She came to me as a gift, ten months ago. A little fur ball with big floppy ears, and large green eyes that she used to get her way. Mocha brown, with white paws, and the tip of her tail was also white as if she had dipped it into a bucket of paint. I'm talking about my puppy, Pucca.
Yes, I realize a lot of you might think it down right stupid to become so attached to a pet. But the truth of the matter is I'm a sentimental fool that way. You see, sadly, Pucca passed away a few weeks ago.
Pucca caught Distemper. How, I'm not sure, she had all her vaccinations and I went out of my way to care for her. Damn, she received all my attention, almost as if she was my child. But in the end it didn't matter.
I first found out a week prior to her passing. She had a fever which I stupidly tried to relief with Canine Aspirin. Later that night, Pucca lost the use of her hind legs. It killed me to see her try to walk and fail miserably. Falling on her side and kicking wildly, obviously not knowing what was wrong. I rushed her to her Veterinarian who diagnosed her and began with what would become a daily routine of a variety of injections.
Pucca regained the use of her legs the following night along with her appetite. I trully thought she was going to make it even though everything I read on the internet told me otherwise. I took her day after day for more injections and medication to be taken orally. I figured her will to live and my dedication to her would be enough to overcome this virus she had contracted. I was wrong.
On the evening of October 19, Pucca took a turn for the worse. She began having convulsions and would cry out in pain. I contacted her Veterinarian on his cell and requested an emergency appointment. I was still convinced there was a chance for her. Once her veterinarian examined her, he concluded her chances of survival were slim. But still he and I wanted to give her a fighting chance, since he knew of dogs who had miraculously defeated the symptoms. He gave her yet more injections, to ease the pain, and sent me home to watch over her. He instructed me to bring her in the following morning if she made it through the night.
I stayed by Pucca in her final moments. I atleast knew she was no longer in pain. All I could do was make sure she was comfortable. She fought for a few more hours, but I noticed a decline in her respiratory pattern. They became slower and more shallow than normal. I knew she didn't have much longer. At exactly 2:14 in the morning, as I held her in my arms, her breathing seized completely. My Pucca was no longer with me.
I didn't sleep much that night, I felt guilty. Thinking maybe if I had done one thing different, maybe just maybe, she would still be alive.As soon as the sun was out, I went out into the yard to start digging her grave. The good thing is I was alone. No one there to witness the mess of tears I had become. Once I finished, I went back to Pucca, who lay lifeless and cold to the touch. I took her and sat next to the hole I had dug up, with her in my lap. I caressed her, and said my goodbyes, my vision blurred by my tears.
I wrapped her in her favorite blanket so she wouldn't be cold, and gathered her toys to bury with her so she'd have something to play with. I layed her in her grave but kept taking her out since I kept swearing I would see her breathing or even hear her moan. Each time I would check, and each time was discouraged to find out I was imaging these things.
I finally put her down into the dark hole, and sprinkled a handfull of dirt over her. I wiped my tears of my face and began shoveling the rest of the dirt into the hole.
Still today, I find myself expecting to see her running around the house, jumping onto everything as she always did. When at stores, I steer clear of the pet section, and I'm still not accustomed to the absence of my little friend riding shot gun on my drives around town.
She was a great companion and friend and she will be missed. Rest in peace, Pucca.
