περιπλάνηση: June 2022

Oh, my Jake.

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, as I'd picked up the crew from their late, late arrival at DIA, Jake had tried to hop up on the bed and seemed unable to do so. He threw up just a bit in the middle of the night. We slept in and skipped the walk since we didn't get back from the airport and asleep until 2:00.

As I was out of the room just ahead of starting work, I heard a crash and found that Jake had fallen (and pulled down the laptop, I assume he got caught up in the cord.) Calling the vet, they had no regular appointments, but if we brought him and left him, they would work him in.

I hate to leave him anywhere but home. He was left by his former family. But I was thinking he must have a fracture of some sort and would need it set as soon as possible, so we had to leave him until they could get him xrayed.

At lunch, they called. There was no fracture. He was weak and had blood in his abdomen, shadows on the xray which were tumors. If we wanted an ultrasound, we'd need to come get him and take him over to Parker and a high tech emergency vet place.

There, the news became even more grim. An ultrasound could be done, but it would only be useful if we wanted to pursue surgery, and then chemotherapy, and even then, it would buy him very little time and severely impact his quality of life. At 11 and a large breed, he'd be very sick and the tumors, incredibly aggressive, would likely return within months, even if he survived the surgery and chemo.

So we brought Jake home to keep him comfortable and surrounded by love, with a shot for nausea and some pain meds. I sobbed into his fur for hours. He seemed so worried about me. I resolved not to make these last days filled with sadness.

Wednesday and Thursday were filled with balls and hose play, sunshine, walks, toys, treats, and all gravy and soft food that he loved. You'd believe he had more time.

I took hundreds of photos and videos knowing how short the time was, but hoping for more.

But Friday he seemed much slower, wobbly even, and wouldn't poop. Saturday morning he could barely walk. I only coaxed him out of his spot by my bedside that morning with a squeaky toy, and he seemed like he was about to fall down the stairs. He flopped at the bottom and could not go any more. I sat and pet on him and cried.

I went upstairs to get him a blanket and he decided he could move -- I turned around and he'd followed me up.

After we'd picked him up and put him on the bed where we spent so many nights, he didn't move again.

I laid next to him and pet him, brought him water to lap, and just told him how much he was loved.

Calling Caring Pathways when they opened at 7, there was only a "you are the next caller in line" with some piano music as we waited. He seemed to calm with the music. I found a Spotify playlist of calming piano music and played it through the speaker in the bathroom for him. Strangely, it was as he was falling into his last, deep sleep that the music stopped on its own.

Dr. Erin had given him the sleepy meds and this was the first time in hours that he tried to move, I think because he was feeling that groggy effect coming on and wasn't sure about it. I comforted and held him until he quieted and fell into that deep sleep.

After everything, she listened for his heartbeat and whispered, "Jake is free."

My sweet boy, you were so much like Evan. Twin souls, always sensitive and concerned. I hope the two of you are running free together. Wait for me. I'm coming.