We had to put Truman to sleep. And now the house is very quiet; so still that it feels like even I am not really here.
On his last day, he watched me do yoga. He wasn’t eating despite wheeking for food and nosing his bowl every few minutes, seeing if I gave him something different. He didn’t want lettuce, but I had given him carrots the night before (and he ate all of his overnight food), and didn’t want to give them again. He even rejected critical care. The pig never rejected critical care.
I gave him some water by hand and called the vet.
There were two appointments; one if I could get there in the next fifteen minutes and the other in the late afternoon. I took the one in the afternoon because we live more than fifteen minutes from the vet. He continued to snuffle around the rest of the day, but was pretty subdued.
And then he lay down on his side and his limbs started shaking. He arched his head back and his eyes were wide open, but I don’t think he was seeing anything. I called the vet’s office and was told to bring him in immediately.
I cried the whole drive over there and told him how much I loved him.
The doctor said his heart was barely beating and that it was cruel to keep him alive and let him die slowly over the next hour. So I picked him up and gave him three kisses — I always gave him three kisses — and stroked him for a little while, repeating how much we love him. He was so limp, half-gone, and letting out little, shuddering breaths from time to time. His head never moved from that tilted back position.
After he was gone, she wrapped him in a purple towel and I drove him home. I didn’t play his vet music in the car because he couldn’t hear it. I didn’t have to drive with one hand on his back telling him not to climb out of his box because he could no longer climb out of his box.
It was just me, alone, going home to meet Josh and tell the kids that our guinea pig was gone.
They were devastated. My parents came over and we buried Truman, each of us giving him a last cookie. I cleaned out his cage and washed his dishes. And then there was nothing left to do except say, “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I am so sad. A few nights ago, ChickieNob and I were fooling around with Truman, and I took a bunch of pictures of them puckering their lips at one another. I can’t believe that’s all I have left of my little moo.