(Or, how I mourned my own dog)It seemed like it happened so fast.
One day, our Lab mix, Remy, had the tiniest wobble in his back end. I gave him some anti-inflammatory medication, which helped for a few days; then he got worse, falling over backwards as he tried to defecate. Within two weeks, his back end was completely paralyzed. The neurologist at Tufts had “spinal tumor” at the top of her diagnostic list.
Remy was at least 12; we had adopted him as a young adult, so we didn’t know his true age. He had come from a midwestern shelter to our home in Massachusetts. My husband, Mike, pointed out that the dog hadn’t been sick a day in his life (that we knew of) until his paralysis.
And so, with what seemed like very little notice, my husband and I and our nine-year-old son, Nate, had to say good-bye to Remy. It was Nate’s first experience with grief.Tags: literatureessays