Oh man. This post is hard to write. I completely jinxed myself when I said that Lucy was recovering and doing well. She spent Friday at the vet and was noticeably both better and worse. Her incision wasn’t bleeding anymore, but she was refusing food and was having serious difficulty walking or putting any weight on her back legs.
I spent all of Friday evening just sitting next to her, trying to let her relax and get some rest. She ate a little, enough to take her medicine, but was refusing most food. Saturday morning I got up early and tried the food again. No go. She was clearly in pain, she couldn’t walk at all, and with her refusal to eat, all the signs were there. We already had an appointment at the vet, so I called ahead and told them her condition.
For some reason, I sent a text out to a few family members to tell them we were taking Lucy in. I knew we needed prayers and support for the morning, and my parents ended up driving in to be with us at the appointment. My mom and I were with Lucy until the end, and I made sure her final moments were of me telling her I loved her. She is running through fields, jumping off docks, and chasing tennis balls that she can actually see now. While I am beside myself with grief that she’s gone, I am also so happy that she is finally not in pain.
I have tried to keep it together in front of the girls, but when I’m alone, I have cried so hard I hyperventilated. To lose my sidekick, my ever present partner in crime, is something I cannot comprehend right now. When I come home tonight and her smiling face doesn’t greet me at the top of the stairs, well, I can’t even think about that now.
Lucy was such a social dog. I always laughed that an introvert like me had two extroverted daughters, and extroverted dog and an extroverted cat. She was never more happy than when she was around a bunch of people. She loved those two years when we had a nanny, and she had company in the house all the time. I remember a few months ago when we were painting the walls grey. We were in the dining room which is small anyway, and she plopped down in the worst possible spot. She was *right* in the way. My dad said “Lucy! Get out!” and I laughed. I told him you can’t say that to her, that she would leave but come right back. He laughed, but we all watched as she dutifully got up and walked out of the dining room, through the living room, into the kitchen and right back into the dining room where she lay down in the exact same spot.
God help the next dog we get, she has some big shoes to fill.
Lucy, I know you know, but I should never have done that surgery. I thought it might give you some pain free final months, but all it did was push you over the edge. I’m sorry. Forever sorry. I love you to Pluto and back baby girl.