A Really Bad Day

Our doggie was having trouble breathing. She sounded as if she was drowning because of all the fluid in her lungs. When we called out the vet at 2:00 a.m., I knew what he was going to say. The time had come.

She had been fighting congestive heart failure for several months. Pills three times a day, weight loss, dull coat, coughing, lethargy. It was obvious she didn't feel good, but she tried to be cheerful.

We went to the vet every two weeks whether she needed to or not. I wanted them to see how she was progressing. She was at the maximum dosage on her meds. Last Thursday the vet said there was nothing more that could be done. Keep her happy, keep her quiet, and bring her in if she was having trouble breathing.

I thought we might be able to squeak by another couple of months, but one week later we were making the call. She was in obvious distress and had to have intervention. The vet said it was her time. We signed the papers, said our goodbyes, and held her while she went to sleep for the final time.

We buried her the next day under the Bridal Wreath bush in the backyard.

We loved you very much baby girl. You were a good doggie.