This post is long overdue. It should have been published on the day it happened, September 8th, but it was just too hard to get myself in front of a keyboard and put it out there for the public.
Huckleberry, the greatest dog that ever lived, has passed away. He was only 5 years old.
On September 28th I took him to the vet and dropped about $500 on tests. He'd been sick for a few weeks, but honestly the only symptom seemed to be a decrease in appetite. He refused so many kinds of dog food that we tried human food, but our good boi would turn down that too. With his weight loss noticeable, I took him in.
I expected the doctor to tell us he had some parasite or an allergy. Instead, before she even ordered the labs she told me she thought it was cancer, lymphoma to be precise. Sympathetically, but firmly, she said "He will be gone by Halloween."
WTH.
"And if we treat it?" I asked.
"Then he will still be gone by this time next year, but he'll have spent a lot of that time sick from the chemo."
But, she then backed up a little and said that I should wait until next Tuesday for the blood results before making any decisions. (Monday was Labor Day)
On the way home, distraught, I took Huck for a car ride and let him explore the expansive fields north of the airport.
I kept the news secret for a day before I couldn't bear it alone. After work the next day Lisa sent me to pick up dog stairs to help him get into the bed, after noticing he suddenly had trouble making the leap.
Late Friday I was rattled by a disconcerting phone message from the vet, telling me if Huckleberry were to decline rapidly over the weekend and was suffering, I should take him to XX for euthanasia . . . just how advanced did she fear it was????
Tuesday we got the answer, It was cancer, it was bad, and it had affected his stomach as well, causing some internal bleeding. We started him on 2 medicines and continued to pamper him like mad.
The prohibition on dogs riding in my car? Temporarily lifted.
If someone went out, Huckleberry went with them.
Each day he declined a noticeable degree. His attempts to get on the bed were sadder and sadder. We booked a camping excursion with the intent of taking him on one last adventure, and booked it for the second week of September. He would not live to see it.
Meanwhile everyone spent time with him, friends stopped in to see him, and he spent time at the dog park with Lulu
and Lisa and I, with my MIL in tow, took him to a sniff spot in Kenosha County, where he and Sawyer had sole possession of two acres in which to roam.
Unfortunately, by that time he was declining quite a bit, got tuckered out, and largely just lounged. Not that there's anything wrong with taking it easy.
We made the decision to put him down, scheduling it for September 8th, only 11 days after his diagnosis, as he was beginning to suffer, and his bowel movements were liquid and he no longer always had the strength to get outside fast enough to dispose of it there.
My friend Seth heard of Huckleberry's illness and dropped off plentiful treats for his last day
Likewise, my long time friend Tre asked if Huckle could come over and visit. He and his family gave me a chocolate bar to give him in his last moments - "no one should die without knowing the goodness of chocolate" he said - and my Godson TJ walked him around their block. Although it wore out Huck, he enjoyed it immensely.
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His last day he was taken to the dog park and pampered throughout the day. When I got home from work a little early, Lisa, Junie, and I took him to the vet. I have pictures, but will not post them here. He wagged his tail for the vet (he was Huckle until the end), and devoured with relish that Hershey bar Tre bought him.
Lisa sang to him as he passed away
HE'S THE BESTEST BOI AND WE LOVE HIMMMMM
SOOOO MUCH
HUCKLEBERRY HUCKLEBERRY HUCKLEBERRYYYYYYYYYYY
HE'S THE BEST
And then he was gone. And so was a huge part of our hearts.
