Somewhere around 7 or 8 years ago, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what it was, but I couldn’t stop crying. Mike had come in for the weekend, and he kept asking me what happened to the Becky he knew. I can’t even remember making the appointment, but I remember my doctor walking into the exam room and asking what’s wrong — and I just busted out in tears. She asked again. I remember saying, “my parents are old, my dog is getting older, I’m an only child and my job has become so political that everything at work sucks (and that was way before the problems of the current administration). She gave me a prescription, and my mood turned around in 48 hours. When I went back for my appointment a week later, she said that a chemical was out of balance and the pills must have evened it out.
Since then I’ve watched my mother lose a horrible struggle with pancreatic cancer and I became a caregiver to my dad until he passed away 3 years later. Through all that, I went home to Misty. We even took her to my dad’s funeral.
Misty turned 16 last November, she had cataracts and her hips didn’t work like they used to. Her back legs kind of waddled like a duck. When it started snowing in January — she was having trouble navigating on the snow and ice — and we all wanted to get to the south where she wouldn’t have to deal with such crummy conditions.
We’ve been snowbirding around Texas for 2 months, and she has enjoyed laying in the grass outside the trailer nearly every day. About a month ago she had some tremors — and I started to worry. She got finicky. She had trouble chewing. She drank a lot of water. Or maybe I only thought she drank a lot of water, because I needed to hold the water glass so she wouldn’t tip it over.
Over the past week, she ate less and less, and slept more and more. That means I worried more and more. I have only left the trailer once in the last 10 days. Yesterday when she woke up her eyes didn’t smile at me. We had watched my mother basically starve to death, and I knew I couldn’t go through that again. We took Misty to the vet yesterday afternoon, and we said goodbye, so she could make her way across the Rainbow Bridge. I don’t know how Mike drove us back to the RV park, because we were both heartbroken.
Today I’m back to being teary eyed, listless, and I can’t think straight. I don’t want to go home because Misty won’t be there. I don’t want to leave this place, because Misty won’t be in the back seat with Luci. Any little thing makes me cry. I wish there was a prescription that could fix this.
We love you little Misty dog. You were an incredible gift. We’ll miss you.
An only child’s journey continues……..