Ice Cream Sunny Day Spring 2015

April 05, 2024

Ice Cream Sunny Day Spring 2015 - 2 April 2024

We had to say a sudden, unexpected, wrenching, hasty good-bye to Sunny Tuesday night.

Bad shock. We thought maybe we were overreacting when we decided to dash to the emergency vet at 10 on Tuesday. But she looked bloated. When Gloria said offhandedly, bloating is never good thing in a dog, that clinched it for me. We knew she hadn't been feeling well. Had been walking slower and slower, and wanting to turn around and come back sooner. And that she had not eaten in a day and a half, except for the occasional cookie. We thought they might say she had gas, had picked up a stomach something along the ditch now that everything is waking up.

We we utterly, completely stunned when the vet came in and said, "I'm sorry. I have very bad news."

I guess it is an aggressive cancer that affects the linings of the blood vessels (I had to look it up later -- a lot of medical terms that blew past): Hemangiosarcoma. Apparently it is really hard to catch. Dr. Reid had done an ultrasound and basically said there was massive internal bleeding. That Sunny's spleen and liver were a hot mess. Probably metastasized. Probably been going along with small bleeds, then something big ruptured. Not likely to make it through the night.

So we sat on the floor with her. And cried. And tried to wrap our heads around it. Gloria had tiny dog biscuits in her pocket, and Sunny, on her death bed, was still a dog and wanted them. She ate all three. Gloria mentioned this to the Tech, who offered to go rustle up whatever they could find in the way of treats. There was soft knock on the door. The vet bent down and poked her arm through. "I ordered Wendy's for dinner. Would she like a nugget?" Which was so sweet, that would make you cry if you weren't already. And, yes, Sunny took a moment to figure out what it was, and slurped it up with gusto. Then there were some cold fries, 2 more nuggets, and some wet cat food. It was all so very sweet of them.

We spent a few more precious moments, crying and talking to her. Scruffing her fur. Then signed the paperwork. Paid the bill. And let them put her down.

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Maybe as we have time to adapt to what happened, I will edit this, and start with the many sweet and funny and pleasant moments we had in those 9 years. (GULP -- how did it already get to NINE?)