usna1985
15-Year Member
- Joined
- Jun 9, 2006
- Messages
- 7,841
Our beloved toy poodle Giselle died suddenly this morning. She went in for dental cleaning yesterday and, in the course of blood work, they discovered a tumor. Surgery to remove it was successful, but she died in the night, probably from a blood clot. She would have been 15 next month.
She was sweet and loving. While our other dog wanted to play ball, Giselle just wanted to be held. She was happy to have her chest rubbed and to chow down Greenies, Pupperoni and tiny Milk Bones, along with anything we were eating, other than bananas.
Giselle hated rain but loved snow. When she even smelled rain, trying to get her outside was a Herculean task. When it was snowing, she wanted to go outside every 5 minutes. When it started to melt, she'd search all over the yard for a small patch of snow and be sure to do her thing on top of it.
She hated to walk on the grass. She'd grudgingly put two feet on the grass and do her thing on the walkway. In her later years, she'd walk across our driveway and stop within sight of the grass -- that was good enough. Walks were NOT her passion -- though she endured them on the theory that the sooner she finished the walk, the sooner she could sit on the sofa with us.
She loved to sit on the driveway on a hot sunny day and let the wind blow through her hair. She would spend hours on the sofa, looking out the back window for the stray deer or fox that might wander by -- and then bark like the dickens. She loved to roam the yard to find the perfect spot.
She let our other dog rule the roost, but was always there to bark in support, even if she wasn't sure why she was barking or what she was barking at. She didn't rally like clothes (though I loved to dress her), but did like her nightgown (which proudly stated: "I'm Daddy's Girl) in the winter months.
In her later years, she needed arthritis medicine twice a day, and got treats with her medicine. She decided that 0500 and 1700 seemed like good times and always reminded us with the "greasy eye" or slapping the carpet and snorting. The day before she died, she made sure to wake us up at 0503 and rise from a deep sleep at 1657 to let us know it was time.
Lots of people say, "it's just a dog." Those who have loved dogs know that it's so much more than that. It's a loss that burns to the soul. You know it's coming; you know you'll outlive your pet; and yet knowing doesn't dull the pain when that loss occurs.
Today it's windy and sunny -- her favorite kind of day. How I wish she were here to see it.
[Forgive my being so OT]
She was sweet and loving. While our other dog wanted to play ball, Giselle just wanted to be held. She was happy to have her chest rubbed and to chow down Greenies, Pupperoni and tiny Milk Bones, along with anything we were eating, other than bananas.
Giselle hated rain but loved snow. When she even smelled rain, trying to get her outside was a Herculean task. When it was snowing, she wanted to go outside every 5 minutes. When it started to melt, she'd search all over the yard for a small patch of snow and be sure to do her thing on top of it.
She hated to walk on the grass. She'd grudgingly put two feet on the grass and do her thing on the walkway. In her later years, she'd walk across our driveway and stop within sight of the grass -- that was good enough. Walks were NOT her passion -- though she endured them on the theory that the sooner she finished the walk, the sooner she could sit on the sofa with us.
She loved to sit on the driveway on a hot sunny day and let the wind blow through her hair. She would spend hours on the sofa, looking out the back window for the stray deer or fox that might wander by -- and then bark like the dickens. She loved to roam the yard to find the perfect spot.
She let our other dog rule the roost, but was always there to bark in support, even if she wasn't sure why she was barking or what she was barking at. She didn't rally like clothes (though I loved to dress her), but did like her nightgown (which proudly stated: "I'm Daddy's Girl) in the winter months.
In her later years, she needed arthritis medicine twice a day, and got treats with her medicine. She decided that 0500 and 1700 seemed like good times and always reminded us with the "greasy eye" or slapping the carpet and snorting. The day before she died, she made sure to wake us up at 0503 and rise from a deep sleep at 1657 to let us know it was time.
Lots of people say, "it's just a dog." Those who have loved dogs know that it's so much more than that. It's a loss that burns to the soul. You know it's coming; you know you'll outlive your pet; and yet knowing doesn't dull the pain when that loss occurs.
Today it's windy and sunny -- her favorite kind of day. How I wish she were here to see it.
[Forgive my being so OT]
