Yesterday I got a rather nasty comment on my angryfrank.com blathering blog from my ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend.  My ex and her beau had fallen out of Lucky’s life about 4 months before he died. I’d made at least two phone calls and emails to each of them regarding visiting the dog, but they failed to respond.

When I went in to visit my vet I thought I’d probably be putting Lucky down, but wasn’t sure. When she confirmed it was the right thing to do, I was too depressed to fight my own demons and rescue them from theirs to make a last ditch phone call. Lucky’s deteriorating health had taken a heavy toll on my own pain / neuropathy disability… even Sophie started referring to me as suffering from Acute Electric Football Player Syndrome due to my constant tremor and limb twitching.

The extended walks necessary to get old Fucky to keep his appetite up - as well as the hour-long hand feeding sessions up to three times a day left my body a wreck and I had to go to the ER after losing feeling in both feet and one leg for a week. Between various Xrays and MRI’s, I was managing Lucky as best I could. So yes in retrospect it would have been nice had I thought “well Karen and Craig just haven’t called because they’re depressed and avoiding the sad truth, too.” But that’s not what happened. I ended up taking old Lucky to the vet and she recommended I put him down. I miss  him terribly

But as much as I miss him, I don’t think it’s fair for people that leave your life when the shit starts hitting the fan to make a grand re-entrance when all is said and done to point at the fan and say - “Your fan is covered with shit.”