This is their first one. I had hoped it wouldn’t be for another ten years or so when they were both teenagers.
The youngest doesn’t fully understand what’s up. He asks where the dog is and then runs off to watch more SpongeBob or wrestle with his big brother.
It’s my 7 year old Andrew that’s pretty upset, but even he, at his age, is only having small bouts of grief interspersed with long periods of play. It doesn’t seem to really be hurting them all that much, because they are so young.
That poor dog…I had to talk, soothe and attempt to comfort him for nine hours today while he pissed and shat himself, convulsed, foamed at the mouth. He never once acted like he recognized me during that whole time. I felt so powerless. I couldn’t get him to the vet myself earlier today because he’s big, I had the boys and my wife had taken the van to work so I only had my tiny Scion.
He became like a fixture in the background, having seizures on the floor, laying there.