Horatio Purvis Canine | March 29, 2007 - June 17, 2023
I don't know it it's hindsight or an attempt to being some control to the uncontrollable, but I think I did have a feeling it would happen - I just didn't want to admit it.
Every time we've gone out of town since Horatio first got sick, I was afraid THAT would be the time he'd pass. I somehow always thought his eventual death would be tied to a trip. And, if that was the case, this was good one to be tied to.
Last week was uncharacteristically social for me - Monday was Riley and Sarah for wedding talk, Tuesday was Alison and David to catch up, Wednesday was Advancement Services social, and Thursday was going away drinks for Jennie who was leaving UAB AG for a job back in Memphis. I still made sure to give H his fluids as soon as I got home, though, and even fed him dinner Monday and Tuesday. He was fine.
Thursday night, he didn't eat dinner - definitely not out of character for him. He'd shied away from food earlier in the week and I'd given him anti-nausea medicine (our new normal whenever a nausea/vomiting/not eating cycle started) before finding out Doug had fed him a little more than I did so he probably just wasn't hungry. I thought maybe that was the same case Thursday.
Friday morning, Doug said H has been retching and vomited a little bit, but he still seemed reasonably ok. I was worried as always, but told myself it was just another cycle. Since we were dropping them off at our usual vet for boarding (and they ALL love him), they'd keep a good eye on him and start our usual non-stop fluids to get him back to health by the time we came back.
When I got home from work for us to pack up and go, H seemed weak. I didn't care how much of a rush we were in to get out of town so we didn't hit ATL rush hour traffic, I scooped H up to snuggle him for a while. Somewhere inside, I did have the thought - in case something bad DOES happen this weekend, I'd hate myself if I'd rushed and missed my chance to love on him.
When I put him down, he seemed like he might not be able to stand, but Doug scooped him up so we could walk out. On the way to drop them off for boarding, there was something about the way H's paw drooped while he was in Doug's lap that scared me.
As we drove out of Birmingham, I was upset and freaking out inside. I kept telling myself that it would be ok, he was in care where he needed to be, and there was nothing I could do anyway until I finally calmed down. I finally put it out of my head, but the worry and fear was still looming around the edges. I think it was for Doug, too, because he was tense and trying to be happy when we got to ATL. We did go to a great dinner, though, and managed to enjoy the evening.
I woke up during the night to go to the bathroom and almost couldn't fall back asleep for worrying so much. I decided that as soon as Becker opened in the morning that I'd call to check on H - even if I had to do it in secret.
I slept later than Doug did - actually getting up at my normal time at least in our time (around 6am Central). I got up and started to make coffee when Doug's phone rang. It was Anna - the vet tech that had been through a lot of H's care with us in the last year and a half. She said she'd come in to check on H (and I guess feed animals in boarding), and he "wasn't looking so good." She said he was on his side and not able to stand. She said she had the doctor (not Dr. B but the older, retired vet that often covers Saturdays) coming in to look at him and asked if we have someone who could help if he needed to be transferred to the ER.
I was scared again, but I was thinking surely this would be like before - he'd pull through. We'd prepared ourselves so many times before that is was going to be it when it wasn't. This time, I did the opposite.
About halfway through drinking my coffee - maybe an hour later, Anna called back. She said the vet had looked H and looked at his history. He advised either we transfer him to the ER or put him to sleep. I think we were all a little shocked that this was actually it. Doug told her we'd talk about it and get back with them to let them know what we decided.
When he hung up the phone, Doug sat there for a minute, struggling. I told him, "You know, we can go home, take him to the ER or whatever we need to do then come back. We don't have anything to do until Gutfeld at 7 tonight." Honestly, at that point, I was still in mind that they'd admit him to do fluids the rest of the weekend then take him home. I apparently had not picked up the tone in Anna's voice overhearing it from a distance that Doug did.
He said something about "but that'd be 5 hours even if we drove over there and came right back." I told him I didn't care - we had to do what was more important so he said "ok, let's go!" I started packing everything up to leave and not come back, but when I asked Doug if that was his plan, he said he was definitely planning to come back.
We jumped in the car, Doug had a cigarette, and then he called Becker. He asked if they could start giving H fluids and let them know we were on our way. Thankfully, there was no traffic and no accidents - we were even able to drive well over the speed limit just keeping up with the general speed of everyone else on the road.
We were quiet - not even playing anything on the radio. We spoke here or there - sometimes stupid, funny comments. At some point, though, Doug finally said it - "I think we all know what the outcome of today is going to be."
At that point, I both wanted to hurry up and get to the vet to have what little time we could with our boy but also not get back to put off the inevitable because I couldn't bear it.
When we got to Becker just after 10am, there were no other clients there, and the staff knew what was going on. They put us in an exam room immediately. The Dr came in and was overwhelming old-school blunt - saying he'd thought H was already dead when he saw him that morning. When Anna brought H in to us wrapped in a blanket, we knew. I honestly expected him to stop breathing once he saw us because he was so visibly weak - and THAT was him "perked up" from earlier in the morning since they'd given him some fluids.
We asked for privacy with him (which the old Dr took a while to catch on to and actually leave). Doug and I cried while we looked in H's eyes and petted all over him. He tried to lift his head a few times, but otherwise, he clearly couldn't move. His breathing was shallow. I kept rubbing his face in hopes he'd lick my hand like usual, but he didn't/couldn't. After a few minutes, Anna came back in, and we let her know we agreed it was time. He was done fighting, and we needed to let him go.
She gently explained what each meds he'd receive would be for and what to expect. Luckily, he already had an IV since we'd asked them to give him fluids so we didn't have to watch them do that.
While she prepared the shots, I picked H up from the counter and put him in Doug's arms to snuggle for the last time. I told him it was "love on Boober time" just like we used to do in Doug's bed at Chez K. I kept stroking and kissing his little head. I was so glad I had snuggled him a home before we left because I wanted Doug to have all the contact time he could.
When Anna and the vet came back in, Doug gently placed H on the counter and told him it was time for one last great adventure. He told him not to piddle on Mr. Jesus - "he won't get mad, it's just bad form."
Anna held H's head, Doug held one of his back paws, and I held the front paw without the IV. We kept telling him we love him, that he's a good boy, the he was doing great, and thanking him for fighting so long. The Dr. listened to H's chest and said he was gone.
After Anna and the Dr left the room, we said another brief round of goodbyes. I bent over and kissed him face one last time. Doug pulled the sheet over H, and we left. It was a little after 10:30am
We went home, Doug put black ribbon over H's portrait from Chris, we drank a toast to him, etc. We left around 12:30pm to go back to Atlanta. On the way back, he said "You know why I had to come back." We both knew that if we sat at home and sunk deeper into our grief, it would be dangerous.
At that point, we were still in shock and denial. We'd barely eaten so I got us to an Irish pub (since I'd already checked them out so wouldn't have to do a big "where should we eat" search). We got back to the rental house with about half and hour before we needed to leave to see Gutfeld. We both managed to laugh and enjoy ourselves at the show, but boy, was I glad we were heading to a comforting Airbnb house instead of a cold hotel.
I stayed up until almost midnight when I just couldn't stay awake anymore. I'm not sure when Doug finally came to bed, but he was already up when I got up.
We made our way to the Georgia Aquarium since we'd already bought tickets - especially to the Penguin Encounter. Doug was just sort of going through motions, but he did manage to sincerely smile and seemed to enjoy some of the exhibits. We both legitimately loved the penguin. In a weird way for me, I think it helped to have a direct interaction with an animal like that to life my spirits a little.
Stats Bar was right by where we'd parked, and Doug had pointed it out as remembering it from ETC's trip to Atlanta years ago for an improv festival. I was so hungry, I knew Doug needed a drink, and he hasn't really responded when I'd asked what he wanted to do so I figured we'd stop at Stats to decide. When we sat down - or shortly after we ordered, he was tearing up. When we got done, he said he'd like to go back to the Airbnb house.
When we got there, it was obvious he was really feeling the weight of loss. I told him "you know, we can cancel tonight's dinner reservation and go home early if you want." He said he'd think about it.
I felt super tired so went to lie down in bed for a little nap so I'd have energy if he did want to go home. Instead - having no "business" of the trip left, the loss hit me. I felt gutted and cried hard. I finally got up and went to sit on the back deck. Doug joined me, and we cried together for a while. We shared how we were feeling, and Doug said he thought he wanted to go home. I was on board.
We packed up and managed to get home by 4:00 or so. There were a lot of moments of tears on the road, lots of memories of H. There were more tears when we got home, but we were glad to be back - as glad we had been to have somewhere else to go on Saturday.
Once the gates were open, I felt a pain like I had not felt since my grandparents died. Hell, maybe even more painful. I felt - in my spirit, in my mind's eye, like I was still clutching H to my chest and didn't know how I'd ever let him go.
Sunday night, I had a dream where I was calling into the backyard for Horatio and Annabel, but even in my dream, I immediately realized that Horatio was gone. When I woke up, I didn't feel like I was clutching him any more, but I was at peace. For the rest of the day, I was beyond exhausted and literally felt a weight throughout my body.
When I picked up Annabel, she didn't seem out of sorts and didn't search for H when she got home. I'd been honestly afraid of what we'd do if SHE was upset because I didn't know how to help her. BUT, Anna had asked Saturday if we wanted Annabel in with us when they put H to sleep. We said we didn't know and asked for her advice. She told us Annabel had been pacing the kennel when they took H out that morning to care for him. After they talked to us, she'd calmed down and was snoozing at the point - like she knew what was happening.
I definitely still cry when I think of him - especially when I take myself back to being in that exam room with him the last time. But I am also so incredibly thankful. We got more than a year and a half with him after the first time they warned us that it could be the end. And he'd let us know very clearly when it was time. Even though part of me hurts that we weren't there with him during that full final decline, I also think that it would have destroyed us even more if we had been.
I'm not sure why, but I've been able to mark the stages of grief so much more clearly this time - Doug and I even talked about it. Right after it happened, I was definitely in denial - which is how I was able to go through with our trip plans. Sunday afternoon, I jumped hardcore into depression, but Monday morning, my subconscious helped me to wake up in acceptance. Aside from being pissed with how indelicate the vet was, neither Doug nor I felt anger nor the need for bargaining.
I am thankful for the bonus time and that H was surrounded by the Becker staff who cared for him like us. I messaged Dr Ezell - who was his vet when his liver first started showing decline - to let her know he was gone and to thank her for her part in getting us extra time with him. She thanked me and let me know he'd been very special to her. Of course, he was to everyone who ever even just saw him.
I'm thankful it did happen when we had a trip - close enough to come home to be with him but enough of a plan to let us get some distance while we started the grieving process. I see the hand of God in the way everything unfolded. It was like I could directly hear God telling me to take the time to snuggle with H before we left. Heck, Doug took a selfie (now an absolutely treasure) only a few days before of H giving him kisses on his face. I'm thankful it did happen fast so hopefully he didn't suffer.
Doug and I both also admitted that as much as it fucking hurts, it is also a relief to not worry about him. We know he's not in pain, he's not sick. I had noticed the growth on his leg slowly getting bigger and worried what would happen if he couldn't walk anymore, but now he won't have to get to that point.
Most of all, I'll always he thankful because H taught me how to love in a way I'd never known before. I told him that several times while I was cradling him on the way to the vet ER. He made my heart warm and open like I didn't know it could. He was, and always will be, a goddamn gift. And, our sweet boy.
