Today was a pretty dismal day for my family.
This morning, our little pug-bulldog-mix, Manchester, had to be put down.
For about a year now, Manchester had been experiencing seizures. After one pretty scary night where Manchester had several seizures within a few minutes of each other, he was taken to the vet for testing. The vet determined that Manchester was epileptic, and prescribed medications for him. We gave Manchester his meds as often as the doctor told us, and his seizures had all but disappeared.
For the longest time, we had intended to get Manchester neutered in hopes that it'd help to mitigate the seizures. See, if we got him neutered, Manchester would be more calm, and thus, he would be less likely to get all worked up and risk another seizure. The problem was that while Manchester's seizures had been reduced to only occurring more often than not, they still happened frequently enough that when we thought it was getting about time to go through with his neutering, another one would come up and his neutering had to be delayed again.
Well, yesterday morning, mom decided that Manchester hadn't had a seizure in a long time, and that it might be time to get him neutered. However, yesterday morning, Manchester had the worst, longest seizure he ever had (it might have even been a long string of "chain seizures" I guess would be a way of saying it), and had to be taken into the vet. The vet put Manchester on medications, and recommended leaving him there overnight. He said Manchester had only a 5% chance of surviving, but after being told of how calm he looked last night, we were looking up.
This morning, we received news that Manchester wasn't going to make it.
We all went to the vet's office (I went with my dad, and my sister went with her boyfriend and my mom, and I think my brother came by himself), and the vet told us it would be more merciful if we just let him put Manchester down. We all said our final goodbyes to our dear dog (most of us in tears), and left. Our dad stayed until Manchester was put down.
As you can probably guess, the family's pretty tore up about this. My mom and dad are in mourning, my sister is hysterical and had to be taken to CAMH, her boyfriend's mother is sad about it too (she loved Manchester as much as we all did). My sister's boyfriend was also pretty sad when we were in the vet's office saying goodbye to Manchester. I teared up a little when the gravity of what was going on weighed on me. My brother, well, he didn't really cry when I saw him, but my mom says that grief effects people in different ways.
I don't have to tell you this has been really sucky and unfair for us all. Manchester wasn't even three years old when he died. We only got him a week after he was born, and now he's been taken from us. The dog we had before Manchester, Belinda Rose, was thirteen years old upon her death. Her final moments were her walking into the living room, flopping onto the floor, falling asleep, and passing away. Her death was peaceful, she didn't suffer. Manchester had to be put down by the vet. I only hope he was calm when he went.
I really should have done this a lot sooner. But, to be honest, I wondered to myself if I should be doing this. I mean, should I really be bothering a bunch of people on the net who had never even met our dog? For as long, I thought to myself "No, I shouldn't be discussing family business on the internet.".
However, I keep feeling like I should. So, I guess I am now.
Rest In Peace, Manchester.
May you suffer no seizures where you are now.