Our broken heart

December 11, 2018

Over the past couple of weeks our beloved puppy Sparticus started deteriorating very quickly. He lost the ability to control his bladder, and his bad eye developed another bleed.

In the past 36 hours, things got even worse. On Monday, he lost what vision he had remaining in his other eye and this caused him distress. He couldn’t find his way around the boat, and would bump into everything. Since he had already lost his hearing, this was incredibly upsetting for us because he couldn’t hear us, and now that he couldn’t see us, we knew he was scared.

We’d pick him up, and hold him while he’d shake, and after letting him out in the cockpit, where he’d relieve himself standing in place, we’d help him over the threshold only to see him turn in circles, unsure of where to go.

Later on Monday, he’d developed diarrhea, which was mostly blood. We knew this meant he was bleeding internally too, and not just behind his bad eye.

As you all know, we have been pushing toward the Bahamas and had been planning to step off from Florida this weekend. As such, I had scheduled a vet appointment to get a health certificate for Sparky.

Tuesday was much of the same for our little baby boy – and we were very concerned. I think in the back of our minds, we both knew this was serious, but neither of us was willing to have the conversation about (I don’t even like saying this) whether Sparky was ready to let go.

Twice on Tuesday, and overnight into Wednesday morning, Sparky defacated in his dog bed – and again, it was bloody. I fed him, which made him very happy, and then put him in the cockpit for some fresh air. After he relieved himself again, with blood still, Erik and I had the inevitable conversation we didn’t want to have.

We agreed that Sparky needed to see the vet sooner, as in ASAP, and we’d discuss options with the doctor and decide from there. The vet did not think Sparky would have much quality to his life – and the best he could offer us was a couple more days where Sparky could be comfortable. He asked us whether we wanted to go that route, and we didn’t. The fact is, his liver and kidney disease had progressed and he was in pain.

I wasn’t ready to let him go. Erik wasn’t ready either. But our baby was ready – he’d lived 5,747 days, or 15 years, 8 months, and 23 days. He was my baby and I will love him forever.

Rest in peace my sweet pea.

 

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