Emma, aka "Tank," has died.
She had bad diarrhea starting Friday three weeks ago. Vet on the following Monday; spleen felt a bit enlarged, so she was treated for bacteria infection and inflammation of large intestinal wall. She wasn't responding to the meds by day three, then began vomiting. The same day in that afternoon she was panting, shivering off & on. So it was back to the vet, and with her significant weight loss, the vet could confirm a mass in Emma's abdomen without any ultrasounds. Tank had lost five pounds in four days.
The only humane choice was the most heartbreaking one.
Do not mistake me. I felt extremely selfish, I wanted to medicate her out of her mind for pain and keep Emma with me as long as possible. I also knew I could not live with myself if I allowed my selfishness to make her suffer.
After thanking her for finding me, and for being the best dog I have ever had the privilege to be a companion to, she was put to sleep. Emma was so sick, she was gone in moments.
I was the third person to come into the humane society to register to adopt her in August 2009. Unlike the others, I came back for Emma. And I told her when I picked her up that I wouldn't abandon her. I was fortunate to be with her until the very end as I had promised.
Emma was a sweet girl. Maybe a sandwich shy of a full picnic basket, but she was friendly to everyone. Probably because she felt every human was a potential treat dispenser. People who weren't even dog persons fell for Emma. I was always concerned her trusting, sweet nature would end up getting her hurt; I made sure to surround her with people who loved and protected her when I wasn't around. Emma was safe from the demons of the world.
And when we were together, she never let me out of her sight.
The hardest part of missing her is when I'm curled up on the couch, her favorite spot was behind my knees.
Now it's so empty there.
Very few things are able to crack my cold, black, cynical heart. Emma was one.
Best. Dog. Ever.