I have one big regret in my life. Although, maybe "regret" is not the right word. Perhaps, "guilt" is more appropriate. Once you read the next sentence, you will know how this ends already, but maybe it still needs to be told. I had a dog.
Technically, through-out my life I had multiple dogs. There was some poodle, whom I do not remember at all, since I was just a toddler at the time. Then we had Carry, I think she was Ireland setter, but not sure, she (allegedly) ran away when I was very young, no more than 3, probably younger. Then we got Vita, black dachshund, she lived for 14 years, had a tumor at her stomach (don't remember details) and died on way to a veterinarian, because it got worse. She really liked digging and ran to the woods near our country house a couple of times. Like for several days. While we had Vita we also had Teddy, black cocker spaniel, with 1 eye, picked up near a grocery store presumed to be left by his previous owners. He was a menace, constantly trying (and succeeding) to steal something from kitchen table. I am not sure, but I think he was hit by a car. I was still quite young when it happened.
And then there was Chance.
I do not remember why we started discussing getting another dog. Teddy was gone for a year now, I guess, we still had Vita, who was already relatively old, 7 years or so. Somehow the idea was that the new dog will be "mine". I remember we spend a lot of time selecting a breed by reading different books we had at the time. We had multiple selected, and one day my mom went somewhere and then returned with a shar-pei.
At the time I was still spending my days at our apartment in my underwear. I was like 9, maybe? I was sitting in my room doing homework, heard mom opening the door, went out and there was this dog, who seemed quite big (at least compared to Vita). He almost immediately jumped at me. Not aggressively, no. It's something that he then did through most of his life, when he was happy: jump at you with his front legs in hope that you can "catch" him. You could dance with him even. That jump definitely changed my life, since I started wearing some more clothes when at home. The amount of saliva he had also made me wash my hands more often.
Shar-pei was selected with ideas, that they can be kind of guard-dogs, they are relatively good with children, and... They look cute. To some people at least. For some reason it was not considered how problematic they can be. They often need operation on eyes, ears and/or parts of the mouth because of the folds, and even after operations you still need to treat their ears and eyes periodically. They also do like to fight with other dogs, often getting bites, that needs to be treated, too. So, while, he was planned to be "mine", in the end my mom was taking care of him most of the time from the start, and in the end, he became "hers".
The main, if not the only, input from my side during the early days was his name. His official name (in the passport) was "Alex", but previous family where he lived for 8-9 months called him Sharik (Шарик, literally meaning "baloon"). At the time I was obsessed with movie "Homeward Bound", and it had a pup named Chance, which in Russian is pronounced like Shans, so it sounded similar enough for the dog to start reacting to the name right away. Chance from the movie also had somewhat similar face structure, since he was an American bulldog.
After that, as mentioned, he was "mom's dog". She took care of him most of the time. Most of the troubles were from his fights with other dogs. He did bite a human once (my uncle, who was drunk at the time), to blood, but I do not think it was intentional, and he behaved as he understood that he was wrong. He enjoyed looking outside, as a proper guard dog, especially showing off his skills when we were at country house: he often sat or lied on the staircase, that as facing the entrance to the yard, and barked at some people (not everyone, thankfully).
He barked a lot at motorcycles, though. He hated those. A few times he got out of his leash when on a walk and there was a motorcycle nearby, and it was difficult to get him back. At least 2 of those times I got soaking wet, because in his anger he was able to cross... Not sure how to call it, a "stream", I guess. In the area where our country house was, there was a lake and a stream coming from it through out the "community", meant to be used in case of fires. In springs it had a lot of water covering the small bridges that were thrown across it. And Chance did not like water. Unlike with motorcycles, he was scared of that.
Otherwise the main problem was just some allergies, because of which we had to change his feed periodically to find something more suitable. And a bit of snoring sometimes. He also loved Vita. So much so, that after she died he started getting in the armchair, where she often slept during the day. We tried to stop that, but at country housed we gave in eventually, since sometimes it was legitimately cold on the floor quite often. Back in the city we started putting some clothes on the armchair, so that he would use his main place there.
Or one of them. He kind of had 3 of them. Or even 4. One was near the door to the apartment. One was at the kitchen, where he stood with his front legs on a bench near the window and looked at the street (he also tried doing that at the balcony, but it was too high, so only his nose could stick out). One other was in the living room, where my parents slept: there was a something like a nightstand, between 2 armchairs, and he had a bed there. 4th one was in my room.
I had a sofa-bed, which was a sofa in the day and then I "opened" it to turn into a bed. Since it took a lot of space and there my room was narrow, there was nothing at the wall across the sofa. But there was another nightstand to one side of that "gap", where Chance liked to sleep. Liked so much, that he would hit the door with his paw to open it, if it was closed. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when sofa was transformed into a bed and he needed to squeeze under it a bit. Interestingly, he did not start using that place right away after I got that sofa-bed, so I guess something prompted him to start using it, but not sure what exactly.
As mentioned, Chance was "mom's dog". So when he got what's called "volvulus" (in short bowel obstruction), she was in a panic. I don't remember much of what was happening. I remember that he vomited multiple times, and he was not pooping at all, although looked like he was trying to. I think mom started to get concerned when she felt that his stomach was hard. Thankfully, her friend used her car to get us to a veterinarian right away.
That was a very long evening. And night. And most part of the morning, really. Doctor made the operation, no issues there. For some reason he also checked other organs, while at it and turned out that Chance had cancer. A thin layer all over his bladder. The doctor suggested to euthanize Chance right away. He did not think he will live that long with it. Mom declined. I think part of the reason was that she survived the first fight with cancer, and I think it still was some time before the 2nd one, and then the 3rd. Doctor did remove some of the tumor where he could do it safely, but ultimately it stayed there.
It was not affecting Chance that much really. At some point a small drip started, and there were a couple of instances when he peed himself a little bit, nothing major, really. At least not directly. His legs were starting to become... Well, weaker, I guess. It looked like sometimes they hurt, but it was not something constant. He was getting old, for a shar-pei, too.
Then my mom died. Chance now became my responsibility. Father did try take him for walks a few times, but generally everything related to Chance was on me. Grandma helped on weekends, though, and that was... Very helpful. Because my mom died a few weeks after I got my job in Citi, and I was also still in university. So I woke up early in the morning, walked Chance, went to university, returned from it to walk Chance again, then went to work for a evening or night shift, then returned home, (maybe) slept, walked Chance... And so on. Of course, I also had to feed him, treat his ears and eyes, treat his wounds, if he got into a fight... Those were rare, since he was now 11, which is really long for a shar-pei, but still.
I think around a year passed, that I made a decision to euthanize him. His legs were getting worse. His drop was getting worse. His skin was getting worse. He was mostly lying in bed or in my room. I also thought that both his eyesight and hearing were getting worse. There were more instances of him not meeting me at the door, too. Not just that he did not react to me coming up the stairs, but that he did not come out when I already entered the apartment. I was still working and still studying, but now father start to gradually show his "true self", I guess, causing me more troubles (although true troubles were still to come).
A man came to my apartment. We went with Chance to the kitchen (not sure why exactly). We laid Chance on the floor. I was keeping my hands on him all the time. Not holding him down, but more like to calm him, I guess, although I don't think he ever resisted. The man made 1st incision. It's just a sedative, so Chance went to sleep. I think he did pee himself a little bit, but that's fine. Then the man made the 2nd incision.
I had to take a pause before continuing to write further, because it's still painful for me. It's been now... 14 years, I guess. But I still remember the moment his chest stopped moving. I still remember his last breath. I am not sure I believe in "soul" per say, that it "leaves the body", but that moment did feel like something more has changed under my hands, than just cessation of breathing or heartbeat or electrical function. The man then took away Chance's body and supposedly buried it somewhere. And then...
Nothing.
Just nothing.
I lied to father about euthanasia, I think I said that some doctor came to help with... Something, and then his recommendation was to just help the animal of his misery. In a way it's something I made myself believe. That I stopped Chance's misery, that I elevated his pain. But did I? Was he really in pain or was it just my perception? Or maybe there was something else I could do for him? Get some medicine to help with the pain and with the bladder or with the fur falling out? Can it be that I was just selfish and wanted to reduce my own burden at the cost of his life?
I did not want to write about this, to be honest. I went through some old ideas for posts and crossed-out this one, thinking, that no one would care about this anyway. That was yesterday. And during the night I saw 2 dreams where I was talking Chance for a walk. I think in some moments of the dreams he was merging with some other dog, but it was still him.
So I decided to write this. I know that probably no one will read it. And even if someone does - they won't care. I also do not know if this even helps me in any way, since the guild won't go away. Because I did kill my dog. Yes, technically, that man did, not me, but I ordered it, and that's basically the same thing. But maybe this needs to exist as sort of remembrance? I don't know. All I know is...
I am sorry, Chance.
