I should be practicing my first workshop presentation, finishing a blog post, or at least doing the dishes, but I can’t quit crying. My little white puffy doggy friend with the big brown eyes died in her dad’s arms this weekend, probably of pancreatic cancer. Little Puff Ball; I can’t believe she’s gone. She who would point her nose at the ceiling and say, “Boowoowoowoo” when I came in, and then stand on my shoes so I couldn’t leave. She who gave me as many baths as I gave her. And Brown Puffy is just lost without her.
Her Mom and Dad knew something was a little off when she started laying down in the middle of her walk to rest last week, but she seemed happy enough. She’d wag her little rat tail and say “Boowoo” when Brown One came and licked her face. Then Friday night, she woke up in pain, and since there is no emergency vet clinic, her mom gave her an Advil and a bowl of vodka, and she went right back to sleep. Mom dosed her several times through the night, and Brown One wouldn’t leave her side.
The last dose was at eight in the morning, but when Dad came home for lunch at noon, Puff Ball was unconscious; still breathing, but totally limp, and he had to carry her out to the car. The vet took a blood sample and found her blood sugar level was seven times higher than normal.
She had no pupil reflex but was still breathing, so Dad held her paw; talked to her and petted her head, and she just simply stopped. It was like she was waiting for her most favorite person in the world to give her permission to let go. As deeply out of it as she was, at the deepest level, she must have known Dad was there, and that it was okay.
Brown One seems to understand that she’s not coming back; he saw Dad take her to the car, and come back without her. He’s not walking around the house looking for her, like some dogs will do. But he sleeps on her spot in back of the wood stove now, and when Dad takes him for their walk, Brown One goes to all her old favorite pee spots and sniffs.
Little Puff Ball; I’m so glad Mom knew how to keep you comfortable, and that Dad was with you at the end. But I’m going to miss you, my Friend.