My Scotties name was Myra. I had her 11 1/2 years. She died in my arms on June 8, 2005. She had been sick for a while. Something in her would not let her digest protein. She would just get diarrhea and nothing would be absorbed and she was loosing weight fast. The vet ran a bunch of tests and finally settled on giving her some medication, some kind of cortisone. It slowed her weight loss down, but did not halt it.
It probably gave me about another 6-7 months with her for which I am eternally grateful, but in the end, she lost the fight. She started getting very sick the night before. She would not take any food or water and would tremble in my lap. I stayed up the entire night with her, holding her and talking to her. I knew what was happening and could not
hold back the tears.
In the morning, before the kids got up,(I didn’t want them to see Myra so sick or me so upset) I took her over to my parent’s home. (Myra had always liked it over there because they have 8 acres of property, all of which is fenced in and she could run off the leash) I took her collar off, which was a sign for her that she would be staying for a while. She seemed to relax a bit. Whenever she was over there, her collar would be taken off. I tried to make her as comfortable as possible. I held her and let her enjoy the breeze and birds singing. She was so weak that she couldn’t
stand on her own.
We finally got her to drink some water but the amount she drank was so small I think it was just to get the dryness out of her mouth. Her breathing was becoming labored but she was no longer trembling when I held her. I think she knew that she was dying and had accepted it. She was probably only holding on because she loved me. The vet had been called and agreed to come out to my parent’s house (Myra was always terrified of the vets office and I didn’t want the last thing she felt to be fear)
The vet came out about 1:30 and checked her. Her blood pressure was low and she was swelling with fluid. I held her as the vet gave her the injection in the paw. Myra was looking right into my eyes the whole time, she never fought it. She breathed her last breath into my face and went to sleep. To see a grown man of 35 cry the way I did was probably pretty strange, but I could not help it. She had been my best friend for so long. It was just me and her for the first 7 years before I got married.
She was my little Scotty girl. (you have no idea how hard it is to write this, I’m having to remember everything and the lump in my throat is making it hard to breathe) I held her until she got cold. I then dug her grave by her brothers, Riley. He was my mother’s dog who had died about 1 year
before of bladder cancer.
I lined the grave with her blanket, covered her with one of my t-shirts (I always did that if she got cold in the night), set her tennis ball and 3 dog biscuits in with her. I was shaking so hard that I didn’t think I could finish the job. I buried a very big part of my heart with her that day and the hole
that is left hurts terribly.
Myra, I love you and you will be missed terribly.
I'll see you again at the Rainbow Bridge. K
| Myra |
| 8, June 2005 |
| Jon McCormick |