Tinkerbell's surgery went well
Current mood: relieved

For those of you who knew and were tracking, Tink's surgery went well. The mass in her spleen that they weren't worried about because spleens tend to be a little lumpy in general turned out to be very concerning, and so they've removed the entire spleen and sent it in for testing. They were, however, unable to find the lump in her liver, and so decided that it may not yet be a problem and left it in. We'll watch it to see what happens and go from there. They did take some liver biopsies to ensure nothing is terribly wrong, and they sent those out for testing as well. She's come out of the anesthesia well, and is resting in the 24-hour vet facility.

I'm to call tomorrow morning after 9:30 to see how she is and when she can come home. Probably tomorrow sometime, but you never know -- she might just relax enough to enjoy her time there and not make them ship her out like an HMO patient on a budget.

Starbreaker, in the mean time, is bored. I don't want him eating the new couch, so we'll be coming up with some evening activities to occupy his little puppy mind. I swear under all that black fur there's a blonde undercoat! I think now that I'm done with dinner, it's time to do some training and work on the pond -- that ought to keep him occupied!

Tinkerbell's Home
Current mood: optimistic

My baby grrr is so funny! I called the doctor this morning to find out how she was doing and they said "Tinkerbell's Fabulous!" Apparently, she was eating with a single-minded determination that only a hungry rottie trying to make up for a couple lost meals can muster. Goof!

So I picked her up and she's all a-dither, pretty much like I expected. I get her home and CRASH. Yep, she slept on my foot for something like 8 hours. I think the drugs hadn't worn off like they thought they had -- she had some serious anxiety goin' on. Once she was safely home, just how wiped out she really was became evident.

Well, then she got up for a late supper, ate, and took her hind leg to the itchy spot on her side. Yeah, that'd be the peel-n-stick time-release pain patch that's supposed to stay on for 3 days. Not sure why they put it on her underside and expected that to stick, but there it is. So, back in the car, back to the hospital and now she's got a new shaved spot with a new pain patch. She's asleep on my foot again. She seems to be doing well, though, and Starbreaker's glad to have her back. I'm just glad she's OK.

We're supposed to get the results from the various biopsies back soon enough. I'll post another update when I get it.

Well, that was exciting!
Current mood: nervous

K, so I have to work, right? You know, to pay the mortgage, heat, food, vet bills, and such? So to that end, since Tink really appeared to be doing well, I decided to go to work today. I was very careful to follow the post-op instructions to the letter. Of course we don't own and have never used crates, but I came as close as I could. I put the Elizabethan Collar on Tink, locked her in the master bedroom with a big bowl of water, very little light and some comfy bedding, left Starbreaker in the living room, and went to work.

Ask me how that worked out.

Yeah, not so well. I came home to find that Houdini had somehow unwoven the closures on the Elizabethan collar and gotten all but one of the ties loose, so she essentially had an enormous plastic bib hanging from her collar by a single support. I've got these pegs on the back of my bedroom door and she'd just ripped my jeans, my sweats, and my bathrobe down off them, actually breaking off one of the wooden pegs and ripping the hanger loop on the robe in the process. The water bowl was completely empty, the pillows on the bed were on the floor, the teddy bear was on it's side, the pillow pillows were moved forward a foot, the entire bed had been moved 5" to the left, and there were mystery tufts of carpet fluff in front of the door. Remember, this is the dog that was slit open, stem to stern, right down her fat, shaven belly less than TWO DAYS AGO.

*sigh*

I walked in to see the mess and a wiggling, happy baby grrr, hot and panting, and absolutely delighted to see me. What else could I do? I bent down to pet her and.... Oh dear! Her pain patch is off again. Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! I have to find that! It could kill her if she licked it or gnawed on it. Or Star, for that matter.

Where is it?

Hello?

Little clear sticky lethal thingee? Where are you?

Hello?

HELLO?!!!

*tears room apart looking for patch*
*tears room apart again*
*3rd time's a charm?*

Damn. No patch.

OK, this is serious. Did she eat it? Here pupils aren't dilated and she doesn't seem stoned. In fact, she seems down right anxious. OK, lets put her outside and look again. Good grrr.

It's not here.
I'm sure.
I've folded and unfolded and refolded the dog beds 5 times. I've gone all over the bed, the carpet and the area under the bed. I've checked the toys, the wall, the door, the furniture and the curtains.

Oh shit.

*frantically calls vet*

Hi, this is Carrie, Tinkerbell's mom? Yeah, I got home from work and she's managed to remove the Elizabethan collar, I've no clue how, she's disassembled the bedroom, also no clue how, and the pain patch is missing. I've searched everything twice. I'm sure. It's gone.

"Do I think she's eaten it? HELLO?!!! YES, I THINK SHE'S EATEN IT, why do you think I'm calling?!! Of course I can hold.

Shall we hold a pool to determine their response? Oh, come on! Pet owners, sing along! "Keep an eye on Tinkerbell and if she exhibits any nausea, diarrhea, weakness or excessive sedation, bring her in." Ummmm. K. How quickly would this onset. I mean, like, am I allowed to sleep through the night? No clue? Right on! K, and for how long shall I keep watch? Oh, a day or two. Ducky. Will it kill her? In see, so I should just keep an eye on her. Well, you've been a big help. Thanks!

Show of hands: anyone ever stuck their finger down a rott's throat?

Bueller?
Bueller?
Bueller?

Yeah, me either. She just seemed so.... OK. Except I was afraid to give her the other pain meds in her arsenal, for fear that they'd make her act all sedated and weak, in spite of it all, as it were. I mean, really, I don't want to bring her in for legal drug use.

OK, well, diluting the poison is good and they're hungry, right? So I fed them, let them outside, and watched the whole thing. Thank the merciful Goddess I've got hardcore drug users in my life! I mean, uhhh, that is, well, she's not nodding....

Uhhhh...

*sobs uncontrollably*

OK, so be sensible, Carrie! She's acting like a happy, healthy baby grrrr, so treat her like one.

I'm hungry.
It's hot.
I don't want food I have to nuke.

K, so that's it, then -- I'm going to the store! I am leaving the house with a single minded determination as though everything were JUST FINE!

*stomps out*

Right! So I get to the store, and I get out of the car at a near run and I make it all the way to the front door when... what's that sound? It sounds like something's stuck to my shoe. Ugh! What a time to hit 2nd hand gum!!! Argh!

*flips foot over and looks*

Oh.
Dear.

Fuck.

SHE'S GOING TO BE OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*happy dance, right there in public, on the sidewalk, in front of god and everybody*

*anger hits*
*uber delux swearing spree*

*crying jag*

*happy dance again*
*slurs into river dance*

*shakes head*
*wakes up*
*kisses complete stranger*

WOO HOO!
Conga line!

*Tinker's gonna be OK!
Tinker's gonna be OK.
Tinker's gonna be OK!"

You know -- some people are SO STUFFY about this kind of thing!You'd think they'd never kissed a dog before -- geez!

OK, well, she appears no worse for the wear. I have decided that the vet can go fuck herself -- I'm not going to attempt to separate Tink and Star again. I'll lock them in a small room together and trust Tink to tell Star she doesn't want to wrestle. Everyone seems happy and healthy and an enormous furry chin snoring on my foot shouldn't be a bad sign, right?

(pray for me)

Tinkerbell's biopsy came back -- it was cancer
Current mood: crushed

The doctor says the biopsies they took of the liver weren't abnormal, but they were unable to locate the lump to biopsy it.

The spleen that they took was cancerous, and it wasn't the low-grade malignancy they expected. They don't know what to think, now, because they don't usually catch this cancer this early on. It is extremely aggressive and they're telling me to put her on chemotherapy right away. It seems that this particular cancer spreads very quickly and although they got the entire spleen, and therefore all of that mass, the vet is thinking it's probably already spread, and, in fact, that may be the elusive lump in the liver that they can't find. It's not a "wait and see" cancer, though; with this one they don't want you to fuck around.

Doctor says that chemo for pets is different than for people. Apparently, they don't work on cures, but rather on "buying time" and on improving quality of life. Basically, that makes chemo an easier choice because there's little down side. On the other hand, even though we caught it early, all the stuff you'd expect to hear a doctor saying to you about your excellent chances because you caught it early are now sidelined, since pet medicine has a different focus.

Tinkerbell's 9 years and 4 months old. Life expectancy for a Rottie is 10-12 years, on average. Clearly, she's already come close, and she'll prolly fall into the average at this point. Doctor's telling me that these cancers are pretty common in Rotties. I wonder if that has anything to do with the life expectancy of the breed.

Tinkerbell's released to all normal activities and supposed to see an Internal Medicine Vet as soon as possible to get her on chemo. Interestingly enough, there are precious few Veterinary Oncologists practicing. Basically, my choices are to see the one in Seattle that's about 6-8 weeks out for an appointment, or drive to Pullman or Portland.

Tinkerbell WILL be having the BBQ that we couldn't throw for Vern, hole in my yard or not. Stay tuned for the date. Lets spoil her silly, K?

Freedoms Just Another Word For Nothing Left to Loose
Current mood: contemplative

...

Now, for those who don't know, Tink's triglycerides are pretty high. I'm a sort of "holistic" girl, and while it would be wrong to focus on her triglyceride levels while she's a cancer patient, I feel that healthy bodies are better equipped to fight illness, so we decided I could mix some low fat, high fiber people food in with her kibble as a supplement to improve her appetite and potentially improve her blood counts. So the doctor prescribed boiled chicken breast, and brown rice or sweet potatoes and maybe some green beans. I put all the above in a pot and made puppy gruel.

This morning was Tink's first full meal with the puppy gruel as a significant portion. She pronounced the doctor a genius and proclaimed herself to be cured of all ills for so long as I keep her on the new diet. Between this and the grooming, she's pretty pleased with the new turn of events. Score one for me.

Tinkerbells BBQ 7/21/07
Current mood: content

Just in general, the kids love barbeques. This, however, was special. Normally it's for all the kids and it's a birthday celebration. This was just a chance for them to get together with their favorite aunts and uncles and be spoiled stinky rotten.

Auntie Fawn started out the event by bringing big, fun stuffed things! Children love stuffed things!

Don't touch Tinky's stuffed things!!!

Now, it'd been long enough since Star saw Vic and Steve, he'd forgotten them. Silly puppy! He eventually started warming up to them, but he was pretty skittish around Vic until nearly the end. Vic's a big, scary guy! He might hurt teeny, tiny little Star!!! Here John protects a wary Starbreaker from a thoroughly amused Uncle Vic.

But Star totally loves his Auntie Fawn...

TOTALLY loves his Auntie Fawn.

And Tinkerbell loves her Uncle Steve.

Dave was at an SCA event in Idaho and couldn't come to the BBQ, but he let me doggie-sit Yaeger and so Yaeger got to go to the BBQ. Yay! He was a hit, and Uncle Steve spent almost as much time playing with Yaeger as he did petting Tinkerbell. Well, and to be fair, Yaeger insisted on it. He wouldn't leave Steve alone. It was hysterical.

Steve just kept throwing the blue thing until finally, it went into the pond. Yep, that would be the unfinished pond that had the cave-in. Somewhat unfortunately, Yaeger was a very good boy and tried hard to help us get it out. After which he spent some time in the rain, and then went under the porch a few times for good measure. Yaeger is now a VERY dirty dog. Really the pictures don't do justice to how truly filthy he is and I can just see Dave's face when I give him back. Not sure I'll be allowed to dog sit ever again. *grin*

Well, and most BBQ's are a "please feed the pets" event; this was no exception. Tummies full of all sorts of things Mommy never lets them have, they lay contentedly at our feet and farted until we were all forced to leave the deck and go get brownies. Here, Star sneaks one out....

Eventually, everyone was able to breathe again and the kids settled down to more serious attention whoring...

Eventually, Star warmed up to Steve and started demanding attention from him, and at the very last, he was getting curious about Vic, too. About the time Kelli showed up, there were no more peal-out marks on the deck from where Star had scooted out of range when he realized *gasp* Vic was the one petting him! It started to get dark and started raining pitchforks and calico cats, so most of the gang went home. Here we see Steve saying goodbye to his favorite baby grrr, and a jealous Starbreaker.

Kelli stayed for a bit and we just chatted, which we hadn't had the opportunity to do in a long time. It was fun. At one point I looked up and noticed that all 3 of the kids were totally crashed out, and check out Star's new pillow!

Today is a new day. I've got the house back to normal, the dishes done, the food put away, and I'm munching on a leftover mini cornbread muffin that Fawn made. My guests have no clue that they missed part two of the farting event, and the methane levels in the house are reaching near lethal levels.

Well, it’s official...
Current mood: cheerful

...Tink has arthritis. Well, that or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Now before the whole liver function thing, her vet and I were discussing that she was "slowing down". No surprise -- she's 9 1/2 years old! Well, fine, and she was a little stiff after sitting on the couch for long periods, but then, so am I, so no big. And, because of her limping on that one paw, the vet gave her an NSAID to try for a week to see if her paw would get better. It was really cheap, too, and I got a BRAND NEW DOG out of the deal! No shit, she actually ran to the back door and outside when I got home, muscled past Star to watch me make dinner and then did the happy dance before I put it down for her to eat. Very cool. She seems perkier, too!

Nice to have some good news for a change!

My Pretty Princess
Current mood: crushed

For those of you who have been following Tinkerbell's battle with cancer, I have very sad news. And, of course, being me, it'll take about 3 pages to explain.

Recently, we made the decision not to give Tink her next dose of chemo. She was still really not eating right, and, in fact, had been a pretty picky eater for almost the whole month. She's been loosing weight badly -- as of today she is down to 75 pounds from 90 -- and would pretty much only eat hot dogs and whatever I was eating at the time she saw me putting something in my mouth. The theory was that the chemo was making her too sick, and so better to let the cancer advance and have her feel good for a short time, than to make her miserable for much longer, and die either way. To my surprise, the doctor agreed with me, for that reason exactly, except that she added on what I was afraid to say outloud to most people -- that if it wasn't the chemo, but in fact the cancer that was making her so sick, then there was really no point in continuing with chemo and making it worse, since if it was the cancer, the chemo obviously wasn't working. Doctor gave her some anti-nausea medication that made her tummy better, and she started eating a little, again.

Tinkerbell had started favoring one of her paws some time ago, and you may recally the "yippie-ki-yi-yay Tink has arthritis" blog a while back. Well, she started favoring it again, big time. In fact, beginning just this last Thursday, she wouldn't walk on it at all, and was dragging it around almost like she'd had a stroke, but it was only the one paw. I took her to the vet and we added some pain pills to see what would happen, and did some blood work. Well, she looked more comfortable, but still refused to put any weight on it.

Saturday the doctor called with the results of the blood work and there was basically no good news in it. It was really abnormal, and it was hard to tell where to begin. She probably felt pretty oogy, and the best bet was to do an ultrasound to find out how widespread the cancer was, just in case one of her meds was causing the abnormalities, because one of them could. I was pretty sure the doctor had just turned the sentence around on itself and was telling me that she didn't think Tink would be here much longer, but just on the off chance that it was a freak chemical reaction, she'd rather be sure it was the cancer before making any recommendations. I held my breath and told her I'd call Monday so we could schedule it at the same time as any x-rays, if the paw didn't get better. She thought that was a good plan, and we watched and waited.

Sunday night, even though she was dragging around a useless foot, stubborn Tinky-Winky was adamant about getting up on the bed with me. She couldn't do it by herself, and, although she clearly wanted up very badly, she seemed to object to my helping her, which is weird because my Pretty Princess would do anything but let me use her as a winter scarf without complaint. I did get her up on the bed, though, and allowed her as much independence and dignity as I could in doing so -- Mommy the human step-stool. She spent the whole night snuggled tight to me. Blessedly, she hardly farted at all.

Monday, I called the vet to schedule x-rays and an ultrasound to find out what was going on. When I got home from work, I pulled the futon off the frame, and slept with her on the floor. (Yes, and I now have fleas, thankyouverymuch.) Still no farting, but my great Goddess, was her breath bad. I was about to get up and clean the litter box when I realized it was Tink's breath, which was unfortunate on multiple levels, since it was bad enough that I was willing to get up out of bed and clean the cat box in my pj's. I turned my head for maximum fresh air, and dealt with it. Again, she spent the night snuggled tight, and Star spent part of the night on the futon with us, too. (I'm pretty sure he brought the fleas, since I didn't get them from my pretty little girl the night before.) We were quite the dog pack!

Tuesday came, and the plan was to drop Tink off at the vet at 7:30 a.m., and then get to work a little early. No biggie. She'd just been to the vet on Friday, and she hobbled out to the car, protested that she didn't need help, made a mess of getting in but did it, and then settled in for a ride to see the doctor. She likes to go for a ride.

Well, and because she was going to be sedated, no food for her in the morning. How I usually manage that is to trick Puppy-Butt out into the back yard, put the leash on the Pretty Princess, put her in the car, go back and let Two-Poops back in the house, put his breakfast down for him, and then go take Tinker to the vet.

Today, the whole thing went badly from beginning to end. Tink had a much worse time of it getting into the car, and almost couldn't get up on the seat. She refused to let me help, bolting like a startled horse when I even moved near her to try anything. Then, after I let him in, Star looked at me incredulously that I was leaving with Tink and not him, ignores his breakfast, and tries to blast out the front door past me. I got past the Mudmonster, and got Tink to the vet, but I couldn't get her out of the car. She barred her teeth at me when I went to help, and when I actually got my hand under her, she honest-to-goddess bit me. Well, OK, not hard, but a very real bite to be certain.

I got her out finally and very slowly and she had a horrible time getting in. Then they want me to weigh her, and she'd lost 2 pounds since Friday. Then they want to put us in a room while they go over the plan with me. Then they want her to walk into the back and get into her kennel. Twice she just fell over trying to walk on that slippery floor, and the second time she just refused to get up. They had to get three people through with their tasks, put her on a stretcher and carry her into the back. When they started trying to move her, she protested, but when she realized the plan, she relaxed and just let them. OK, so moving her hurts, I guess, because it clearly wasn't her dignity about which she was worried.

All told, it took an hour and a half to drop Tink off at the vet a mile from my house. I called work to say I'd be about 15 minutes late, and left the vet crying, and with a huge knot in my stomach. I called Dave, too, to cry in his ear a little, and showed up at my morning meeting just as it was ending, and cried at everyone there and we all hugged. I love where I work.

Doctor called me a couple hours later. She'd had a look at Tinker Princess, and it wasn't good. She said that she was pale (OK, at this point there was a long pause followed by the vet explaining how a black dog looks pale -- apparently you look at the gums), and that he breathing was wrong. Doctor gave her a pain injection, and sedated her early, so that she'd be comfortable. She didn't know what time exactly that the radiologist would be there, but if the cancer was too far gone, she let me know that she didn't plan on taking pictures of the leg. I agreed and burst into tears.

The radiologist arrived and the doctor called me with the results. Basically, at some point they just stopped taking pictures and reduced the anticipated bill by half. We still don't know the full extent of it, because they did stop taking pictures, but the reason they stopped was everywhere they looked, there were tumors.

Ironically, the one spot in her liver that they found at the very first ultrasound, but were unable to find in surgery, that's completely unchanged. However, the entire rest of her liver is now extremely abnormal. All the lymph nodes around the liver are enlarged. Her lungs are filled with tumors and all the lymph nodes around the lungs are also enlarged. It seems that this type of cancer can absolutely invade any type of cell in the body, and the doctor feels that the reason Tink's leg hurts, is that there are tumors in it causing her pain. This makes sense, actually, since a Rott doesn't feel pain quite the same as most breeds. They actually warn you with the first one you get that if you think the animal has broken something, bring it to the vet rather than waiting to see what the dog does, since Rotties are completely willing to walk on a broken or fractured limb. I remember what it took before Vern was unwilling to walk on his shoulder. I believe Tinker is there, now.

The vet and I had a long talk about whether or not I was just torturing my dog. She felt that Tink feels oogy and sick, but probably not much pain with pain pills, so long as she's not walking on the leg. The vet said that Tink was responsive, and that she thought that she'd enjoy spending time with me, if I were actually there. She didn't think she could keep her comfortable for more than a day or two, but that if I was going to be home, and actually with her, it was worth taking her home.

My job is awesome. My boss and my assistant both get it, and I was allowed to leave. I went home and rearranged the house so that Tinker could get around easier, and changed into doggie clothes. Oddly, Star still hadn't eaten his breakfast. He snuck out the side door and started combing the neighborhood, I assume looking for Tink, and when I brought him back in, I thought I'd lost him again when I couldn't see him. Folks, this is a small house, there's not a lot of places 120 pounds of clumsy puppy can hide successfully, but he did it. Know where he was? Yep -- he was in my bathtub. He hates baths. I have no clue what posessed him. He climbed in all on his own, laid down, and his shiny black fur blended in with the shiny black enamel. Weird. The only reason I found him was he scuffled around and made a bizarre noise.

I went to go get hot dogs and my Pretty Princess. It took a while as they were really busy, but I got her. They actually stretchered her out to the van. They got her in and tumfy, and I had them put her on a blanket so I could get her out again. I drove home, parked strategically, and found out that 75 pounds weighs a lot more than 75 pounds when you are terrified of hurting your furry burden. So, I got Star and we all climbed into the van together to wait for Dave to get there. I started making calls and texts to let Tinker's closest friends know what was up.

I got ahold of Tink's favorite person in the whole world -- Julie takes the kids to the off-leash area at Marymoor park every other Wednesday. Julie is a fun lady! Tinker likes Julie! Julie also lives about 3 miles away. She stopped by and helped me with the blanket to get Tinker into the house and on the floor next to the futon mattress. She really wouldn't move. She was clearly happy to see Julie, though, as was Star.

Dave got there about an hour later, and she seemed happy to see him, too. She almost sat up when she heard his truck pull in. She didn't want any food, though, and I barely got even her pain meds down her, even with the butter around them.

We all slept on the floor again. Star was still tweaked and kept trying to snuggle with Dave and I. He also kept dropping a ball on our heads and asking to play. On top of all that, Tinker was starting to perk up just a little. I think, maybe, the morphine the doctor gave her was drugging her somewhat, along with the sedative for the x-rays and the ultrasound. She finally accepted some water, which helped her breath quite a bit (I had already cleaned the cat box, just to be certain). I don't think either Dave or I got much sleep, really, with all the shifting around and snuggling and ball-dropping, and nylabone chewing, and water drinking, and farting, but in the morning when the alarm went off, we were sort of littered all over the living room floor, and Tinker had moved about a yard from her original position.

I'm home from work today and tomorrow. Tink's final vet appointment is on Thursday at 1PM. You know, Tinker isn't usually a very good girl at the vet. She was abandoned there originally -- that's how we got her -- and she's never really trusted the place, regardless of vet or staff. She's gotten better recently because of repeated exposure and because they help her, make her feel better, and give her treats. Still, I think they're going to be very surprised when Tinker makes her final debut with her Mommy and her new Daddy, and Godfather Steve, and her Auntie Fawn. She's such a good girl, and there are people who love her like I do, who want to be there for her in her last moments. That helps, too.

Tink's in the living room, scooting around a little, as she rolls and stretches, trying to get tumfy. We're going to carve a pumpkin together, today. Julie took Puppy-Butt to the park today, so Tinker and I could be alone. She's eaten a little -- some 100% duck doggie food and some hot dogs, and a little pizza crust -- and she's had some water. No clue how she'll go potty, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. I'm now allowed to give her the pain meds roughly twice as often as before.

I don't know what I'm going to do without my baby girl. I'm going to take a few locks of her fur, like I did with Vern. With Vern, we took one for Paul, one for me, and one to bury at Vern's favorite park, next to the tree where he stopped and looked so content, the last time he was there.

Tinker will be just a little different. I'll take a lock for myself, of course. But Paul was so prone to loosing things, that I still have the lock of Vern's fur that I took for him -- he had me hang onto it for him, and took Vern's collar instead. I'm going to bury both that lock of fur, and a lock from Tink, in front of Paul's niche, at Acacia. These were his children, too, and I think it's very fitting that everyone should be "burried" near one another. I'm going to leave a single hair on a ledge near my father's niche. My babies loved their grandpaw. I know they'll want to connect with him now that they've all crossed. I'm going to ask Julie to take the final lock with her to Marymoor, when she takes Starbreaker walkies next time, and set it free on the wind in Tinker's favorite park. Whereas Vern was strong and grounded, my Pretty Princess is pure joy, energy and movement, like the wind; it would be unfair to tether her to one spot.

We're listening to Rottweiler now. Paul may have been a selfish person in life, but he's now free of his diseased body, and I am certain that man genuinely loved his dogs. I know he'll be waiting to help my baby grrr on the other side, when I can't be there for her anymore.

If you have a moment to stop and think of my baby, pray for a gentle crossing.

My Baby is Gone
Current mood: crushed

My precious grrrl touched my heart in the way only an animal can do. She's gone, now, crossed to the arms of those who went ahead. She was with those who loved her most at the very end, and she was such a good grrrl. So brave and sweet. She crossed every bit as quietly as Daddy did, and I think I was the only one who noticed the moment she left. Doctor had to use a stethoscope; I already knew.

Once upon a time, back when Vets still made house calls, there was a family who's old dog's time had come. The Vet came to the home to help the old one cross, and a brief discussion was held regarding whether or not to let the youngest child be present. It was decided that the child was old enough to learn about death, and the whole family gathered around the aging pet. The Vet was very gentle and the loved-one passed quickly and quietly. Afterwards, there was a discussion about life and death, and one of the older children asked why a pet's life is so short. None of the adults had an answer, but the youngest child spoke up. "I know", he said. Everyone turned to listen. The young one explained that since we were all here to learn to be better people and to be nice and to love one another, dogs didn't need to be here so long, since they already know all that stuff. Sometimes the simplest explanations are the hardest for us to find.

Rest in peace, my beautiful Princess.

Who says spoiled is bad?