Putting something down into words makes it real, and I’ve been avoiding it for over a week now. So here goes.
We lost our beautiful Nellie suddenly and without warning on Saturday, September 19.
Her passing has hit us like a gut punch, and there aren’t any words that can describe the heartache of accepting that our beautiful, precious girldog is not with us any more.
The morning of September 19 started out like any other.
Nellie was being her usual self, just hanging out and waiting for something fun to happen. Which it was, or so we thought when we packed up the truck and headed out to a picnic with friends.
She had been loving life all week, and showed no signs of being sick when we hoisted her up into the truck for the drive.
But when we arrived at the park and opened the cab door, she was weak and almost unresponsive. We rushed to the ER clinic at Colorado State.
During the 20 minute drive something in her body had ruptured, possibly the small and relatively unconcerning liver tumor vets found back in early summer.
When we unloaded her onto the gurney at this hospital, she wasn’t in distress, but just spacey, mentally checked out at some faraway place. Maybe Wyatt and Jerry we calling for her.
Ten minutes after we arrived, the ER vet broke the news to us; Nellie was critical, with no hope for a recovery, and no way to stabilize her so we could give her a proper send-off at home.
We asked for another test to be sure, and with tears in her eyes, the vet returned with the same answer. Nellie wasn’t going to survive this terrible situation.
So with that horrific news, right there in the busy ER room we had to do right by her, and set our sweet girl’s spirit free.
The vet was as compassionate as she could be. And relief was fast and painless for Nellie. But our hearts have been shattered ever since.
Now we take each day as it comes, finding something to be grateful about, and trying to appreciate how lucky we were to have this mellow, friendly senior dog in our pack, even if only for four short years.
But the shock hasn’t really worn off, and every second of the day we miss our girldog so much.
Earlier this summer we moved out of the RV and into a real house. Nellie hardly got a chance to enjoy the new place that we got with her mobility needs in mind.
She finally had her own yard, no stairs to manage, and plenty of places to stretch out. At least she had a few weeks of the luxe life she deserved.
One week after saying goodbye, it’s hard to find a reason to get out of bed, or go on walks after work.
But we go on, because what choice do we have?
Maybe closure will come when the necropsy report is back so we can know what took her from us so suddenly. Or maybe we’ll just beat ourselves up for missing the warning signs of a terrible illness.
All these years we’ve been dog parents, we’ve often wondered: is it worse to lose a dog when you know ahead of time and set a day and time with the hospice vet? Or is saying goodbye worse when you don’t know that it’s coming?
Now we know. And in our opinion, it’s far, far worse to not know.