I read a post at 3am from a woman whose dog is really sick. She was questioning whether or not it was a good idea to visit him while he’s being hospitalized. I knew immediately what I wanted to tell her.


But, I didn’t want to scare her. That’s my own guilt talking, and I knew it immediately.

I am hoping he recovers because he is a special one-of-a-kind dog. I remember when he came into rescue, I was so so in love with him. I imagined adopting him. He was quirky and reserved, a redhead of course. He was totally my type. I’ve never met him in person but I love this dog.

So, there I was in bed, with this tightness filling my chest and it brings it all back. How I wish so much that I had been with him. Why didn’t I ask to see him? I remember thinking about it but then assumed it was a bad idea. I was worried it would get him upset or excited and that he would die.

But he died anyway.

It didn’t matter. He died alone while I was sitting in my car making plans to take him home.

But we didn’t take him home. Instead, my last moments with my sweet boy were sitting on the floor in the waiting room while he laid on the bench beside me, barely able to breathe. They whisked him away and I never saw him alive again.<

But he was alive for a few more hours. They drained the blood from his heart and he was alert and doing better.

I would tell myself to go be with him if I could do it again. I would soak up every single moment…good or bad. I would kiss his little paws and squish his head. I would tell him how much I loved him and how very brave he was.

But I thought we had time.