In my life I have had two dogs. One is a six year old dachshund who still acts like a puppy. The other was a very intelligent black Labrador. I had her for ten years, through all my growing up. She was an amazing dog, and one night while I was sleeping over at my dads, he woke me up to say that mom called and was wondering if I wanted to come home early because the dog seemed really sick. I half knew that she was about to be put down in the morning, but I said no.
I went to school, and she was put down, I just came home and she wasn't there. And I didn't feel a lot. I think maybe because a year before we weren't sure if we could find a cheap enough place to move where we could keep her, and that was when I cried for about an hour straight, and then another hour later. But when she finally did pass it never hit me very hard at all.
Although knowing that before she was put down they discovered she had had cancer and that the reason she was bloated was she was bleeding internally as most of her organs were calcified was pretty awful. Wish we'd known sooner, but she never acted like she was in pain.
My grandpa recently died too, and while the family was up at the hospital I never went, and I felt nearly nothing at the funeral, so I guess it's just easy to handle death when you're not actually there.
