The Last Night
I'm sure this would have to rank as one of the saddest nights of my life. I have faced the fact that Molly's most recent illness is not one from which she is going to recover. She is losing ground, and every day is seems a little more so. As I look back it's clear that she really hasn't eaten in almost two weeks. Tonight when we got home she managed to stand up for a little love, a small wag of the tail and that was it. Back down and back to sleep. I've called Rick, her vet. He's out of town but will return tomorrow afternoon, so I'll take her then.
When I made the decision to put Dewey and Diz down, it was quick. Dewey's immune deficiency suddenly recurred, was discovered and diagnosed in the span of 15 minutes. I knew I would never put her through steroid therapy again, so there was the answer. Very clear.
Diz's kidneys had been failing for so long, and he was in such digestive distress, that when Rick called me with the results of his blood work, I knew immediately what had to be done.
There was no interim period between decision and destiny.
Molly is the last of a great group of very special Clumber Spaniels. When she's gone, everything that was left of Dewey will go with her. Everything she ever learned from Diz will be gone from this planet forever. Except in my heart, and Gabe's and Cas'and Patti's and Mom's. It will be over, and I still feel as if it's only just begun.
I have no more fervent hope than this: that she will wake up tomorrow and the drugs will have kicked in, and she will get up and wag her tail and eat. This would be heaven on earth for me.
What will it mean to be Clumber-less?
When I made the decision to put Dewey and Diz down, it was quick. Dewey's immune deficiency suddenly recurred, was discovered and diagnosed in the span of 15 minutes. I knew I would never put her through steroid therapy again, so there was the answer. Very clear.
Diz's kidneys had been failing for so long, and he was in such digestive distress, that when Rick called me with the results of his blood work, I knew immediately what had to be done.
There was no interim period between decision and destiny.
Molly is the last of a great group of very special Clumber Spaniels. When she's gone, everything that was left of Dewey will go with her. Everything she ever learned from Diz will be gone from this planet forever. Except in my heart, and Gabe's and Cas'and Patti's and Mom's. It will be over, and I still feel as if it's only just begun.
I have no more fervent hope than this: that she will wake up tomorrow and the drugs will have kicked in, and she will get up and wag her tail and eat. This would be heaven on earth for me.
What will it mean to be Clumber-less?