Dog Blog

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Our dear Daisy went to Rainbow Bridge at midnight. She took a turn for the worst late last night. She was very sick, shaking, and vomiting, and then began to "bleed out," as the vet said she would. I didn't want for her to have to be on a cold hard floor in a vet's office when the time came. She always hated going to the vet's. Of course, there were no mobile vets available when we needed one (they're kind of like police--you can never find one when you need one), so she could pass in the comfort of her adoptive home she so loved. Do they really think dogs only get sick during the week? None of ours ever have. Most of the mobile vets I called were on vacation; the others just didn't answer. If she could have made it just one more day, there was one really nice lady vet (Daisy didn't like men) who could have come, but she wasn't available until June 26. The 24-hour clinic we took her to was so "clinical" and not a word of kindness or sympathy was uttered to us the whole time we were there by the vet or vet techs. The latter were terrible and one was even snotty to us. They seemed much more concerned with getting their paperwork and payment from us. Much needs to be reformed in this area of veterinary medicine, and sensitivity training for some staff sure wouldn't hurt. Why would anyone go into vet medicine if they don't love animals and fully understand how painful it is for their owners to lose them? I would like to see a euthanasia room with a soft, cuddly pad for the dog to lie on and so their people can kneel comfortably to be close to them at the end. I'd like to see low lighting, candles, soft music, a peaceful place for a peaceful passage to the Bridge. We should all demand it!

Daisy lasted seven months to the day since her cancer diagnosis last November. She didn't want to leave us, and we sure didn't want her to, but she let us know it was definitely time for her to go. My heart is aching beyond words, but I am glad that she's no longer in any pain and at peace. That's the only consolation for me. I had them give her a shot for pain before they administered the pink death potion, which always looks like Pepto Bismol; they should have given it to her before they put in the catheter, too. I hope they did because they had trouble finding a vein, apparently, from the bandages on both of her forelegs. They said it's sometimes hard to get a catheter in a basset. Nice information to impart to you when you're in the waiting room agonizing over your dying dog. I wanted to be there while they did that, but they refused. In the past, this clinic did allow you to be with your dog for anything, except surgery, of course. My poor little girl. When the vet administered the drug, she instantly relaxed and fell over asleep in my lap as I was stroking her and singing her "Daisy" songs to her ("I'll give you a Daisy a day, Dear" and "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do; I'm half crazy over the love of you") and telling her how very much I loved her. I'm sure she knew I would give her a soft place to fall.

God, I will miss that crazy little dog. I miss her so much already, and the house is so terribly empty and silent without her. I'm going to miss that annoying wet nose nudge to my elbow when I'm sitting at the computer as I am now. I'd give anything to see her sit up and beg for a treat one more time or hear that sharp, loud, demanding bark when I didn't deliver right away. Our other basset, Bubba, is with me, though, and he slept with me in bed last night, which gave me comfort. This morning we took him to the coffee shop with us and sat outside with him. He can be a cafe dog now because Daisy wasn't that kind of dog and went nuts whenever we left her alone. I can't tell if he misses Daisy, but we'll make his remaining days as an only dog as happy as we can for him. He's probably not going to miss her bullying and snarling at him that he endured for the past 9 years, but I'm sure he knows the pack is no longer complete. We all sense that. I'm glad I still have him to help ease the pain, which at this moment is immense. This is going to be a very long day.



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