A solemn goodbye

This week has rocked my family to its core. The sweet, adorable, and much loved little puppy that my parents had been carrying for, received a grim diagnosis on Monday, and on Wednesday, he went to heaven.

Today would have been his one month birthday. He would have been one month today...

Yes, I am talking about a fur baby. And yes, we are grieving, because just like humans, a helpless puppy was part of our family for three and a half weeks; and loved.

He came into this world as a surprise, no one knew his mom was pregnant- not even a vet, and he was the runt of the litter. His mom tossed him aside two days later due to inability to nurse, and he was left for dead. Luckily, my parents graciously accepted to take in and attempt to raise the little guy.

Everyone knew it would be hard with round the clock feedings and constant care, but they really didn't care. Not many people are lucky enough to hold a life in their hands, literally, but we were. In the time that Ruger spent with us, my mother had been at his every beck and call. Sure my parents knew that raising a three day old puppy would entail round the clock feedings with a milk replacement and tiny bottle, and the normal things, but they were unaware of the unforeseen issues that would arise.

At a little over a week old, Ruger was diagnosed with cleft pallet and my parents were told that he would need surgery to close the gaping hole that was in the roof of his mouth. Everyone was stunned. But they were accommodating his newly bestowed special needs status. And Ruger was thriving. He was gaining weight and reaching his puppy milestones.

At two weeks he was starting to open his beautiful blue eyes and could actually hear. He was loving, and showing his love by licking.

On Monday, Ruger wasn't doing well. A trip to the vet revealed the possibility of fluid on his brain and it was ordered that he was to be tube fed, to avoid aspiration. At the visit, the vet said that Ruger would never be normal, and have issues for the rest of his life. They gave him shots of antibiotics. My parents were sad, but determined to give Ruger the best kind of life possible. They gave him two weeks. After that two weeks, if he wasn't doing any better, they would make the decision to release him in to heaven or not. Basically, Ruger would be walking a fine line between life and death.

Tuesday, Ruger was doing better. He was still acting sluggish, but was slowly getting back to being the voice-truss little puppy we all knew and loved.

Wednesday morning, Ruger walked. The vet said that he would never walk, but he did. And it seemed as if he was defying the odds. Unfortunately by the afternoon, he was seizing and was rushed to the vet. After injections of anti-seizure medications, the seizure didn't stop. The vet told my parents that if Ruger came out of the seizure, then there was a plausibility that half of his brain would die.

At that point, my mom made a hard decision. She said that she didn't want Ruger to suffer anymore and decided to let him go. A shot was given and a three week old puppy, who was just two short days away from his one month birthday, went to meet his maker while being surrounded with love.

Ruger was special. Not only to us, but to everyone he met. He will always be loved.