We lost Ruby today. She was unsteady on Friday morning, and by this morning couldn't walk, eat, or drink, and we hoped that it was an ear infection causing the problems. It wasn't. Her symptoms pointed to a brain tumor or lesion, something only a miracle would fix, and her decline was so rapid that we didn't have time to find that miracle. We brought her home, said good bye, then took her back to the vet to let her go peacefully.
We only got to love her for 3.5 years. If covid gave us anything, it was precious (little) time with this girl, who wanted nothing more than to sit on my feet during my work meetings. We got her from the rescue at 4 years old, though the vet thought she was over 5 years old. That would make her just shy of 9 years old when she passed. Her beginnings were difficult - backyard breeding, never feeling grass on her feet, kept outside and unloved, until an ear growth forced her owners to turn her over to the rescue for treatment. To evidence her early life, she had a band all the way around her neck where hair refused to grow - a chain or rope had weighed her down for years. We knew our only job was to give her so much love that she forgot about that early life, and we took that job seriously. She in turn never let us forget how capable of love she was. She'd scratch at the bathroom door incessantly until I let her in. I couldn't get a quilt on my lap before she was hustling over to snuggle. She'd walk the house looking for me if I was quiet for too long.
Everywhere she went, her nails would click click click on the hard floors. The house is so damn quiet without her. The incessant dog hair that she shed everywhere, that I would curse as I cleaned the couch, is an everlasting reminder that she was here. I don't think I will ever complain about dog hair again.
We wanted a pug (ok, I wanted a pug) because it had a smoosh face like Sadie, and was considered one of the laziest breeds. And she was, so we were two peas in a pod. If she agreed to go on a walk, it'd be at her own pace, more stopping to smell than walking, and about halfway through, if was hot enough, she'd need to be carried. She loved when I made chicken pot pie because it meant she was getting chicken too, even though her bladder stones meant she was on bland prescription food. She might be the only pug who detested her food, but she more than made up for it with her love of Greenies.
I miss her so much, my heart aches. Her constant paw licking, once so irritating, would be a welcome sound because it would mean that this was all a horrible dream. Instead, it's just......quiet.
