Dug my pet piggy's grave. Dark stuff and animal death. - Lemmy.World
I’m not much for trigger warnings, but this probably deserves one. Animal death
with firearms. I have to put Peppa down on Sunday. She is an elderly potbelly
rescue. Finished her grave yesterday. The first time I had to kill a puppy, I
was 15. I guess my boss thought it was funny. Worked on a tater farm. It was a
fluffy black lab mix. Did it with a .22 rifle. My first shot didn’t do it,
second did. I didn’t throw up, but felt like it. I guess it was supposed to make
me tough or something. I have put down other pets since then. Usually for a
neighbor. Doing it for a pet that I’m not connected to is easier. I required
that they be in the yard but didn’t have to watch. I learned to use buckshot,
it’s unpleasant for me but the poor baby feels nothing. I’m from a particularly
deep part of the south. I have lived in trailer parks and poverty. When you
can’t afford to go to the doctor, the critters don’t go to the vet. Am a hunter,
squirrel and deer. While I’m always a little sad when I kill, I don’t have a
deep connection to the animal. I do it cleanly as I can and will use a knife for
mercy. I have only ever taken one trophy, an albino squirrel. I cried when I
killed it and I don’t think I’ll ever take a trophy again. Meat and pest
control. As my finances have improved, I no longer had to put down family pets.
We moved last August, we’re behind on Dr visits for ourselves and haven’t found
a new vet. I have called every vet in town and the town over. I can’t get them
to come out and euthanize Peppa, no prior relationship. I’m also not willing to
take Peppa to the vet. Pigs travel poorly and I’m not having that be her last
experience. Fucking sucks. I dug her grave 48-42" (surface slopes 6") deep until
I hit a sheet of rock. Cut it through clay that is 1’ under topsoil. That’s
serious work. It sits over a creek, you can’t quite see the spot from the house.
It’s pretty there, you can hear the creek and there’s wild rose. I found a chunk
of marble embedded in the surface a few feet from where I was digging. There is
also a pile of cobbles that I was going to use to cover the grave. I thought
they’d been dumped. Also found a wood stake marker. It’s a good spot and I’m not
the first to put a loved one there. My entire body is sore. We were supposed to
help move Peppa for a friend that worked with a rescue. My girl had two
potbellies when we got together and our friend hadn’t worked with pigs. Peppa’s
original owner committed suicide. Her husband fed her hay, not an acceptable
diet. Peppa had been in a 4x4’ pen for a long time in her own filth. I had to
cut the vines off the gate to get her out. It was bad. My girl gave me the look
and Peppa came home with us. Peppa makes squeaky noises like a rubber duck when
she’s happy. She has hip arthritis, likely from her previous living conditions,
and it has now progressed. Early on, she bit my wife and put her in the ER. She
is now a total sweetie pie. Our piggies live like queens. They have a yard and a
7x20’ room in the barn. The entrance is a ramp as they’re all older. It’s
enclosed and serves as an airlock with two flaps. They have what I call a canopy
bed, it’s a big box I built with insulation on all 6 sides. The roof is on a
pulley and there is an electric chicken heater in it. Like a heat rock for a
lizard. They get kerosene heat in their palace when it gets much below freezing.
Have a wireless thermometer inside their bed, when it’s 10deg F it’s 50deg in
bed. Pigs are so smart. Smarter than smartest dog you’ve ever met. They’re
sapient. They feel and love and want like children want things. They scheme and
hold grudges and get mad. I really don’t want to do this shit but I don’t see
where I have much choice. I’m not going to stuff her tired old sore bones into a
terrifying ride. Sunday we’re going to let her gorge on Cheetos and Oreos and
all the junk she wants. Going to give her a large dose of the tranquilizers we
had from the move. When she gets good and deep asleep in the sun, she won’t wake
up. My family will be inside. I shroud her in plastic and then a fleece blanket.
My family will help me bury her. I rarely cry, but this has me nine kinds of
fucked up. Just sitting here with tears running down my face and when I was
digging that fucking hole. Peppa is a part of my family. My wife used to work
hospice. We have an agreement that if one of us gets dementia or Alzheimer’s, we
have to put the other down. I’m selfish, I hope I go first of a stroke or
something. I dread this. I’m Daddy and I do the hard things. Fucking sucks.
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