3rd
Fertig...
My dog is dead.
There are so many people I could blame.
Her previous owners who somehow twisted her to become the way she was.
My dad for letting her bite the other dog.
My honors 100 section leaders for scheduling the projects this weekend.
The owners of the other dog that let it out of the house to run full speed at her.
But overall… I blame myself.
Had I gone home this weekend, I would have been the one walking her.
And she probably wouldn’t have had to die.
Nothing happens without all of its elements blending together.
Had I been walking her, I would probably have been going the other way.
The dog could have ran out, but I would have been elsewhere with her.
Or I would have been walking her earlier, later.
There are hundreds of “It could have been…”
But now, it’s all too late.
I think I am still in denial.
I haven’t shed nearly enough tears to justify what I did to her- justify how much she meant for me.
I can’t eat. Whatever I eat, I have to throw up. I hadn’t eaten anything that constitutes as food until 10PM last night, which was after I had eaten a waffle for brunch the day before. And today… I haven’t eaten anything except for a donut (which was obviously a GREAT idea, because I had to go and throw up).
Seems to me that… For every hunger pang I get, it settles into me the hunger she will never experience because she’s gone. She can’t eat- one of the things she loved the most.
I don’t care what they call it- “put her down” “euthanized” “mercy killing”… it was murder. Murder, and nothing else.
But I have no one to turn to to throw my anger at. I’m tired. Too tired…
