Angela & Blackie & 3 Others
Member Since 2010
It is with a very, very heavy heart that I share this sad news. I knew it was inevitable from the diagnosis a couple of months ago, but it's still very hard to believe that it even happened.
Bubba was diagnosed with cancer about 2 months ago, and I'm guessing it was in his bladder since no amount of antibiotics would help to clear up the small amount of bleeding that seemed to be constant. Bubba's appetite was great for the most part, up until about 6 days ago. He was still drinking, which was always a good thing. He used the LB a lot, which was expected due to his condition. This past weekend, he was still eating, and drinking. He'd spend a lot of time in the bedroom on the floor next to my side of the bed. Monday, I noticed his appetite waning quite a bit. His hind end was very wobbly by this time, too. He'd get up, take a few steps, and then lay down, especially Monday night. I had hoped that he would hold out until after the holidays, but I knew in my heart that it wasn't going to happen that way. Tuesday morning I tried to get him to eat a small amount of wet food, but he turned away. I knew it was time. When I went into the bedroom, I looked down at where he laid, and noticed that there was a blood-stained urine spot on a blanket. I had already made up my mind to take him in Tuesday morning, and say goodbye. I wasn't going to let him suffer any longer. I had put a towel in the carrier in case he wanted to urinate. I didn't want him to feel dirty. On the way to the vet's he was constantly talking. He let out what sounded like a hurtful meow, and then went back to his regular meowing. I stuck my fingers through the carrier's door to try to comfort him as best I could, despite my ever-growing grief. When we finally arrived at the vet's a few moments before they opened, I sat in the truck and waited, and talked to Bubba, and petted him through the carrier's door. Finally, I saw a few people enter the building. I got out of the truck, walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and started crying. I tried to stop before I went into the building, but it was useless. A lady, who stood to my left, and who had arrived before us inquired, and I told her. She asked me if I'd accept her praying for us both, and I agreed. Another lady stood to my right, and I could hear her mumbled prayers. I started crying harder. Eventually, I got to the desk, and told the receptionist that it was Bubba. She asked if he needed to be examined, and in a weak voice I told her that I have to let him go. About 5 minutes later, the vet finished up with another patient, and then I saw her prepare Bubba's final shot through the opened door. When she was ready, she looked at me, and nodded. I nodded back, all the while still trying to hold back the tears that never seemed to quit. She took him out of the carrier, and I took the towel out as well to show her the blood in the urine. It wasn't bright red; more pinkish, but still there was blood. She shaved his leg (the same leg that she had shaved before, and the hair hardly grew back), and stuck the needle in his vein. I held his little head, petting him, talking to him, telling him to go to the light, and be with his Uncle Scooter, and his Grandma Precious. About 15 seconds later, it was all over. I cried again. The vet felt his bladder, and noticed that it had started to thicken up. I knew the cancer was taking it over by then, especially after seeing all the evidence at home. She allowed me some time to say goodbye to my sweet BubbaDoodles, and then I left after telling the receptionist that it was time to have him cremated. When I got home, I again cried. Bubba was the 4th casualty this year. I don't want any more for a very, very, very long time.
I now have 5 left... Aurora, Blackie, Daisy, Groucho and Tiny (the last 3 are Blackie's children).
Bubba was diagnosed with cancer about 2 months ago, and I'm guessing it was in his bladder since no amount of antibiotics would help to clear up the small amount of bleeding that seemed to be constant. Bubba's appetite was great for the most part, up until about 6 days ago. He was still drinking, which was always a good thing. He used the LB a lot, which was expected due to his condition. This past weekend, he was still eating, and drinking. He'd spend a lot of time in the bedroom on the floor next to my side of the bed. Monday, I noticed his appetite waning quite a bit. His hind end was very wobbly by this time, too. He'd get up, take a few steps, and then lay down, especially Monday night. I had hoped that he would hold out until after the holidays, but I knew in my heart that it wasn't going to happen that way. Tuesday morning I tried to get him to eat a small amount of wet food, but he turned away. I knew it was time. When I went into the bedroom, I looked down at where he laid, and noticed that there was a blood-stained urine spot on a blanket. I had already made up my mind to take him in Tuesday morning, and say goodbye. I wasn't going to let him suffer any longer. I had put a towel in the carrier in case he wanted to urinate. I didn't want him to feel dirty. On the way to the vet's he was constantly talking. He let out what sounded like a hurtful meow, and then went back to his regular meowing. I stuck my fingers through the carrier's door to try to comfort him as best I could, despite my ever-growing grief. When we finally arrived at the vet's a few moments before they opened, I sat in the truck and waited, and talked to Bubba, and petted him through the carrier's door. Finally, I saw a few people enter the building. I got out of the truck, walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and started crying. I tried to stop before I went into the building, but it was useless. A lady, who stood to my left, and who had arrived before us inquired, and I told her. She asked me if I'd accept her praying for us both, and I agreed. Another lady stood to my right, and I could hear her mumbled prayers. I started crying harder. Eventually, I got to the desk, and told the receptionist that it was Bubba. She asked if he needed to be examined, and in a weak voice I told her that I have to let him go. About 5 minutes later, the vet finished up with another patient, and then I saw her prepare Bubba's final shot through the opened door. When she was ready, she looked at me, and nodded. I nodded back, all the while still trying to hold back the tears that never seemed to quit. She took him out of the carrier, and I took the towel out as well to show her the blood in the urine. It wasn't bright red; more pinkish, but still there was blood. She shaved his leg (the same leg that she had shaved before, and the hair hardly grew back), and stuck the needle in his vein. I held his little head, petting him, talking to him, telling him to go to the light, and be with his Uncle Scooter, and his Grandma Precious. About 15 seconds later, it was all over. I cried again. The vet felt his bladder, and noticed that it had started to thicken up. I knew the cancer was taking it over by then, especially after seeing all the evidence at home. She allowed me some time to say goodbye to my sweet BubbaDoodles, and then I left after telling the receptionist that it was time to have him cremated. When I got home, I again cried. Bubba was the 4th casualty this year. I don't want any more for a very, very, very long time.
I now have 5 left... Aurora, Blackie, Daisy, Groucho and Tiny (the last 3 are Blackie's children).
