he was crusty with drool and snot.
It had been so many years, since he'd been my little fuzzy Bookie Bear, my original Dorkie, that I really thought I'd be fine taking him in to the vet today.
For over a year, I've been struggling with the guilt of wanting him to be gone. I might offend other dog lovers with my honesty, but it really isn't easy living with a dog with that many issues. And its such a hard decision, just how do you know when the time is right? He wasn't still part of the family in a very active way, and he was a lot of work and trouble, but still, we owed it to him, to let him live out his life comfortably. When you get a pet, its a big commitment. Pet ownership isn't just for the adorable puppy stages, its for the smelly old man phase of life too.
But man, at what point do you say, enough is enough? I was so paranoid about the pee, I was mopping 5-6 times a day. This is for a couple of years. That is a lot of mopping.
This week, the question was answered when he wouldn't eat, and had some other problems come up.
I was relieved. I wasn't happy that he was not feeling well, but I was happy that the end had come.
This is how he looked on his last day. And how he looked most days. Beth said thhe nicest thing about him, that he looked like the Velveteen Rabbit who was all worn down from so much loving. Much nicer than me saying he looked like a zombie.
I took him into the vet this morning and said all of his favorite words, things that I though might bring back happy memories. I whispered, "Sparkle, lake, boat, go for a ride, newspaper, treat," and "cheese", over and over and over. Words that used to make him jump up and down with glee and act like such a little dork.
And I cried.
And now I miss his stinky little self.





















































































