I haven't been writing. Too emotionally drained.
The Dog has had two of three required rabies exams so far, and the vet visits are only underscoring her issues. Both times the poor girl has been so scared she was shaking, and she's never had a bad experience at that vet other than having to deal with strange people touching her.
If Friday was bad because we didn't know what was going to happen, this week is bad because it's just waiting. The shelter we got her from is going to take her back, and they seem to be taking her issues seriously. They're hoping to find her a home in a more rural setting where she won't have to deal with so many people, and that sounds like it could actually work. She's a fabulous family dog — general population, not so much.
So now it’s just waiting. Her last exam is on Saturday, and Sunday we drive the two hours or so to take her to the shelter.
The waiting is so, so hard. We're trying to spoil her and make her last days with us as good as they can be, but she knows something is wrong. I can't explain it to her; all I can do is pretend my heart's not breaking and feed her bacon and beef bones. And up her anti-anxiety medication.
The Husband has been such a trooper. He's done all the phone calls and the planning, 'cause I just start crying and I can't talk when I cry. (I seriously hate crying.) When asked if he really thought the shelter would do right by The Dog, he said "If I didn't think they had a shot at finding her a better place, I'd pay the $3000 and have her put down myself." God, he's such a keeper. We swore we wouldn't see her locked in a cage for the rest of her life, even though her adoption contract said we couldn't have her put down and if we ever gave her up she had to go back there. Not that I ever doubted him, per se, but hearing him say it just reminds me why I married him in the first place.