The minute I got to his passing, I became emotional and didn't want to remember it. Unfortunately, it's the most vivid part of his life that I am able to recall. It's not that the happier memories are lost or don't stand out in their own way, but the last two weeks of his life were so utterly horrifying and heart-breaking that even after five years of healing, I'm still angry with myself for not noticing his problem earlier. In a lot of ways I still blame myself because I felt like Midnight was my sole responsibility. He wasn't and shouldn't have been (he shouldn't have been moms responsibility for a while then either,yet that happened too), but towards the last few years he did end up being that. And I loved him like he was, I was just caught up in my own issues.
Before Finn came along and the reason why he's here now is due to my family's first baby: Midnight.
I was young, about nine or ten years old, when we received a bundle of adorable black mass. My dad had surprised Keith and I before our baseball game (against mothers very wishes and warnings that we weren't responsible enough to own one. Mother knows best), so of course throughout the entire game all we could think about was the puppy.
Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed that he ruined the game. After years of being the only girl on the team (every other one having dropped out) I realized my physical lacking (and mental. I was terrified of the ball after an accident with a boy's horrible throwing hand and my fingers) pretty much cost the team the game every time. The coach was just super sweet and never pointed it out (one of those coaches was my dad). Even if it was obvious, I was only ever encouraged.
As he began to grow, Midnight's life wasn't an easy one. We had various issues that continually cropped up with the neighbors. Couple that with his otherworldly strength that he developed and problems were easy to find their way in. Not to mention we had no prior experience on caring for a dog.
Midnight was barely more than the puppy he still was when he was able to drag my sorry butt across the yard as if I were no more than a feather tethered to the end of his leash. My mother and father had to give chase to catch their muddy daughter and their dog practically oozing with excitement.
His energy and strength took us completely by storm.
Because of that, he was quick to escape the safety of our yard. During the night he would run a muck, having midnight escapades for what we barely knew he was named for. Our neighbors would, understandably, call us upset to get our dog from their yard. Normally, I would say their anger was justified, but seeing as we have had problems with their dog coming in to our yard and causing problems over the years with little to no complaint from us, I wasn't exactly hopping on the train to sympathy town. I was a kid with an adult sense of pride and I didn't care if the neighbors complained, they just needed to keep away from my dog.
That became glaringly obvious when my mother and I happened upon them beating Midnight with a stick to get their dog off of ours. Yes, their dog was on top of Midnight, yet they were beating our dog to get their dog off ours. In our yard. Make sense to you? It sure doesn't make a lick of sense to me.
Of course, after that incident all four of us were angry. The wife came over to apologize when only my grandmother and great grandmother were on the porch with me. Taking the stand, I greeted her and accepted her apology, but was very clear when I told her I wanted them no where near our yard and more importantly nowhere near my Midnight.
But they're the type of people who never listen to anyone. They think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want. Especially if it's on someone else's property without the owner's consent.
Over the years, there was always another incident, always another problem. We were never able to just enjoy having a dog. And the neighbors weren't the only ones to fault for that.
Keith and I were in the midst of schooling. While Keith was having difficulty finding himself, his behavioral issues and temper sky-rocketed. He struggled greatly with fitting in and wanting to be a part of that "oh so wonderful popular crowd". I, on the other hand, knew that I belonged in a little world of misfits and was perfectly happy with that. But I was dealing with mental trials and more importantly, medical set backs. I was missing days on end of school, the threat of being held back being very real and, to me, terrifying. Luckily I had enough doctor's excuses to cover me, thanks to mom for believing me and taking me to the doctor every time I had a migraine. Which was practically every week, every other day, occurring more so during certain periods of the month.
For those of you who don't know what a migraine is, it's a debilitating form of a headache. It makes concentrating impossible, looking at anything (especially light) difficult and hearing noises downright painful. I became so sick from these regular occurrences, I vomited on a regular basis. I was usually sent home from school if I didn't already end up staying there in the morning.
Due to this, mom was always tied up with finding how to make it to work and dealing with my weird plague, while dad was always working.
Regardless, we had so many things stealing our attention that Midnight was only able to get so much attention for himself.
It was because of this inattention that ultimately led to his demise. And while I'm still unable to write or describe outright to anyone about the events during the last two weeks of his life without the looming threat of becoming a faucet, I will say he had a deep wound that was almost expertly concealed. And while I petted him all the time, I still didn't notice it until it was far too late.
For the last two weeks my dad and I held out hope that we could save him and we tried everything we could once I came streaking in the house, devastated at what I found on my big-headed boy (literally. Other dog owners were amazed at how big Midnight's head was). Midnight gave us hope because he continued to act like a puppy despite the scenario.
Then his demeanor dropped. He wouldn't drink, he wouldn't eat. Running became impossible. Dad and I took him to the vet for the last time.
It was the worse thing to get there in tears and have veterinarians and other employees scorn, scold and openly blame you for the death of your beloved friend. Dad and I already felt guilty as it was. We were absolutely beside ourselves. And we weren't okay for a while. Scorn and hate was not something we needed.
Each employee we met there showed very openly that they didn't care about the dog, just that they had more work to do because we came with our fading companion. Those are the only people I have known myself to not forgive.
Since I had a cat still, we ended up changing our vet care. I couldn't be happier with the people I go to now. With this new care, it's made me realize that there are vets out there that are only after your money. The one I have now will never give me something I don't need whereas the one Midnight went to were always making us pay for things that didn't even make sense. But we bought in to it because we loved our boy.
So be careful out there when looking for a vet. Don't settle for less or tell yourself that you're being unrealistic and picky (unless you know you're seriously over the top with expectations. I know I can be on certain things).
Almost four years after his passing and I was beginning to think it was time to seal up the old wound with a new face. I was on petfinder.com practically everyday debating if I still wanted another dog. Older, wiser and much more responsible, I was still worried I didn't have the means of owning another dog. I was also scared of going through what I went through last time. I wanted to create a better lifestyle for the next dog I owned. Especially since he/she was going to be mine, solely.
At first the problem was getting dad on board with the idea. He doesn't show it and he'll certainly never admit it, but dad tends to be slightly more emotional than me. While he barely interacted with Midnight, the loss hurt him just as badly as it hurt me, if not worse (though I will argue the notion).
Then the problem became dad only wanting a dog that he wanted, but me being the responsible party.
After being like a filmy curtain for so long, never directly voicing my own opinion, and allowing my dad to overstep his bounds for a while, I finally put my foot down and decided I would adopt the dog I wanted since I was going to be responsible for paying and taking care of him/her.
It took a little while for it to quite sink in, but my father got the hint and backed off.
Then I struggled with the realization of adoptions being much harder than I previously thought. I contacted many fosters and shelters. Many simply never got back to me. Others, the dog had already been adopted or was adopted while I was applying.
So I changed my tactics. I started looking for less desirable dogs (or at least I thought they might be). Older dogs, medically burdened dogs, special-needs dogs, anything I thought I could handle without breaking a small budget.
Some I was cautioned towards because my family knew I couldn't handle the expenses. So, reluctantly, I passed. Day after day of looking through petfinder made me discouraged and for a while I stopped.
Then my friend was hit with the loss of one of her dogs. It was difficult for her, but she knew it had been coming. Holly had been having difficulties with painful symptoms that continued to resurface, then calm down, resurface again, calm down again and so on so forth until having her last episode of illness, when it was time to finally give her some rest.
I still miss good ole Holly Hoggins. We had a weird relationship. And I loved every minute of it.
I still miss good ole Holly Hoggins. We had a weird relationship. And I loved every minute of it.
A few months dealing with that and my friend was soon in the fire of adopting a dog. I had just started my search again and sent in an application to a dog I thought was so pretty and wished to have (but wouldn't let my hopes up) when she text me later that week saying that she had adopted a dog named Bailey. I was so thrilled for her and couldn't wait to meet the pup.
Yet surprisingly the meeting had to wait. Because I received an e-mail back from the shelter giving me contact information to the dog's foster mother: Emily.
And from there on you know the story.
I think it still depends on the type of person, but because of the mistakes I've made with my first dog, I do believe certain people should be given second chances. Otherwise I would have never met Emily, who I absolutely love and can so easily talk to, or Finn, whom can overlook all my faults, love me and help me while I help him as well.
I still miss Midnight greatly. And with a very heavy heart. There are things I may not be able to forgive myself for or be able to openly express about him with others, but I loved him as best as I knew how with anyone at the time.
I wanted him to have a place in Finn's (and my) story because he was such a big part of it that not many people know.
He'll always be my monstrous-headed, black Labrador with the personality of a pup.
R.I.P, bud.
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