It started with pacing. An unusual restlessness. One that didn’t cease—which usually does cease—with more potty time.
Shortly thereafter, she started to excessively drool and dry heave.
Having zero suspicion of any health problems or complications, I figured she ate something she shouldn’t have in the backyard and needed to hurl it up to feel better.
It was already well into the night at this point so I decided to try and sleep and let her get out what she had to get out, in whatever way she had to do that, and I would deal with it—whatever “it” was—in the morning.
And eventually, after more pacing, dry heaving, and slobbery drooling… she laid down.
…It wasn’t until the next day that I found out she had GDV or bloat—a life-threatening condition that occurs when a dog’s stomach twists and fills with gas—and that she was likely in extreme discomfort and distress.
…And yet, she laid down.
I don’t think she slept that entire night. I think she laid down, not because she finally wasn’t restless or nauseous anymore—I think the level of pain/discomfort only got worse throughout the night—but because she saw I was trying to sleep.
…And she didn’t want to disrupt or inconvenience me any further.
It was a final act of love.
One I tried so f*cking hard to return when, in addition to GDV, a large tumor was found in her side, and I gave her the softest, most comfortable landing I could possibly conceive.