Yesterday, on September 23, 2022, we said goodbye to our Ollie girl after six years with her. She was the sweetest, most snuggly, loving dog I've ever known. She rarely barked, unless trying to warn us of such dangers as the propane guy or the lawn treatment man outside. She loved snow, being petted, Simon, playing with other dogs, rolling around with a good stick in her mouth, playing fetch, eating popcorn, and, unfortunately, digging holes. Walmart sacks, balloons, and new, unexpected items in the house made her anxious. She was our Ollie girl, and she brought so much peace and joy to our home. Her absence today is tangible. She left a big hole in our home and in our hearts.
What happened...
On Monday, she was not eating, acting lethargic, and leaning against the wall for support. We took her in to the vet, and they did blood work and x-rays. The blood work came back fine, but the x-rays showed that she had eaten rocks, and though they had not started moving through her system yet, her GI was very inflamed and angry. She also was running a temperature of 103. The vet administered some fluids under her skin and gave her an injection which, though typically used for nausea, would also supposedly help with the inflammation in her GI. We took her home and hoped she would pass the stones that she had eaten.
As the week went on, her appetite even lessened. She wasn't eating much to speak of but would drink water, broth, and the liquid from canned chicken. She was having bowel movements but not passing the rocks she had eaten. Her energy levels continued to decrease. By Friday morning, she couldn't get up. She would lay on her side and "swim" with her legs. I took her back to the vet (after calling my mother-in-law to come over and help me get Ollie onto a blanket and lifted up into the back of my car, then leaving my mother-in-law to stay and watch Audrey).
Once at the vet, they administered more x-rays. I expected to hear that Ollie would need surgery to remove the rocks, and we were mentally prepared to pay quite a bit of money for this surgery if it would help Ollie.
When the vet returned to tell me what the x-rays revealed, she told me she would show me the scans, but that there was either some fabric in Ollie's system that she had eaten or something was very, very wrong. I looked at the scans and saw where the stones were still in Ollie's system but had barely moved. I also saw the inflammation in her GI, the "fabric" like haziness which was actually the physical representation of something very wrong inside of her. Her spleen was also enlarged, even more so than it had been in Monday's x-rays. I began to cry as the vet explained that something very complex and bad was going on inside Ollie. She believed her inability to stand along with the "swimming" of her legs was actually neurological. Something in her brain wasn't communicating with the rest of her body; perhaps the world felt off balance to her. I heard about how golden retrievers are notorious for cancer, especially cancers that cause an enlargement of the spleen, and were sometimes hit with it even as young as the age of two.
The vet went on to explain very sincerely and kindly that we could open Ollie up and see exactly what was going on, but it would likely just confirm what the x-rays had already revealed: that it was complex and not good.
We decided to let her go.
I have never had to let go of a beloved pet. It was the most sad, yet peaceful and swift process. Leslie and I laid next to Ollie on the floor, petting her, reminding her of our love for her and how good of a girl she had been.
Her tail wagged at our presence and voices even up until the very end. She had started to lightly wimper just before the injections were administered, likely due either to the pain returning or anxiety, explained the vet.
The vet administered anesthesia, followed quickly by the euthenasia. I was petting Ollie's face, ears, and neck, and Leslie was petting her chest. He felt her body go from tense to relaxed. The vet listened to her heartbeat and said, "She's gone."
It was so fast. Six years was so fast.
Tufts of Ollie's fur remain around the house. I know I'll continue to find her hair for a while even after several vacuums. Her collar and leash remain in the basket, her food bowl in the dishwasher, and her Christmas stocking in the storage tub upstairs. On the kitchen island, there's a pouch of chicken broth that we were going to see if we could get her to drink.
Our 13-year-old (14 in a little under 2 weeks) pug Simon outlived his sister. I never thought that would happen.
Thank you, Ollie, for being so good to us. Thank you for loving us unconditionally, always being gentle with Audrey, and bringing so much joy and love into our lives. You will forever live in our hearts.
