We don’t know what happened.
I could neither bear, nor afford, to have an an autopsy performed.
All I know is that I found the thing that I loved all most in the world (next to my family) laying so still I knew with every instinct in my body that Pinkey was very, very, sick or so severely injured that she was dying. The only other time I have felt so much fear was driving to the hospital when Matthew passed away. The thing that was SO HARD was that I had my car parked in the driveway and every motherly-to-a-baby-pet instinct was screaming for me to grab my kids and the dog, throw them in the car and race to the vet as fast as I could.
But I couldn’t.
I have been on stupid pain killers on and off for 20 years because of this damn thing I call my back. (No, I don’t have a problem with meds. I use them as prescribed and I have no issues stopping using them and only use them when I have no choice. I have to get out of bed sometimes and throw food at those small things I call my children.) I also know when I can and cannot drive on them and I KNEW I wouldn’t be able to drive at the moment. I knew that I would have to wait for my (pardon, parents…you know I love you) REALLY old and slow parents to get dressed, get in their car, drive the ten miles to my house and THEN drive BACK the 14 miles to our vet.
I will probably never forgive myself (or my back) for that. She probably would have died anyway but I could have at least TRIED to get her help before she died. But if I had killed a HUMAN baby traveling in a car, say? My guilt and sadness would crush the life out of me. It’s the ONLY thing that makes any of this bearable. (Again, I know. It’s only a dog and I feel stupid but I loved that little fuzzball more than I can even tell you. The only thing I love more is my family.)
So, I did what I could. Cradled her gently, cried like a baby, and I could barely breathe or choke out the necessary words to the vets office to tell them we were coming in.
We drove as hard and fast as we could, but my little puppy died in my arms in the car as she looked at me and my tears fell on her face while I told her her mama loved her to the moon and back and I begged her not to leave me.
My heart is in a thousand pieces.
Having lost a baby boy, I always used to get infuriated when people would compare the loss of a child to the loss of a dog.
I still refuse to compare them.
But nothing, NOTHING, save the death of my sweet baby boy has hurt this much or caused such grief with my family, we loved that tiny fuzzball so much.
I feel like I can’t even move this hurts so much. I am lost without a wee, blinking, cotton ball snuggled up on my chest, by my side or what to do with the hours and hours I spent reading how to be the best dog owner possible while I had be in bed from surgery.
Butterlump doesn’t understand.
He didn’t understand what had happened or why his puppy wouldn’t move any more.
The one that I brought in to tuck him in at night and wake up in the morning with kisses.
When we buried him, something finally changed where he understood and it was heartbreaking,
He cried that “Mama! Why did the puppy go to the mud??!!!!”, when we buried him.
You may think this reaction after owning her a few weeks is strong but you have to understand that this puppy was almost constantly by my side. ALWAYS. She made the sun come out again for me and my family felt happier than we have in years.
And man…did it bring back some very sad and horrific memories for us all.
This is going to be a very tough one to get through. Once again, my arms are empty and mourning for the tiny thing that gave me joy. And the irony is, they were almost the same age as each other.
My consolation is that my little red-headed boy has one perfect little puppy his mama and daddy picked out and loved more than anything to keep him company until we can join them both.