I am beyond heartbroken

Today I had to put down my wonderful dog, Luke.  He was only 3.  Three years together with this little guy was not enough.  He went from having some sort of rash on his belly on Wednesday to being terminally ill 5 days later. 

We immediately went to our normal veterinarian who among other things did a biopsy on some skin, then in short order sent us on to a veterinary internist.  He spent his last 2 nights at the 24 hour pet hospital, while we sat at home, worried sick.  They were all great there, but simply couldn't arrest the auto-immune condition that was eating him.  Nobody could.  When he started to suffer, we did what we knew we had to do to spare him any more. 

I'm in shock.  To say I'm completely devastated is a dramatic understatement, sort of like saying Adolf Hitler could sometimes be unpleasant.  I've prayed continuously for the past 48+ hours, but apparently The Man Upstairs had something better in store for Luke.  (Put in a good word for me, Buddy.)

I told myself I wasn't going to do this, but I just had to share the wonderful life Luke and I made together.  (Oh, yeah, K was in there, too.)

Luke's life with us began a couple of months after we had to put this ^ beautiful girl (Emma Belle) down.   It didn't take us long to realize we needed another dog in our lives.  Kelly said this time SHE was getting to pick the breed and the gender.  

"OK, fine, whatdayawant?"

"A male Yorkshire Terrier." 

"DOH!  Not a Yorkie.  They're little, and scared of their own shadow."

"Nope, my pick."

My stipulation was that we were not going to have a dog that looked like a mop, and had the hair on his head tied up with a goofy looking bow!  She agreed.

K knew someone who knew a very reputable breeder, so we arranged for this ^ good lookin' guy to become ours.  He was about 4 pounds when we got him, and yes, I was more than  a bit smitten. (He eventually ballooned to 8 pounds, dripping wet.)

We did all the responsible pet owner things, like have him fixed.  He came with all the proper papers we could fill out to have him registered, but I'm not big on that sort of thing.  He was my (er...OUR) dog.  He was 100% FAMILY!  I wasn't concerned with his "value". 

We bonded fast.  Wherever I went around the house, he wasn't far behind.

This was what I invariably saw when I looked down beside my desk.  Sometimes he would scratch at my leg, wanting up.  I would accommodate him, of course.  I'd lean my desk chair far back until I was at about a 45 degree angle, then he'd lie down on my chest and enjoy the view from up here.  And give me more than a few kisses.  (OMG...were we gay? :)  

It wouldn't be long until he was fast asleep, and I was stuck in that reared-back position.  I didn't have the heart to wake him.  Eventually he'd hear a noise outside and have to go investigate, and I'd get back to work.

When I had some skin cancer removed off my nose, leaving me with a scar that I told people was the result of an epic sword fight *wink*, Luke knew better.  He knew I hurt, and was right there with me to make it all better.

When I would go sit on the balcony, so would Luke.  He ruled over his 'hood from up there, and would assume the "tough little man" stance when he saw another dog on his turf.  I was dead wrong when I said Yorkie's were scared of their own shadow....THIS one wasn't!

True to her word, K never tried to dress him up in silly clothes.  Umm...we made an exception for football season when he wore his custom size XXXS Texas Tech Red Raiders jersey. 

 Oh, and there was the time I agreed to a red sweater when he posed for our Christmas card.

He didn't watch a lot of TV, but he did like The Animal Planet.

He became a regular at some of our local art shows, where he usually gamed K into carrying him after the first couple of miles.  I guess when your pace is only about 3 inches, a mile is almost a marathon!

We had several little blankets on chairs, my ottoman, the couch, etc, that he'd use to make himself a comfy nest.  We were allowed to sit wherever he WASN'T.  :)

I would absolutely love to come from work in the afternoons where Luke would greet me at the door,  then run back towards the den, stopping to run a couple of tight 360's (I have no idea why) along the route.  Then he would jump up on my ottoman, then my chair seat, and finally up high on the back of my chair where I would catch up with him.  I'd pick him up, we'd share affections  (oops, there's that gay thing again), then I'd ask if he wanted to go on a walk.

It's funny....I used to almost dread those early morning and late night potty walks, the bundling us both up in the winter before we stepped out, then picking up his poo with those little baggies they put in dispensers around the neighborhood to keep things clean and tidy.  Now, I'd give a million bucks for the privilege of doing it all over again.  :(

Recently he'd discovered the fun of joyriding in the car.  Yes, we'd just drive around the neighborhood, and the mall parking lot a block away early in the mornings before many people were out.  He'd sit in my lap and stand on the armrest and have the time of his life.  And watching him look so happy would make me a supremely happy guy, too.

No, three years was no where near long enough time with this little guy.  I/we were there today when he left us.  I held his little head in my hand and rubbed his neck, and K caressed him, too, while the doctor gave him his lethal dose.  It was humane, and he was no longer hurting, and I was glad for that.  Now it's my turn to hurt.

 

 I love you, buddy.