Dear Sandee,
I would be ever so grateful if you could find a moment to welcome my
very own beautiful boy, Winnie PinkNose, to the Rainbow Bridge.  You'll
recognize him as the devastatingly handsome, plush, sweet, doe-eyed
champagne boy with the big, silly, Ping-Pong ball nose.  Pink had to be
helped to the Bridge last night at about 8pm by my wonderful vet after
being diagnosed with cervicospinal lymphoma - something that struck us
like lightning out of the blue.
 
I had a sneaking suspicion that something was wrong with him when I
last saw him on Saturday (my husband & I are living apart, and he is
hanging on to the weasels for me until I can properly ferret-proof my
new apartment), but he was so vaguely "off" that I discounted my own
instincts & just asked my husband to keep an more vigilant eye on him
than usual.  My husband called me yesterday afternoon to report that Win
had had a seizure, was exhibiting some "gimpy" movements, was acting
"spaced out", kept pooping & peeing all over himself, and refused to
eat or drink.  Geoff had assumed this was an initial presentation of
insulinoma, and treated him with Karo corn syrup; however, when I saw
him I knew it had to be something different, and perhaps much worse.
 
The vet confirmed our worst fears, and with the options presented to
us (treatment for lymphoma, which there really is no treatment for;
Prednisone therapy, which would give him about a week in excruciating
pain but would give us more time with him; or euthanasia) we decided
euthanasia was the least selfish & kindest choice to make.  Win died
peacefully while laying comfortably on my husband's stomach after an
administration of anesthetic gas & a fatal dose of euthanasia at about
8pm last night.
 
Maybe it's a sixth sense we animal lovers have, or maybe it's something
we have dreamed up in our sentimental minds - however, so many animal
mommies & daddies I have talked to about this have said that the animal
will let you know when it's time to help them cross.  I have experienced
this myself; in both cases, there has been a mighty struggle to save the
ferret with minimal improvement.  Each time, I have been cuddling with
the ferret post-treatment and they have looked at me deep in the eyes and
sighed with a peaceful resignation.  There are obviously no words spoken;
no latent gestures made.  You just know - and they are thankful when you
acknowledge that their own struggle for survival is over.  I feel as if
I am almost at this point with my little old girl Sneeks, who has been
battling insulinoma for almost 2 years.  My only reservation in Win's
case was that he seemed to be rallying after I gave him a nice, relaxing
warm bath to wash all the excrement off of his bod y & head, and after
he licked some water off my fingers.  Could have been just a reaction to
not having seen Mummy for a few days while he was racked with illness -
something I am still tearing myself up over.  But after we packed him
into the carrier, he was struggling to peek out from the bars, wanting to
see & sniff everything that was going on around us.  He even made his
content little "piggy-rat-face", when he rests his big silly nose on the
carrier bars while peeking out, pushing it up & making his teeth show.
The vet put him on the floor to check his motor abilities, and he was
desperate to move around & investigate.  All he could do was flail around
due to his lack of motor coordination.  He was mentally not ready to go.
But given the options, what was a good alternative?  I still don't see
one.  I miss him terribly.
 
On a somewhat related note; I recently read the book "Me Talk Pretty One
Day" by David Sedaris.  The majority of the book is side-splittingly,
scream-out-loud-laughing, pee-your-pants funny.  However, there is a very
touching chapter called "The Youth In Asia", which has to do with Sedaris
putting his cat to sleep.  During the initial read, the chapter just
seems to poke fun at the Sedaris family's lack of luck with pets over the
years.  Toward the end of the chapter, Sedaris must come to terms with
having to make that dread decision for his cat.  He writes a strange, but
beautiful narrative on the thought process of making that decision, and
its aftermath.  One of the truest and most resonating comments made in
this chapter was something to the effect that when a pet dies, there
is always an urge to string black crepe over a period of about ten to
twenty years of your life.  Oh, how I do so understand that today.
 
Thanks for reading - and thank you to Sandee for what you do.
 
My Winston, Winnie PinkNose, WPN, Winnie the Squish, Mr. Dook, Dookie,
WPN of Mass Destruction, Winnie FatHead/FatA**, Winnie Clap Clap Hee Hee,
Win-Win Situation, Pinky Boy, Squishy Boy - I love & miss you.  The world
is a worse place for lack of your sunshine.
 
Jessica Manson Morton
15 Monmouth St. #2
Boston, MA 02128
[log in to unmask]
www.whimsyphoto.com
[Posted in FML issue 4631]