Our bassett, Scooter started feeling poorly about two weeks ago when his eyes got gooey and he couldn't keep them open. The vet gave me an ointment for his eyes without an office visit (thank you!).
Then a week later, he started looking sickly. No energy, walking like he was suddenly fragile.
A trip to the vet and we were told he had a urinary tract infection.
A couple days ago, after 10 days of antibiotics and no improvement, his breathing was labored and he wouldn't even eat a dog treat.
After a rough night where I got maybe 3 hours of sleep and thought he would die,
we took him to the vet again.
This was yesterday.
An x-ray revealed that something was enlarged. The vet thought the spleen.
My husband said, "operate".
Like we have the money.
The vet does not accept Blue Cross.
But suddenly we love this pain in the butt dog who digs into the kitchen trash and has chewed up my favorite storage containers (to get at the food inside) and has followed me around like a cat so that I have almost tripped and fallen over him many times.
Yes, THAT dog. We suddenly want to try anything to keep him. If we can. He is barely two years old. Too young to be serioulsy ill. We will make payments to the vet.
She does not rouse Scooter from the anesthetic. We had agreed on this before hand. And late afternoon we get the bad news. Scooter is not coming home.
We cry and miss him.
His velvety ears. His clownish ways.
His pain in the butt habits.
We eat dinner for the first time last night without worrying about food being eaten off the kitchen counter while we aren't looking.
Our St. Bernard gets all of the leftovers scraped into her dish alone.
Scooter's dish will be washed and retired.
He is missed.