Trying to end on a good note....

Losing a pet is never easy. Losing the most beloved of all that you have ever shared your life with is excruciating.

After Rick tried unsuccessfully to get enough blood Monday morning to run a chemistry panel and CBC, he told me to take Rosie into a small animal clinic to have that done, as well as chest and abdominal x-rays. Our "regular" small animal vet isn't in on Mondays, the second one I called couldn't do it because their x-ray processor was down, so I drove Rosie to a third vet Rick is familiar with who had an afternoon appointment available. The lab results looked good except for a couple spikes that could be attributed to the prednisone we've had her on; no pancreatitis. But the chest x-ray showed a large, undefined mass in her chest that was displacing her trachea way over to her right side, explaining her difficulty in breathing. Obviously something that large didn't happen overnight; apparently she's been compensating for it for a long time before her "crash" on Saturday.

The vet sent us home with a couple cans of easily-digested prescription dog food; I softened it even more with warm water and got her to eat a bit from my hand that evening. She ate from my hand again Tuesday morning, enabling me to get a dose of prednisone down her. That helped her feel better; by Tuesday noon, although still weak, she was able to stand up and eat warm, softened food by herself.

Meanwhile, Rick sent her x-rays to a classmate from vet school who is now a board-certified radiologist at the WSU vet school. Dr. Roberts advised we get Rosie ultrasounded at a referral clinic to get a better idea of what we were dealing with. Some kind of cancer was the most likely diagnosis, but a treatable cyst was another. So today I drove Rosie to Portland. It was so hard to deny her food and water when she was now perky enough to want both (she's actually been drinking well all along), but I had to in case anesthesia was needed (it wasn't). There we got the news we were dreading; a large, inoperable, heart-based tumor that was putting pressure on her trachea and other structures, and causing fluid to collect around her heart. Rick and I conferred by phone. Since the referral practice doesn't do euthansias anyway, we decided to bring her home, make the most of her steroid-induced comfort, and lay her to rest here. Before leaving, I asked for a bowl so she could get a good drink and gave her a dog biscuit I had in my purse. When we got in the car I gave her a tennis ball I had stumbled upon under the seat; she happily gnawed it into little pieces. I swung through Burgerville for some sweet potato fries, which we shared. When we got home, she got another drink, a nice, big dish of warm, soupy canned food (with another prednisone), and a new toy to chew between rests. She even played a bit of tug-o-war with me. Now she's dozing next to me on the couch. Brian is out and about with his Aunt Kristine (bless her!) so I can spend this time with my "Baby Dog;" Rick is not yet home. Tonight after he has a chance to dig her grave, I will stroke Rosie and tell her how much I love her while Rick administers a final mercy and I fall apart for the umpteenth time since I realized a few short days ago I might lose the best dog I've ever had. One final blessing for all three of us: the catheter used to give her IV fluids Monday is still in and open, so we can do this without any final poking.

For now I am going to close this without any photos, because I can't bear to look through my files and think of how much I am going to miss this dog -- my dog. I am going to sit here and absorb every bit of being with her I have left. Seven years has not been long enough....