Weezy

I have a dog. She is a very sweet creature. And she is terminally ill. She has been with my wife and me for almost 6 years. We rescued her when she was not quite 2 years of age. She’d been a street dog in the Atlanta, Georgia area, she’s had puppies, and she’d been shot. But she found a home with us. When she was healthy she was a loving, happy, mischievous girl. She seemed to know whenever I was having a bad day because she would always snuggle with me without ever having to ask or be invited. And she was always welcome to do that. And she could eat. She loved her food. Ours too. She loved beef jerky, cheeseburgers, and bacon. She also loved Pepperidge Farm Goldfish even though she wasn’t supposed to eat them. She loved my grandchildren. They loved her, too, especially Peyton, my oldest granddaughter. They had a wonderful bond. It was always heartwarming to see them together. She loved Callie and Harley, the little ones, just as much. They were sometimes a little busy for her, though. But she loved them just the same. She never got to meet Elliot, my grandson. But I have no doubt she would have loved him too. About a month ago we noticed that she wasn’t herself. We thought she had a urinary tract infection so we got her evaluated. Sure enough, she did have one. So she was treated with antibiotics. We thought she might have started to get better, but she didn’t. She became more lethargic and she drastically decreased her food intake. It was alarming. S...
Source: Qui Interrogat - Category: Nursing Authors: Tags: Uncategorized Source Type: blogs