My so-called journal

Corky was found to have disk disease when I took him to the Animal Medical Center a couple of weeks ago; clearly this had started some time ago but no vet had diagnosed it—during the time he'd had Cushing's disease, that was his primary problem—and I wasn't aware enough of the symptoms to know what was going on.

I was ordered to crate him in order to rest him, but this made him so crazy he began to self-mutilate. He was also crying out in the night from the pain.

Saturday I took him to a vet downtown to address the situation, including the stress of being crated. By this point, Corky wasn't able to walk easily, and I had to carry him up and down five flights of stairs. True, he was a 14-pound terrier, but it was still difficult.

Dr. DeLorenzo was patient and asked me a couple of times if I was sure I wanted to do this; I had to admit it was the best thing to do, since there wasn't even a pain reliever I could give him. Baby aspirin didn't help.

She started him with a drip of Valium, then gave him sodium pentobarbital. I know it was the right thing to do, but it's less than a week and the house feels empty. I'm so sad that he's gone, and even though I have photos of him, this is the third death I've had to deal with in less than a year. The effect is cumulative; it's just not fair.

I had tried to keep him healthy, and even brushed his teeth every night, so this really came out of left field. I'm so tired of death.

For New Year's Eve, there was a party at Belvedere Castle in Central Park. It was hosted by Time'sUP!, the environmental organization that knows how to par-tay!



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