Georgie

Not that they were ever enemies, but my dogs had become especially nice to Georgie lately. They has always been a little jealous of him. But now, MacKenzie often sat next to him on the couch. She would kiss his face. Tommy, who had always been aloof, would sniff his face. I was happy that we were finally a happily family. But, it turns out the dogs knew something that I didn't.

My sweet, blonde cocker had become a finicky eater over the last week or so. I was begging him to eat roast chicken, roast beef, cheese, bacon, and anything else I could think of. Yesterday, he would only drink water.

He was also panting. The weather was fairly cool, but he has such a thick coat of fur, I thought perhaps a shearing my help cool him off. I sheared the fur around his neck and chest, but it didn't help.

I took his temperature and it was 103.5. His nose was chapped and a little bit of milky discharge was coming from his nostrils, so I made an appointment to see the vet that afternoon. In the meantime, Georgie would not sit or lie down. He just stood and panted. I figured that he had pneumonia and just needed some antibiotics.

The vet took some x-rays and said that his lungs appeared to be filled with fluid. There was also some distortion in his chest cavity, like everything was being pushed to the side. He thought that Georgie had heart failure which was causing his lungs to fill with fluid. Or, it could be cancer.

The vet said that Georgie was in critical condition and needed to go to a 24 hour emergency hospital. While I was in the waiting room, the vet came out and told me that Georgie was crashing. He let me come in the back. Georgie had passed out, but now an oxygen mask was on Georgie's face. He was doing better, but every time they tried getting the mask off, his tongue turned blue.

The vet said there was a good possibility that Georgie would die on the way to the hospital, but there was no alternative. The vet had me turn the air conditioner in my car on full blast and once the car was good and cold, Georgie was put in my car. He did fine on the drive. I think that the stress of being at the vets office was what had pushed him over the edge.

The next vet put him in a glass cage with pumped in oxygen. They let me stay with him. He looked so cute, just like a dog for sale in a pet store. I was able to put my arm through a port and pet him.

More x-rays were done and the vet said the Georgie had a hernia in his diaphragm and that his intestines, liver and other organs had migrated into the chest cavity. This was squishing his lungs and explained why he was so short of breath. It was something that could be surgically repaired. It would be expensive, but when it comes to my dogs, there is no such thing as too much money.

The vet found a thoracic surgeon who could operate on Georgie that night, but it was at a hospital in West LA. They had me wait a couple of hours until rush hour traffic eased up. They checked sig alerts and as soon as it looked okay, they let me take Georgie, again with the air conditioner running full blast. His tongue was a little blue on the trip, but he was a trooper.

So far, the day had cost me nine hundred dollars, but that was fine. My dogs are priceless and get the best of everything. At the surgical center, they asked for five thousand dollars and got it. I would have signed over title to my house if they had asked. I just wanted Georgie well again.

The thoracic surgeon was on her way. They suggested that I go home and wait, so I did. The surgeon called before the surgery to explain the risks and said that she wasn't at all sure that she could save Georgie. I told her to operate and just do her best.

About and hour later, the vet called in the middle of surgery. She said that Georgie had had the hernia for years and that it wasn't the cause for Georgie's respiratory distress. There was a massive growth on Georgie's lung and liver. It looked cancerous. If she removed his lung, the remaining lung would not be able to compensate. His prognosis was extremely grim. She recommended not waking him from the surgery. In tears, I agreed to let him go.

My heart is broken and I can't stop crying. Georgie came from the pound and I only had him for less than two years. It's just not fair. Four months ago, I broke my dependence/addiction to Xanax, an anti-anxiety drug. Now I'm back on it, big time. It's not doing anything for the grief, but at least it made the panic attacks stop.

In the meantime, a candle, with his collar in a circle around it, is burning. Lindsay, my boyfriend, said that it will help guide his soul to Heaven. Lindsay is more spiritual than I am, but who am I to say it won't help? Rituals serve a purpose sometimes.