TW: Pet loss, grief, medical descriptions
I won’t lie to you, I had written a fun little post talking about the animals and their spring fever shenanigans while father winter keeps fighting for all its worth. That post no longer feels appropriate.
Sweet Scooby-Doo has been slowing down for a while. He was a happy boy, liked basking in the sun and wandering in his yard. A couple days ago we noticed that he wasn’t acting himself, then he started having problems keeping to a potty schedule and generally seemed upset. Wednesday morning we took him to the vet thinking he had a stomach bug or maybe some senior potty problems. The vet asked if they could run some tests while I went back to work.
I’ll save you the suspense, and the brief batch of hope we were gifted. The final news wasn’t good. Sweet Scooby had no kidney function left. The vet was just as shocked as I was, he was a happy, busy, loving dog, without the ultrasound we wouldn’t have known. He had been off the last couple days because his kidneys had finally given their last.
Wednesday we had to make the heart wrenching decision to let Scoobs leave peacefully, surrounded by his brothers and family. The vet let us know he wouldn’t ever be pain free or comfortable again, and that we were making the kind choice.
Not the easy one.
Scooby spent many years with us, almost two decades, and was such a sweetheart of a pupper. Scooby was technically my brother’s dog, a wonderful Christmas present, and a perfect addition to our family. I remember his little red bow and a note that said “This one was too excited to stay in the sleigh”. When my childhood dog was blind and deaf, Scooby valiantly took it on himself to be Winchester’s constant companion. We jokingly called him “the menace” because he was convinced he needed to be involved in everything, often pushing open doors or moving light furniture when it suited. He was my rock when Winchester passed and the constant comic relief, always talking and being ever so dramatic. He loved standing out on the porch when the wind blew but hated thunder, preferring to hide out when “the big dog barked”. He always made sure his brothers were hiding too, he was responsible, you see.
When we decided Scooby needed a companion after Winchester passed, and then accidentally came home with three puppies, Scooby hid under a blanket for a week. He had very little patience for his brothers, unless we weren’t looking. More than once I caught him playing with his brothers in those early days, before deciding it was enough and crawling back under the blanket. Luckily they grew on him, especially little Sherlock. He was a fantastic older brother though, firm, but teaching, and caring. He was a patient jungle gym for the little ones and a pillow for Joe, until Joe got huge, that is.
Losing Winchester and later, Sherlock, took its toll on my sweet Scoobs, he had a very big heart He wore on his sleeve. We noticed him slowing into his elder years after the latter loss, and that he enjoyed slower activities like sunbathing and naps more than zoomies. He was still always up for a good nature walk though, he loved to explore.
Scooby had many nicknames, most commonly Scoobs, Scoobert (occasionally pronounced like Colbert does his name), scoober-doo, the-doo, scoobediah, scooby-dubious, and his favorite, my-handsome-special-beautiful-boy (I told you, a flair for the dramatic).
It doesn’t seem real yet, and I doubt it will for a while. My mornings started with some Scooby snuggles and evenings ended tucking him in, he was always curled up in his little daybed, and I don’t know how many times a day I’d leave my desk to go snuggle him in a blanket. I think I got the idea in my head that he’d always be around to hang out with me, but the cost of love so pure is the loss, we are gifted with so many years, but we cannot have something so amazing forever.
I will forever love and miss my sweet little bichon.
I love you forever, Scoobs.