On June 2nd, I lost my first furry buddy, Rocky - a 15 year old Yorkie. He was a tough little guy. Survived a diagnosis of Cushing's Disease for nearly six years, thanks to his strong will and the help of an excellent vet. When he started with diarrhea that couldn't be stopped even with medication, we had to run him to the vet. He had so many problems, the Cushings, blind, nearly deaf, arthritis, and some heart problems, but we figured Rocky was a fighter and would get through this. But it was not to be. They took xrays and found a baseball size growth on his lungs near his heart and another smaller one on his spleen. With his advanced age and the other combined health issues, there was nothing that could be done for him. We had to make the decision to end his pain. With a tumor that size he had to have been in some excruciating pain. I wondered why he would just jump out of his bed and just wander, bumping into walls and doors. Not going anywhere in particular, just wandering. Or going around in circles, around and around. He was probably in pain and trying to walk it off. But he never complained or whined. The worst moment for me was the first morning after he was gone. He would sit by the kitchen sink while I got all his pills ready for him and stuffed in his "Pill Pocket" treats. He loved those Pill Pockets and would always take his medications with no complaint. Opened the cupboard that morning and there were all his pill bottles and his package of Pill Pockets - but no Rocky. I just stood there and cried my heart out. He was a lot of extra work but I would do it all over in a heartbeat just to have him begging for those Pill Pockets every morning again..... |