Farewell my Quincy Pants

My dad once told me, our pets give us thousands of the happiest days of our lives...and one of the worst.  Today was one of the worst for me. Today, I said goodbye to Quincy Pants. 

Quincy was 13 years old.  If you knew him, or even follow my blog, you knew that he drew the short straw in life.  Rarely could that poor dog catch a break. 

He was allergic to human dander, so he was ALWAYS itchy.  Even after a routine of allergy shots and a lifetime of prednisone to ease his symptoms.  Then, he developed cataracts and after a few years was completely blind.  Then went his hearing.   

But, he was always still happy, smiley Quincy Pants.  He was the first to greet me at the door, bouncing all over the place and shaking that stump despite his old age and arthritis.  He was always there to snuggle with me during the most trying times of my life and just when I needed a pooch to pet.  He was always there.

Now he's not.  And, it hurts. 

You may wonder what happened?  Well, it all started after his surgery.  I look back and I wonder if I should have made this decision then.  The surgery was pretty traumatic for him.  He lost a step or two after that.  We could still enjoy snuggle time.  But, the giddiness was lost.  The "morning make outs" ended.  Those morning when I would just pet the heck out of him and he would love up every moment of it.  He didn't like that, anymore. 

He stopped going up to Desmond's room where his favorite bed in the world (the Ultimate Sack) was.  The half body shake I would get when I got home lessened to just the stump. 

Then, one day, he had what we thought might have been a seizure.  I wasn't there for it.  My in-laws saw it and described it.  He went to the vet and, hundreds of dollars of tests later, they had nothing.  Today, I kinda wonder if that was actually a stroke.

It was the move that really sent him into a rapid downward spiral.  Everything he knew was different.  He was losing his way around the old place, too.  But, now...everything was wrong for him.  We tried helping him explore.  We even set him up in his own corner of the house with his bed and the old couch for him to lay on.  Close to the action where he could do his thing (which is usually simply sleeping) while we did ours (cook dinner, feed the baby, whatever).  Then we would bring him to the living room and let him rest on the couch. 

But, these last days, he couldn't rest.  He couldn't sit still.  He would walk in circles, over and over and over.  He would walk in circles so much and so fast that he would get dizzy and fall over...then he would get up and continue to walk in circles.  We tried to put him in his favorite spots.  He would get up and, if we weren't right next to him, fall off the couch or the bed and then keep walking in circles.  He stopped eating and drinking.  Just circles. 

Today, I took him to the vet clinic...the one where my cousin Kelley works.  Kelley was there for us.  She did the procedure herself.  I was with him when he passed on, off to torment his sisters who went before him.

I miss him, terribly.  It's still the first day, but I keep thinking I hear him.  I know it will pass.  In the meantime, I will remember what a great little puppy pants he was for 13 years.  Thanks for thousands of happy days, Mr. Pants.


 

 




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