Unconditional Love

Editor's Note: "Fospice" is a term used in animal welfare for providing a temporary home to a pet that is in the last stages of their life (typically a prognosis of fewer than 6 months). It takes an extraordinary person to open their home to a senior and/or chronically ill pet to give them some comfort before they pass. We celebrate individuals and organizations that care for these pets at the time they need our compassion the most.

Unconditional Love

By Cathy Grovenburg

The Bud was with me less than a month and I am left wondering how I can feel so heartbroken when I knew him for such a short while. I guess it's because I believed that he would be fine and that we would have another year or so together. I believed that unconditional love would cure what ailed him. I believed that if I loved him enough, he would be just fine. But it was not to be. Buddy was surrendered to the shelter by his humans–for euthanasia. It was noted that he had a limp and he was overweight–maybe arthritis or maybe cancer. Either way, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned to spend his last days alone and in a cage at a noisy and stressful shelter. Silicon Valley Pet Project stepped up and offered to rescue him if they could find someone to foster him. I went to pick up The Bud, and immediately fell in love with the big lug. He came limping out of the kennel, tail wagging and was happy to follow this new human home.

Then it was a matter of tests. Xrays showed that he had some suspicious spots on his elbows and knees that could be cancer. Then it was on to the specialists for an ultrasound and chest xrays, thinking that if it was cancer, it would have metastasized. He came through those tests with an all-clear and my hopes soared. Just a little weight reduction and some painkillers and some carpet runners for the hardwood floors, and we would be just fine.

But he started declining. At first, it was a slight loss of appetite, so I switched food. Then it was my reluctant admission that the Rimadyl and Tramadol didn’t seem to be making him any more comfortable. I knew that it was time and still I didn’t want to let him go.

I called Buddy "Thumper" because he would thump his big tail whenever I approached. He would lie on his side and barely lift his hind leg so that I would give him a tummy rub. I would always finish off the tummy rub with a kiss on his muzzle and an “I love you, my special boy” whispered in his ear. I called him my Elmer Fudd. He had a sweet innocence about him–oh boy, oh boy, which way did they go? He would get excited, but everything was done in slow motion–in Buddy time. I believe that Buddy crossed over The Rainbow Bridge and that his spirit soars. He can dream his dreams and snooze through his naps. He can awaken and easily rise to his feet and shake out his coat, all without pain or struggle. He is free of the confinement of an aging and deteriorating body. He is free to run through fields, to stop and sniff every blade of grass and to plop himself down and roll onto his back and wriggle and scratch, with his legs freely waving to the clouds.

Photo credit: Renee Scott Photography