My dog is dead and I don’t know what to do

My dog is dead. I got her 3 years ago, as an 8 week old puppy. I wasn’t really in a position to get a dog, but I was lonely and miserable, and I wanted the love. I was selfish but from the second I held her, I knew I could never regret this. She was a lovely puppy, she didn’t whine or take time to settle in, from the second I had her it’s like she was my dog, and always had been. I didn’t have puppy blues, I loved my life with her, seeing new places and exploring the world. I loved taking her to the woods, going on family outings, letting her run around with my mum’s dog. I loved how kind and patient she was with that reactive little devil (I like him too though). I loved how being with her made it easier for me to be around others, how life felt worth living.

I lived alone when I got her, and worked from home. She was an American bulldog and I realised pretty quickly that just being with her wouldn’t be enough. I started a dog walking business so she could be with, meet dogs and get exercise while I made money. I never even considered it before her, but it was the best job ever, and made so much sense for me. It grew quickly and we were working full-time together within 18 months.

I chose her over relationships, over people who didn’t like her breed, over jobs that didn’t fit her lifestyle needs and over sleep and socialising. She made me so happy, after a lifetime of feeling like something was missing.

She was my first dog when living alone, I got her at 22 and she made me feel so safe. I could go out at night, leave the window open when I slept, enjoy myself and enjoy spending time with her. She broke her leg at around 6 months, but I managed to keep her rested, and we managed to get through the reactivity the weeks of crate rest caused her. We could get through anything together.

I took her to regular check-ups and vaccinations. I took her whenever I was worried and it was always nothing. She would get nervous at the vet, but was always so sweet, and never tried to hurt anyone or need to be muzzled , even when they took her temperature. I would have to be muzzled if strangers stuck a stick up my butt.

I noticed her panting a little more, here and there about a week ago and assumed allergies, as it was the right time of year. She was still eating, pooing, playing, taking treats and asking for cuddles. Fast forward a few days, and the panting gets worse. It’s 2am and I count 112 breaths per minute. I’m shitting myself but I bring her on the bed, she’s a bit restless but she settles, her breathing is a bit high but goes down, and I feed her cheese and frankfurters until I fall asleep. I call the vet first thing in the morning, the first appointment is noon. I take her out, she’s happy to walk, goes toilet as usual, and then eats all her breakfast. In my mind these are good signs, it can’t be serious.

I take her home, we wait for her appointment. I don’t spend as much time with her as I should.
As we’re walking to her appointment, the walking keeps slowing. It’s a 6 minute walk but it takes 10/15. She ends up lying down 10 feet away and I have to call the vet to explain she’s getting worse and struggling to walk. They say to take our time.

We get there and the do a physical examination, nothing comes up. They say they want to take her back for tests, I say bye and leave. So convinced I’ll be back to take her home. They call me an hour later saying the blood work indicates pancreatitis (no clue if that’s right), and would like to do an extra test to confirm and then I can come get her. She’ll need painkillers but should recover. I’m really happy, and looking forward to bringing her back. Planning to spoil her although feeling a bit bad about the cheese and sausages, so I stop for some chicken broth I can add to her usual food. I knew she was still happy to eat.

An hour goes by and I get another call.

“We’ve ruled pancreatitis, so did another physical examination and found a firm tumour on her mammary gland. We need your consent to see if it’s malignant, and to do x-rays to see if it spread.”

It was. It had.

She had a 12cm mass in her chest. Everything was displaced.

They said she had started to go downhill rapidly and that I should get back.

I was shaking and near tears but I had to see to bike back. I don’t think I’ve ever gone so fast in my life.

I get to her, and she looks so different. She’s purple around her face and gums, I notice blood in her drool. I hold her and call my mum and friend, so she can see them. They arrived with 20 minutes, and she manages a small tail wag when she sees my mum. Nothing compared to her usual greeting. I wanted to take her home for just a day so she could say goodbye to everyone, but the vets said she’d be really uncomfortable, and that her heart rate has started to spike so her body is likely working harder.

So I sign the papers.
I wrap my arms around her.
And she dies.

Fuck cancer.