My beautiful little Arthur
joined his brothers and sisters at the Rainbow Bridge on Monday morning.
He didn’t eat dinner Sunday
evening so I thought it was him that got into the cat box. I was blaming Stinky. Monday morning, he was fine, went potty, was
talking up a storm as I was getting breakfast ready and everything was normal. In fact, I was teasing him saying “you must
be really hungry, you naughty boy”. He
ate breakfast, took his treats and went and laid on the floor.
About a half hour later, I
smelled poop. So I went downstairs and
he had lost control and his breathing was heavy so I rushed him to the
vet. He walked to the car but was a
little wobbly. By the time we got to the vet, I had to carry him in. I put him on the floor and he was like cooked
spaghetti. Dr. B ran in, yelled
something to his assistant and I picked Arthur up to put him on the table. He died in my arms before I laid him down.
His belly was swollen and full
of blood so we think he had a splenic tumor that ruptured. There were just no signs, which is
unusual.
He was about 14, maybe even a
little older, and I know he had a really good life after such a terrible
puppy-hood. And I am grateful I didn’t
have to play God and make a decision but that doesn’t make losing him easier.
I remember when I caught
him. It took me 4 months and a lot of
meat. I finally gained his trust and got
him to follow me into the fence and shut the gate.
He freaked out but after about 2 hours of chaos with the other dogs,
everyone adjusted. That was over 11 years ago.
He is with his sibling, Shorty,
now. I rescued them together and they
were two peas in a pod. I walked them
together, fed them side-by-side, they snuggled and always had a strong
bond. Arthur took it pretty hard when
Shorty crossed over and wouldn’t leave Shorty’s bed for 2 weeks. Not even at night to sleep with the rest of
us.
Il dolce sogna il mio bambino
piccolo. Mi manchi e ti amo!
