stop making sense

I watched my dog, Rascal, have a horrible, paroxysmal seizure last night. There was nothing we could do, finding him too late, already in the heat of it. His body convulsed as if it wasn't his. We put a pillow by his head so that he wouldn't bang it on the ground or the wall. Afterwards he laid for a few minutes, just breathing really heavily, various parts of his body quivering, me afraid he would go back into it and bite off his tongue, which was hanging out as if unused and unplaceable. Then he got up, out of himself, to try and walk it off, only to fall clumsily and tragically against the sides of walls, and all over the ground. We tried to stop him from hurting himself, but he needed to walk it off, or come to, and wouldn't be pacified. I felt strangely helpless, standing there, watching the death that was lingering in the room. My dog is sick, and it was sad to see those ailments doing these things to him. Seeing him scramble and stagger across the room, dizzy, falling, failing, had a strange effect on me. I've never been proximately close to death in my life; I haven't had any good friends die, or anyone that I was remotely close with in the family; I've never experienced death at all, really.