I Feel Broken
I lost one of my family dogs, and honestly, I am broken. He was only three years old. It was so sudden.
Three years ago, my Samoyed, Freya, had a litter of five puppies. My mom kept Orry, one of the males. I helped nurse Orry, took care of him since he was out of the womb, and strongly bonded with him. He was my Oyster.
My mom got another Samoyed two years later—Bruce. Three weeks ago, my mom noticed Bruce coughing, so she took him to the vet. They noticed webbing in his lungs but couldn’t determine exactly what was going on other than to say it wasn’t immediately fatal. She was then referred to a specialist.
Last week, in May, my mom noticed Orry had the same cough. So on Friday, she took him to the vet. Turns out, the x-rays showed his lungs had the same webbing as Bruce. But again, nothing that signaled major concern.
That Sunday, Orry died. My mom noticed him struggling to breathe and rushed him to the emergency vet. He was hooked up to air for an hour. They aren’t even certain what he died from. A bulla, spacing in his lung, a collapsed lung. They aren’t sure.
Bruce went to the specialist on Wednesday. They tested him. My mom dropped $2K on it. They still have no answers. They want her to spend another $5K for more testing. She just simply cannot do that. So now, while she tries to find other solutions, I’m on the edge, worrying if Bruce will be next.
I’m overwhelmed with grief. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t enjoy life. I just keep crying and screaming. Orry is gone. He was here. Then he just wasn’t. No warning. No reason.
I miss him so much. I hate how his loss has broken my family’s heart. I don’t want him to be ashes. I want him. I want my Orry back.
Orry was such a sweet and innocent soul. He was so special from the others in the litter. He marched to the beat of his own drum.
My little Orry. The puppy that sucked on my finger when he thought it was his mommy’s nipple. He was only three. He didn’t get enough time. He had just discovered he liked sweet potatoes. He was supposed to be here 12-14 years.
He’s gone. I can’t even go to the grocery store without just breaking down crying in an aisle. I can’t do everyday tasks without thinking of him. It’s hard to move. It’s hard to breathe. Even when I hear someone cough, I think of him. When I see another dog, I think of him.
I want him back.