Kirby Buckingham
He was ready, we were not.
Kirby. Cubby. The Cubs. The Kirbster. Big Bidness. Big Guy. Big Twubbles. My Boy.
When the time had come for his very last car ride, he let me pick him up and carry him out to the car without even the slightest whimper (those with Bassetts know this isn't normal) and he walked casually into the veterinarian's office, even waiting patiently for me to hold the door for him. While we waited for a room, I silently wished he would become completely incapacitated or start barking at the other dogs, showing some life. Instead, he sat calmly between Amy's legs, occasionally looking at us with the eyes that won us over a little over 3 years ago.
A million thoughts raced through my head, memories of the good times we had and my thoughts on death and what happens in the end. Our only goal was to end his pain which he was clearly in. While he was walking on his own, he hadn't had a bite to eat or even a sip of water (Kirby had a serious drinking problem) and he hadn't just been himself in weeks. I spent the majority of this week lying on the floor with him (still doing my conference calls at work) and he had finally let me look into his eyes for long periods of time. I saw sweetness and pain, pain he didn't deserve.
Amy and I stayed with him while Dr. Sunderman injected a powerful sedative followed by an overdose of a narcotic. He calmly fell asleep on his side next to Amy and I on the floor. His heart stopped about 30 seconds after the narcotic was administered. No movement whatsoever. And then he was gone.
We would have done anything to make him better- any amount of money, any amount of time. He was our child. His quality of life was the most important thing however and Amy and I could not fathom dozens of trips to the vet, surgeries, medicines and immobility. The cancer was too aggressive and we were out of time. He deserved better. We rescued him from an abusive family and someone who abandoned him. Though maybe he rescued us. He gave us better days. He deserved to be free of this pain. And now he is.
Thank you so much for finding us, big guy.
Wherever it is we we pass from this physical life, I hope to see this again
January 13th, 2010 - 14:54
seriously… you would think these animals are humans… they are dogs… they aren’t kids, they aren’t human…. I am a long time owner of dogs and treat my dogs very well, but they will always be pets and for someone in earlier posts to act like it is something more or that God was disapprove of you putting your sick pet to sleep is idiotic. PETA has seriously brainwashed way too many people…
January 31st, 2010 - 11:06
Ah cut little doggy
February 14th, 2010 - 22:30
Wow, stumbled across this blog, saw bassets, read a littl emore, found this entry. Typing this comment through tears. I know how you feel.
I will not own another dog ever again unless it’s a basset – I’ve tried and it is simply not the same. The hurt you feel in your heart will dull in time, but the love will always be there. Treasure it!!
I lost my Cleo (Lady Lollipop Longears, according to the AKC) like 15 years ago, and I’m stunned at how much emotion seeing your pictures and reading your blog entry brought forth. I’m gonna go hug my cat.
March 6th, 2010 - 21:51
Wow! I finally felt like I could read all of these comments and I am so thankful to all of you that shared your love for your pets with us. I am sad that Natalie will never meet Kirby because they would have loved each other. Kirby was always so patient with children. I still think about him everyday and find myself listening/looking for him. I think Sally our basset-whippet is still wondering what happened to her playmate. Thank you again!
June 29th, 2010 - 12:53
A beautiful tribute to your Kirby. In response to NateDog above, to many of us, they are our children. Your comment was cruel and you should have gone on your merry way without leaving your opinion. Just because you don’t understand doesn’t make you right.
To Michael and Amy, I’m so sorry for your loss. He was lucky to have been so loved.