newspapers, trash bags and a dog.

ar. some one was asking me about an old post i had on facebook. so i had to recall the incident. so here it is. will speak of the past.

so i got home from work, having been away for 3 days doing some conference type show. u know, like leaving the house at 6am and getting back after 11pm. shows and reh`s and stuff.

ok. the 2nd day into this " show", was told by our family maid that thats something wrong with our dog. oh shit wads wrong now?

Side note- we had the dog, wicky, for about 5 years. he was given to us after their owners moved into a smaller flat, and could not bear to hold onto him. when wicky was sick, he was about 12 years old.

i went to have a look at him at his living space. infact, wicky walks the whole house. the whole house is his to walk. only when theres dinner (humans) does he get locked up behind.

he was looking bad. still walking. weakly. looking at you with a sad face. heavy breaths. sitting down. having issues getting up again. been going on a while as well.

getting old there wicky.

his food tray empty. his water bowl halfed. seemed to be eating and drinking ok.

i spend minutes with him. he looked tired.. like, real tired. not interested to even walk into the living room. rubbing him. talking to him. not wanting to carry him as i think it hurts him. shit..

hmm. thats bad. after a while, he sat down and looked away. wicky been doing that a while now. when ever someone walks to him, he will look away.

he knows......  i know.....

i went off to sleep, thinking and knowing that the end is near. went to work the next day. did the tear down, got home round 12am.

went looking for wicky. he was by the washing machine, towards the back end of the corridor.

lying on his side. breathing very very heavily.
his mouth was open. tongue out the side of his mouth.
some splatter of blood on the floor.
glassed eyes non focused.
piss and shit.
but still trying to breath.

did not see me, or brain dead, im not too sure. was not moving a lot. infact, not moving at all. just laying there, with deep, noisy breaths.

shit. wad the fuk to do? did the maid not see this? ( she sleeps early if theres no one at home)

i have to think. nick think. can call the vet?. can send to the vet?. ok. lets do that. shower first. u stink after day at work. ok. shower than deal with wicky to the vet. where is the fukin vet? any open at this time? shit.. fuk again.

so i did my toilet stuff. got new cloths on, rdy to handle wicky.

got back to the washing machine. i looked. hard......

no more movement of his chest.
eyes really glassed over.
finger to mouth, no air movement.

shit, my shower took me less than 10 mins!!

he`s dead. nar. cant be.. lets check again...

like said, no movement what so ever. 2 mins more went pass. ok nick. he`s dead.

nick, check again. so i did. fuk. he really is dead.

ok. wad the fuk am i to do now?

no one was home. family all on holiday pass week. back in 4 days time.
is there like, a funeral company that does dogs? do they collect and arrange burial? or burn?
do the family wanna see wicky before the burial or cremation or wad?

shit wad to do?

thannnnnn as i sat there beside him, i looked across and saw two items.

newspapers.
trash bags.

hmmmm. maybe that will work. i got to at lease place wicky in some form of "coffin" or carrier while i sort out things and think.

than i though again. why not wrap wicky up in layers of newspaper and trash bags and dispose of him down the rubbish chute?

Now, from here on, you all will have your own views on this. Its your head and im sure you can make up your own minds.

I decided to dispose of wicky down the rubbish chute.

I took a stack of newspaper, all straits times issues, and them black trash bags.

I slowly wrapped wicky up. paper, plastic, paper, more paper, plastic, more more more paper and a final wrap of trash bag.

It felt damm weird. here i was, doing wad i did. feeling bad? sad? happy that wicky is dead as he was suffering pass weeks? why am i doing this and not calling the dog disposal people? is this the way that people would approve? is it wrong? what is the right way? will i get condemned by the dog god? wad will the family think? am i cruel? am i crude? did wicky waited just so i got home to see me one last time before giving up? why am i heartless? am i doing the right thing at this moment in time? can i bear the shouting i will get when they come back from holiday? is my head screwed on properly? who gives me the right to dispose of him this way?

all this while, wicky laid there, beside the washing machine, in his coffin of paper and plastic.

maybe he`s there in sprit, going, u fuker nick. wanker. been your friend all this while and look wad you do to me when im dead. asshole.

so i did not yet throw him down the chute. i got on my bicycle, went to 7-11 and got a 6 pack of beer. had 4 cans downstairs by the pool, and the other two by wicky, thinking of him.

finished the two cans. and i did it.

I picked wicky up, held opened the chute, and chucked him in. heard him bounce of walls 2 times, than the thump into the rubbish bin. in went my two cans of empty beer. shut the chute.

cleaned up some blood and shit and urine. mopped up.

and that is my story of wicky.

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