I am very, very emotional right now. After celebrating my eldest child’s 14th birthday yesterday, today we’re grieving as our two years and five months old female Boston Terrier, Quinn, passed away this morning, 17 October 2017. She’s been battling with kidney disease and seizures for some time now, although it was only last July when we changed vets that we found out about her kidney problem, and after a blood test was conducted.
I must admit that there were times when I would feel exasperated with her because she had become a terribly picky eater. (She must have already tried all brands of dog food available in the market.) I thought this was the only reason she was weak and skinny and would collapse a couple of times a day until our new vet informed us that she wasn’t just weak because she was a picky eater, but because she was sick.
Quinn was then subjected to nearly two months of medication. Eventually, her illness started to take a toll on me, i.e., physically, emotionally, and financially. At first, my prayer was for Quinn to be cured, and we all truly hoped that one day, she would get well, fatten up, and be able to have puppies of her own.
Indeed, after nearly two months of medication, her condition did improve. Her seizures had become infrequent and she was her usual energetic self again. She started eating plain dog food regularly too, albeit in small quantities, and we all started to really hope again that she could one day have her own pups.
And then she started to lose her appetite again, refusing to eat anything at all. Her condition initially lasted for a day, but it was all it took to make me despair. I found myself wondering and praying that if she’s not meant to stay with us much longer, maybe she should just go because I could no longer bear to see her that way, weak and unable to eat, plus I was already exhausted and my budget’s already depleted.
As if sensing my thoughts, Quinn consumed with gusto the food Big Sis especially prepared for her last night, that guilt engulfed me for ever thinking that way. I wanted so much for her to be well and I hated that I couldn’t do much to improve her condition, much less make her eat.
Although she was very weak, Quinn seemed to communicate with us how much she loved us by wagging her tail. Every time she heard us talking to her, she would try to respond in any way she could. As she gained some strength last night, we arranged a sleeping area for her in the bathroom and we all went to sleep, with the plan to bring her back to the vet today.
This morning, however, she appeared weaker and refused to eat once more, though she continued to try and lift her head and wag her tail. It’s like she didn’t want to appear sick to us, she was trying so hard to make us smile. Those gestures alone renewed my resolve to fight for her, down to the last energy and cent that I have.
Little did we know, however, that Quinn was already trying to say goodbye to us with as much dignity that she could muster. We were still able to bring her to the vet, but when we got there, her whole demeanor just changed. It’s like she finally could no longer mask the pain she was going through and all her energy just went out. After 15 minutes of laying on the examination table, Quinn breathed her last.
We got Quinn by the last week of July 2015, a week or so after my father died. She was the first purebred dog we ever bought and stayed inside the house with us most of the time. She was supposed to keep my daughters and me––especially me––company after Papa died, and Quinn did a great job at that. The girls immediately fell in love with her and my husband treated her like one of our kids. I don’t know if we’ll ever have a dog that’s as sweet-tempered yet very protective, charming, loyal, and smart like Quinn. We’ve got nine dogs now, you know, and none of them compares to Quinn at all with all those qualities she got. I guess such fur babies only come once in a lifetime. ❤