Her body arched into the air, she screamed, her eyes glued to mine, panic struck, she wet herself and pooped simultaneously and dropped back down, I held her through it, remembering so recently Madison, my darling Dane doing this in the final throws of her life as she then gurgled herself to death drowning on the fluid in her lungs. It’s all too much. This pain. I want a break.

She calmed down and I gently cleaned her, talking to her all the time. I searched her eyes assuring her I was fine and she should let go. She kept her little teddy bear eyes on me for hours watching as I moved to do anything. When I started to think of bed and some necessary sleep she wanted to come with me, so I placed plastic down under her bed and put her right up next to me. I continued whispering to her to just pass peacefully, her eyes remained glued to mine.

In the early hours of the morning, with barely any sleep for me, her breathing was not as laboured.

I carried her to the grass in the morning, and she went about her business, gingerly. It’s been 3 weeks since the start of this story. Molly has been in and out of the vet. She has a permanent port attached to her leg and is is hydrated by day and comes bouncing home fine every afternoon. We are still trying to find a diagnosis. She has been treated for constipation, just gas, possible neural issues, stroke. I have said quiet goodbyes to her numerous times.

Why am I writing this?

I repeatedly told my Mom just a few months ago, that I was fine, and she should let go. Stop rallying, go gently…she would gaze at me with intensity some days, a soft smile some days and with indifference on others.

Guess what, neither one was ready when I thought I had everything in control. What do I know anyway!!