This is the hardest post I have ever done. I’m still not sure I can follow through and do it. I have been MIA to our dog blog for two weeks.
Skirvee is gone, we lost him two weeks ago and my heart is shattered in a million pieces.
I met Karen when she adopted her first two greyhounds. From the beginning we were fast friends. Over time, the friendship developed and I eventually moved in with her. Day after day, we would sit and talk over a cup of coffee surrounded by our blended family of greyhounds. It was pretty clear that the sun rose and set for the greyhounds.
One day over coffee, we talked about how fun it would be to have a greyhound puppy.
So of course, I threw it out to the universe “We want a puppy!” And sure enough, through our greyhound connections a 5 1/2 month greyhound puppy appeared. He had a crippled paw, so racing would never be part of his world and he didn’t have a name.
My youngest daughter Holly named him after the skull and cross bone Paul Frank character Scurvy.
We met up with the adoption group president in a parking lot. In the back of our minds, we thought he would be a cuddly little puppy. Not. He was huge. He was our baby.
Over the years he earned a million nick names, but the one that stuck was “Screechin’ Skirvee Kaddiddlehopper.” He was our biggest dog and our biggest weanie.
He was a total love bug, not a mean bone in his body. He loved toys and treats and cuddles and running around. Skirvee was the picture of joy.
When he turned 8 years old, his two twin sisters came to join him at Greyhound Gardens. I was thrilled. I always wanted litter mates and now I had three of the most beautiful fawn dogs in the world.
In my heart, Skirvee would live forever, he should have lived forever. He was our goof ball.
On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, he was just a little off, he really didn’t have an appetite which was unusual for him. I almost took him in, but I couldn’t really come up with anything concrete to tell the Dr. On Thanksgiving, he threw up a couple of worms and Karen and I were ecstatic. We knew why his appetite was off and it was a pretty easy fix. Friday morning he chose not to eat again and we were off to the vet clinic for x rays and bloodwork.
X rays were clean and the blood test results would be back the next morning. At midnight he was weak, on Saturday morning he couldn’t get up. We were waiting at the door when the vet got there about 7:15 am.
The blood tests were back and they really didn’t say much except that the platelets were a little low. We had gone through auto immune hemolytic anemia with Adam and although it was rough for awhile, he survived five years after diagnosis. We were confident that we could get Skirvee through this too.
We made an appointment for an ultrasound in Portland at 1 pm and so we left Skirvee at the vet clinic on fluids. At 10 am, a bruise appeared on Skirvee’s belly. His Dr. was worried that he might have DIC, a coagulation disease. We were gone for two hours doorstep-to-doorstop for the ultrasound. The ultrasound was clean and the plan was that we would start treatment for the auto immune disease. We took him back to our clinic to start treatment and get him hooked back up to the fluids.
He was tired, but he wasn’t in distress. We kissed and told him how much we loved him and said we would be back shortly after we ran the dogs at home.
It was our last kiss. Ever so peacefully, Skirvee left us for greener racetracks.
Our hearts were shattered. He was our baby, our Screechin’ Skirvee Kaddidlehopper. The house has been so empty and so not the same. It was DIC, there was nothing we could do. Sometimes all of the love in our hearts and all of the money in the bank and even the smartest, most savvy veterinarians are thwarted by an ailing body that says “I’m done.”
That boy had a firm grip on our hearts and we will miss him forever. The bunny’s are yours now Skirvee. Go get ’em boy. We love you.