We put the dog down last night. She started to seizure and these seizures weren't your garden-variety, too-much-or-not-enough-glucose-induced seizures. These were brain-related. Doc thinks that she had a benign pituitary tumor that started to grow, hence the adrenal issues up the wazoo. And you guys were right. I knew it was time. I wish she could have gone out in her sleep, but she didn't. She went out frightened and in pain, which was so not the way I wanted it to happen.
Winnie: the best dog in the world
For those of you who aren't dog lovers, or those who don't get the pet thing, it's impossible to explain. When I was a kid, we always had dogs. Even though my mother was a single-parent with little to no support--like hands full!--there was always a dog in the house. Even now, she's got pockets full of dog treats on the off chance she might meet a pooch in her daily wanderings. So yeah, dogs were part of my upbringing. I could point to the dog my father got me for my tenth birthday, a present that banked him an enormous amount of brownie points for all the other times he was less than stellar as a parent. I could also point to the fact that dogs are really the most zen of creatures. They forgive all. They love without qualification. Once they choose you, you are theirs for life. You have this responsibility to keep them fed and happy. You do that and, hello, unqualified love and acceptance. The most uncomplicated relationship parameters ever.
It's been a tough road with her. So much money spent. Lately, so much time trying to keep that damn eye from dissolving. But I will not say it was for naught.
Here's hoping she's now ensconced in dog heaven, chasing balls, going on walks, and stealing food (labs--their favorite pastime).