Some of you may remember a past post I’d written about my dog, Shiloh.
Shiloh was a part of Mr. Muses and my life for the entirety of our marriage up until now. Monday morning, my Little Peanut succombed to cancer. Hemangiosarcoma to be exact. I won’t go into the gory details – feel free to read about those on your own.
My Little Buttercup never showed signs of cancer, only aging – she had just turned 14 a couple weeks ago. Two Saturdays ago she even had her yearly veterinary visit and other than needing her teeth cleaned, she was the image of a perfectly healthy older dog. The same vet who saw her then, attended her final moments on Monday.
I won’t second guess signs leading up to Monday. I worked at a veterinary clinic, I saw the myriad of symptoms of dogs getting older, and after my time in the clinic I told myself that I would never, ever allow my pets to suffer longer than they had to because of my selfishness.
My Little Monkey greeted Mr. Muse and I on our return from a weekend of camping with laps around the yard, joyous bounding and lots of licks. The food she’d turned up her nose at for the house sitter all weekend, she ate with gusto. Monday morning, she was her normal, happy self for just over an hour.
I found her unresponsive on the kitchen floor other than moving her eyes to look at me. She lay still on her side, breathing heavy, heart beating hard but not overly fast. She didn’t flinch when I touched her and I asked Mr. Muse if he could bring her to the vet that morning. Just before I left for work, she staggered to her feet, looking confused and after a few steps, laid back down, exhausted.
I called on my way into the office and left a message saying something wasn’t right and we wanted to bring her in as soon as possible.
Mr. Muse called me a couple hours later. It wasn’t good. Our girl was in a lot of pain despite receiving a heavy dose of painkiller. I spoke with the doctor; blood counts were bad, she was anemic and they suspected she was bleeding internally. In my head I was replaying the scenes from a couple years earlier when we lost our “baby”, and Shiloh’s sister, RCA, to Hemangiosarcoma. I told the doctor that it sounded like RCA all over again. I asked to speak to Mr. Muse once more. Shiloh was fading fast and though I wanted to be there for her, and Mr. Muse, in her final moments, I was 45 minutes away and I was not going to make her wait, in pain, until I could reach her. I told Mr. Muse we had to let her go.
Our Peanut Butter Cup is now buried on a little rise in the East Pasture, visible from our bedroom, next to her sister’s grave.
Our consolation is that we were there for her at the end.
Last night, I caught myself about to ask if Shiloh had been fed yet as I plated up dinner. I told Mr. Muse, attempted to laugh about it but had to take a deep, shaky breath and we hugged, in silence.
I miss my Little Monkey.
P.S. – Grief leaves a really big lump in your throat.
Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about sweet Shiloh! What a devastating loss — I imagine that on one hand it’s comforting to know that she didn’t suffer long, but on the other hand, it’s extra traumatic for you and Mr. Muse to lose her in such a fast and totally unexpected way. It sounds like you both loved her very, very much, and that she loved you immensely in return. When people and pets have that sort of bond, I have no doubt that those pets know they’re loved — and that she knew, right up to the end how deeply loved she was. I’m sending huge, *huge* hugs to you and Mr. Muse.
Thank you so much, Lillian. I appreciate your kind words.
The death of a pet is always soo sad. All that loyalty and free affection gone, but he will be with you in your memories
Thank you so very much 🙂
Sorry for Shiloh’s passing away. Dogs may start as pets but end up as family.
I agree. Thank you.
So sorry to hear about Shiloh. I hope she is with my Chester running around that big yard in the sky….pain free. ((Hugs))
If they are together, they are in good company. Thank you, Lisa.
I empathize dear friend and can hardly see the keys here…I applaud your selfless decision.
Thank you so much, Michael. Your words mean a great deal to me.
I finally get a chance to reply – even though I got your email on Monday, I shared your tears when I read this today. One more for Grandma Dorothy to care for till we see them all again. A big squeeze to both of you.
Thank you, Mom. 🙂 Grandma Dorothy has a big group to care for.
OH… so sorry to hear about her passing. At very least someone was there and she didn’t suffer too long.
Thank you and yes, I’m grateful we were home and Mr. Muse could be with her.
I am so sorry for your loss and it is never easy to lose a pet. They are always with us every step of the way never judging just always so loving. It will take time for your heart to mend and I wish you the best in this difficult time.
Thank you, Darcie. I appreciate your kind thoughts.
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Time passes, and sometimes what it brings leaves a hole in your heart about the size of a typical Border Collie. Of course, there are NO typical Border Collies. Talk to her in Heaven, she’ll be listening, while she romps about, near the Rainbow Bridge. Thoughts of strength and comfort headed your way.
Thank you, Bill. The grief and heartache have lessened, but she’ll always be my “Peanut”.
I am so very, very sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, A.M…
heartbreaking news… to say the least…
Thank you. I miss her, but know that she’s not hurting anymore.