Saying Good-bye

The last 4 days have been some of the worst of my life.

On Monday morning at 3am my wife awoke to Bomber (a.k.a Tinklebert Woofledink) crying in pain. She went in to see what was the matter (he often sleeps in the spare room) and he was standing, not wanting to sit and trembling with pain.

Fearing bloat (an often fatal condition which sees internal organs twist), we rush him to the emergency vet. To our relief bloat was ruled out and the vet said maybe it was pancreatitis (which dogs sometimes get). Pain medication and antibiotics were administered and we were told to take Bomber to our regular vet if there was no improvement by the morning.

Bomber came home and initially would not lie down in the bed, instead trembling in pain. Eventually he was so exhausted he lay down and dozed. There was no improvement in the morning and we took him to our vet.

Feeling a sense of dread we waited for the call from our vet. When it came the news was devastating. Xrays had revealed a large mass and it was putting pressure on his other internal organs. The vet suggested that if money were no object (when it comes to either hound money is no problem - I'd have donated kidneys to help), we should take Bomber to Massey University Veterinary Hospital, it is the best in New Zealand. It was a two hour drive and we didn't hesitate.

Dropping Bomber off we checked into a hotel and went in search of breakfast/lunch. At a cafe, Massey called and the ground fell away from my feet.

The mass inside bomber was fluid - blood. X-Rays had revealed tumors and that cancer had spread - there were a lot of them, many were well developed. The prognosis was about as bad as it gets. We were told get back to the vet hospital as soon as possible.

Arriving at Massey, Sophie the vet (who was nothing short of amazing) explained the options - there really weren't any. If they operated to drain the blood he'd just bleed more and the operation would probably kill him given his weakened condition. Even if he survived the operation, he'd probably only live for a few more pain filled weeks.

There really was only one option. I just couldn't face it. Bomber had to be put to sleep.

No words can describe the dilemma we were faced with. There were no survivable options and the only choices we had were to end Bombers life or to see him suffer until he died.

Sophie allowed us to sit with Bomber for as long as we liked. I patted him, told him I loved him and that he was a good dog. By now he was in such pain that they'd had to administer methadone, synthetic heroin. I'm not sure Bomber heard what we said but we said it anyway.

In the end I called a good friend and fellow greyhound owner who'd also been through this and spoke to her. I probably didn't make a lot of sense, I was a shell-shocked blubbering mess. Her advice really helped. We needed to let Bomber go and end his suffering. It was the only right choice there was.

I didn't know what time it was but an hour or so later we put Bomber to sleep and he gently passed.

Before he was put to sleep I reminded him that I loved him and that he was an amazing dog. I asked him to wait for me and when I die I'll look for him at the rainbow bridge.

Bomber was only six and a half years old, he should have had many more years sharing a sofa, mooching treats and going for walks.

I've cried a river and have not stopped. The grief of losing Bomber isnt 'just emotional, it is a very real physical pain. Everything hurts

Now we have a huge black greyhound sized hole in our lives and the house feels incredibly empty. There are many things that catch us and cause a tears to flow. My love for him has and never will cease. Rest in peace Bombie boy we love you so much.