Into each life a little rain must fall, right?
But when your dachshund passes on after fourteen and a half years, it's a real cloud burst.
My dog, Frank, was one of the finest, most loyal dogs that ever trod this earth; in good times and bad, he was always there, tail wagging and feet shifting.
During his last year, his health took a real dive: first a gall bladder problem requiring a special diet, some other digestive things, lymphoma, and finally total kidney failure that proved to be his undoing.
Frank had just about completed his chemo, when the lumps returned, and spread pretty much everywhere. He was allowed to return home with us on a Thursday, and he just didn't improve, rather got worse, not seeming to recognize us, not eating or drinking. Forced feeding with an oral syringe and crushed ice kept him going fairly well, but Sunday night he developed siezure type activities and we rushed him to the vet again for a complete evaluation. That's when we learned abou the kidney failure and had to decide what we really didn't want to think about.
My wife and I held little Frank as the end approched, arrived and passed. Not a dry eye on either one of us. I'm not ashamed to say so.
He's going to be missed. I'm not ashamed to say that, either.
Each day has been a bit easier, but we're still not out of the funk brought on by his passing.
We'll see.