Abi’s In Kidney Failure

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The vet just called, and the blood work shows that Abi’s in kidney failure. They want to give her more fluids, and I’m to pick her up about the same time, late this afternoon.

Acute renal failure can occur in a very short time frame. And that’s how it has been this past week. One minute, she seemed fine, and the next, she appeared lethargic and refused to eat.

I recall sitting on the steps at the vet’s office early Saturday morning and waiting for him to get out of his truck when he arrived. Even though we had no appointment, I knew he had to look at Abi. I knew there was something wrong that was beyond my ability to care for her.

It seemed to take so long for him to get close enough for him to hear me as I stood there by the door. I told him how worried I was about Abi.

He told me to bring her inside, and he’d take a look at her. And things went downhill from there.

Thinking Back On Abi’s Escapades:

I think of Abi’s escapades—memories stored in my head. Abi, furiously scratching at a blanket because she’d get so excited. Her little paws were moving so fast that you could barely see them.

Abi, making that weird noise when she lies on her side and is trying to convey her frenzied feelings to me.

The way her eyes always widen when she sees me walking toward the door with my purse. How she tries to keep me from going out the door to my car. Then, when she sees she can’t stop me, she tries furiously to sneak past my legs to go with me, barking furiously.

Both Abi and Charlie have separation anxiety, and I hate to leave them for any period of time. But there are places I have to go where I can’t take them, so they get left behind until I can get home.

Abi, a spunky little dog, is so full of life. She’s undoubtedly a drama queen and has weird, quirky ways. There has never been anything ordinary about Abigail Rose.

And now she’s listless. Sick, weary, and scared because she has to go to the vet every morning. And I have to leave here there till late afternoon.

She knows something is wrong. I can see it in her eyes. But I can also see how tired she is from trying to keep her body going when it wants to quit.

There’s Nothing More To Do:

There’s nothing else to be done. She won’t drink or eat. There has been no improvement after several days of fluids and treatment. No matter how strongly I’ve wished it, made bargains, and pleaded with the vet, this process remains unchanged.

How can I lose this feisty, sweet girl?

It seems impossible because she’s always been so full of life. But in the past few days, I’ve watched her fade away. Her eyes have an empty look.

I’m heartbroken. However long she has left, I want her home with me. I want to spend every minute with her. To soak up her presence.

I’m selfish to want to keep her when I know her body can’t fight anymore. I’ve never seen Abi not fight. Fight to go with me, fight to get out the door, fight me every step of the way.

Abi has always seemed larger than life. She’s always been such a spirited little dog.

I brought Abi and Charlie with me from Texas, and I remember stopping for gas once during the long drive.

As I pumped gas, both dogs stood at the window watching, fear in their eyes. They had no idea where we were going, or if we’d ever return to the only home they’d ever known. We were moving to a new home in a different state. Many changes were about to take place.

Settling In Tulsa:

Then we settled in Tulsa, and life went on. We no longer had to worry about “him” anymore. Those days were over. And now the three of us had our own little family.

Now one of us will no longer be here. And Charlie and I will be left to grieve this spunky, sweet little dog.

I’m bringing her home to die. I’d go pick her up right now, but he said she needs the fluids. I have been waiting and hoping. Hoping and waiting. Thinking maybe things would turn around and she would get better.

In these crucial next hours, I will talk to her, pet her, and give her all of myself. I’ll try to prepare her for something I have no idea how to prepare her for.

My own feelings of anxiety and fear will have to be put aside. And I’ll just be with her. Lie next to her; talk to her.

Tomorrow, she will leave this earth, and hopefully, there is a Rainbow Bridge for her to cross over to.

I will love her to the end and beyond, and be right beside her when she takes her final breath.