A year and a half ago I went to the Lake Elsinore shelter to pull a female senior pug. She was tiny, emaciated, her hair missing in big ugly patches. She had a hernia which her bladder protruded through, and her belly was black and her nipples hung low from being overbred and undercared for. She was deaf and her sight was bad, seeing just a bit around her cataracts. She was ataxic and very weak in the rear...walking like a drunkard but with a determination that got her where she needed to go. She had the sweetest most soulful eyes.

In her year and a half here, her hair grew back, healthy, soft and shiny. Her belly turned pink and I had her hernia repaired. She was a little velcro puppy always begging to sleep behind my butt in the computer chair while I worked, or close against myself or my husband on the couch or in bed. She was my husband's favorite, he called her his girlfriend. She was always happy, despite her problems...and always sweet as sugar.

She became our precious little Love Bug and crawled deeply into our hearts, always quick to give kisses if you cuddled her and giving you those adoring soulful eyes.

Her ataxia had been stable up until the last few weeks, when it suddenly got much worse. She would fall several times when trying to get from one place to another and had problems standing for long and getting up. I had taken her to the vet and he did bloodwork, which was all good, checked her potassium bromide levels which were also good and tried a course of pred which did not help. He said she was probably suffering from a brain tumor or "old dog encephalitis" and as long as she was happy and eating well we could let live out her remaining time. The past few days she refused a meal here and there and threw up once or twice. She was drinking a lot of water and very restless at night last night and the night before, needing to go out many times, often just to stagger around and then come back. This morning I took her up on the couch with me to give her love and she slept there while I petted her for two or three hours, I could feel her heart was beating fast. She woke suddenly and needed to go out urgently. On the patio she passed a huge amount of diarrhea, almost all blood. My heart sunk.

My husband is at his father's in Missouri for vacation, I knew it was Bug's time, and so wished he could be here to see his little "girlfriend" off. But I knew she was now suffering and it was time to let her go.

I set her in the seat of the Roadster and we made the trip to the emergency vet. He examined her and said with her recent history, most likely it was cancer which had now taken hold of her bowels.

They wanted to take her back to set the IV, but I would not allow it, making the tech come in the exam room to set it so she would not have to be separated from me. She didn't flinch or move while they inserted the IV, she was relaxed as I petted her soft, silky fur. After the IV was in place we waited for the vet to come to administer the drugs. She raised her head and looked into my eyes and I bent down to kiss her forehead, my tears falling onto her coat. She gave me kisses and then laid her head back onto my hand.

The vet administered the first injection and she sighed deeply and was out. Then the second drug and she took two short, shallow breaths and was gone. I will miss her so much.

I wrapped her in a towel and sat her back on the seat of the Roadster. Tanner dug her grave in the backyard. I bought a beautiful white-flowered vine to plant on her grave. I'm going to go bury her now.


Little Bug, you were the sweetest, most gentle and delicate girl, so tiny, but such a will and determination. I will miss your warm body behind me as I work and the gentle insistence of your head on my calf asking to be picked up. Mike will miss cuddling with you on Sunday mornings as you both sleep in and feeling you beneath his left hand as he watches TV. We love you very much precious girl. Thank you for the kisses to tell me it's okay.

And so another hole is torn from my heart, another little one has come and given us so much more than she ever took in the short while she was with us. Goodbye little Bug.

Take care,
Lisa