Grieving for your Yorkie – Heartbreak

by Jennifer S.
(Arkansas)

I have wanted a yorkie since I was about twelve years old, but have never been in a financial position to have one.

Last September, my husband and I found a beautiful male five month old pup at a local groomers.

He was only 250 dollars, and I fell in love. The original owner had to move and give him up, so she brought him to this groomer to sell.

When we bought him she said he had all of his shots, and wouldnt be due for more for a couple of months.

He was the most incredible animal ever! We named him Loekee, and he was my baby. I have three teenage sons, and know what it means to love someone so much you can’t even think of life without them.

I felt pretty close to that about this little dog. I have always felt that people who put that kind of emotional investment in an animal were a bit silly, but when I got him, I found myself doing just that.

He followed me everywhere! For such a small dog he was absolutely fearless and full of more energy than any of us knew what to do with sometimes.

He could play tug of war twenty four seven and loved to get under my “mutts” skin so that he would chase him at high speeds throughout the entire house! It was absolutely hilarious!

He would wake me up every morning by bounding into my bed, biting my feet relentlessly under the covers and then jumping on my face. There was never a dull moment with him.

On December 18th, we had come home from shopping at around ten o’clock, and as usual, he was bouncing everywhere, jumping all over us….you know how they are.

At ten thirty he threw up. I thought he had just chewed on something he shouldn’t have, and needed to get it out. He seemed fine otherwise. But then he threw up again an hour later.

I noticed he wasn’t making his many trips to the water bowl, or trying to eat what I had. This went on Sunday and Sunday night, and I got him to the vet immediately on Monday. He had become really sick by then.

He tested positive for canine parvovirus. I was terrified. The vet assured me that he must have had the shots I was told he had, and that because of that and his age and otherwise good health, he had a really good chance of making it just fine.

He said they would keep him in isolation, and that he would be given iv meds and expected improvement in a day or two. So I gave him to the vet., relieved.

Later that day I called and asked them if I could come up and see Loekee. They told me I could, but sounded hesitant. I got there, and the led me to “isolation”.

It was a back storage shed…literally. Lawnmowers, gas cans, old paint cans, old files, dead bugs, layers of dust, cleaning supplies, cobwebs…and a few rickety kennels built into the wall.

No iv, no nothing…Loekee, alone in a horrible cage on a dirty towel.l almost lost it. After the orderly left me with him, I called a friend who works at another vet’s office in our small town, and the only other one that had a decent reputation.

I asked her to describe what was going on to the vet she worked with and see what he had to say about it. I wanted to bring him to their clinic that moment.

She called me back and said that he couldn’t accept Loekee in their clinic and that I shouldn’t move him from where he was.

I couldn’t believe it. I had already paid for the treatment up front, was short on money and couldn’t bring him to the only other reputable vet in sixty miles.

The vets reassuring words kept playing in my head, and I decided not to overreact, or cause a scene.

I was afraid that If I drove him to the next city that they wouldn’t take him because I didn’t have the money left to pay in full up front. This was it…all I had. I had to take their word for it that they were medicating him three times a day.

I did, however, choose not to leave him in that awful place overnight. He came home at night to his own kennnel in my room, and I brought him back in the morning and stayed with him in that awful shed in between his treatments.

He was given three treatments a day of iv meds and fluids on Tuesday. The treatments lasted twenty to thirty minutes.

I later found out that he should have been on a continuous drip of fluids all day to stave off dehydration.

The vet assured me this wasn’t necessary. Moron. He seemed to be getting worse, not better like the vet said. I took him home Tuesday night, and had to rush him to the emergency animal hospital and hour away at midnight.

He had gotten so bad so fast. The emergency vet told me that even with the best care, and spending two to three thousand dollars, his chances of survival were grim.

We had to decide to put him down that night…he was suffering so badly, we didn’t have three thousand dollars to treat him…I felt like passing out it hurt so bad.

He was in so much pain…and it was killing me to see him like that. I had to have him put down four days before his first Christmas.

I still can’t see any of his things at home without feeling like my heart is blown wide open. He died a very painful death.

This is very fresh still, and I haven’t gotten over it yet. My intent is not to tell anyone how to greive. We all do that differently, and in my experience, time is the only true healer.

I do however want to just tell people, who may have similar personality types to mine, to fight for your dog. Go with your gut. If you think something is wrong, say so. Shout it out, offend if you must. Make trouble if you must.

If I would have gone with my first instinct on this, my dog may have gotten the treatment he needed and be with me at my side right now. I should have marched up to their counter and demanded my money back, and taken my dog out of town for treatment.

But, I was intimidated…”who am I?” ” I’m not a doctor. If they say this is what needs to be done, then I should be quiet and trust them”.

These are the things that were going through my head. There are a lot of unscrupulous people out there, and they will take advantage whenever they can.

They will take your money gladly, and wont care one bit about doing what you are entrusting them to do.

This has been one of the most painful lessons I have learned in my thirty nine years. But no one will ever intimidate me again.

From this point forward, I go with my gut…no matter who likes it.

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