Toph has died
2010
Last night, at 1.45 am, our darling little Toph died. It’s now 6.30, I have woken up twice since her death, and for a moment, hoped and hoped and hoped that last night was a sad dream and that it will be Saturday morning, and Toph will still be at the vet’s, with her drip and her big brother Simon, waiting to show us that she did a wee and was looking a bit sparkier.
Alas that is not so.
Early last night, Rachel called to say that when she had taken Simon for a quick walk outside, Toph was sitting in her hut, alert and watchful, waiting for her turn. Whilst Rachel and Simon were outside, Rachel heard Toph have a seizure. She rushed back in and there was our darling little girl on her side, fitting. Rachel gave her a very mild injection of diazepam and called us. When we arrived, Rachel’s partner (also named Simon) was holding Toph still on a rug on the examination table. Despite the medication, as soon as she heard our voices, Toph struggled to her feet, stretched her head forward and peered around the corner of the door to find us.
Rachel let us know that the seizure was the final sign that poor Toph’s little body could just not fight off the terrible damage done by the poison any more. Rachel gave us three suggestions. We could take Toph home for her to die at home – she did not appear to be in any pain, and was so very happy to see us. We could transfer Toph to an emergency animal hospital where she would be in the equivalent of intensive care with a nurse to monitor her through the night. Or we could let Rachel euthanise her then. We chose the first, with the phone number of the emergency centre in case she deteriorated badly.
Rachel removed the drip, and I cradled Toph in my arms all the way home. When we pulled into our driveway, she struggled to sit up and look out. When she realised where we were, her tail wagged and she reached around to lick me. Her eyes, at this stage, were very bloodshot and she was quite disoriented, but still she smelt like the same beautiful puppy we first brought home 18 months ago with her dear little sturdy feet, her long long nose, and the funny little capelet of fur that covers her shoulder blades.
We brought her in and she wriggled to be let down. It was as if she was saying farewell. She slowly trotted around the house – she went through every room several times, her tail wagging every now and then, as she carefully sniffed everything. She even asked to be taken outside, where, instead of trotting down the garden path, under the laundry trolley, and popping out at her special spot of grass, she stumbled onto the grass near the back door and tried to wee.
Oh my face is burnt with tears and yet still, as I stand here writing this, there are so many more pouring down to my chin. It was as if all those times we had told her, wee wees outside Toph! she was endeavouring to do what she knew would please us.
We brought her back inside, lay her on her rug, and she had another seizure. We followed Rachel’s instructions. We lay her on her side, turned out the light, held a damp, cold towel firmly over her convulsing little body, and talked calmly to her, stroking her head and ears. It lasted less than 30 seconds.
She went on to have several more seizures in the next few hours . It may sound cruel to have brought her home to this, but when each seizure finished she would open her eyes, look up at us, and then snuggle onto our chests – first Julian’s, later mine – and sleep for at least half an hour with slow and calm breathing and the occasional big sigh. Yes we were selfish. But we just couldn’t let go. As she lay sleeping, it was as if nothing had happened and that it was just a few nights ago, before this horrible time became reality, and she was our dear little Toph whose favourite place to sleep was our chest.
Finally, the last two seizures were close together and she could barely left her head after them, despite still looking up at Julian as he gently called her name. We called the emergency cenrte and drove her in. She cried all the way. I cried all the way.
The vet was a lovely woman who shared our grief. She said it was the worst part of her job, having to help such previously healthy little young dogs die. But she concurred with Rachel’s treatment and conclusion – Toph was now in a very sad place from which there was no return. We cuddled her, stroked her beautifully shaped head and soft soft fur, rubbed our faces in her shoulders inhaling her lovely scent – she has smelled beautiful from when she was a baby. Then she lay in lap whilst the vet gave her the injection. It was so quick and quiet. But my heart screamed because there was no return. We swaddled her in Abby’s pretty aqua bath towel – Abby wanted her to have it, our little red-girl always looked nicest in aqua – and brought her home.
God that drive was awful. I sobbed Julian sobbed. Toph lay limp and still. Just four days earlier she was a perfect specimen of an 18 month old dachshund. She was feisty, energetic, hysterically funny, bossy, cuddly, affectionate, and ours.
Now she lies, swaddled in aqua, in her bed in the kitchen. Her rattly toy lies beside her. When the rest of the family awakes, we will pat her and hold her one more time. Then we will bury her in the front garden – where she always wanted to be – under the camellia near the side fence where she loved to poke her head out to see what was going on in the outside world.
I don’t think we will ever know what poisoned our beautiful dogs. Or even if it was a who. We have spent the last two days reading up on every plant and shrub in the garden, fruit and vegetable in the kitchen. Suddenly Julian has said, I fed them beetroot pancakes on Monday morning. It must have been the beetroot. We research and read and no. The beetroot was fine.
I can’t sleep. I don’t want to do anything else. I want my mum really badly. I want to be home in Brisbane with my family and my dogs. We sure don’t always get what we want do we.
At 9 we will visit Simon and Hugh (Sunday’s vet). Things are not looking good for poor old Simon. His blood tests came back with worse numbers than the earlier ones. Rachel syringed him some food yesterday and he has been able to do a few drops of wee. But I won’t be surprised this morning if the departure of Toph has hit Simon badly. He loved her so.
I simply cannot believe this is happening. It is so so so so horribly unfair to these dear little dogs.
Rest in peace Toph. May your forever dreams be of plenty of wonderful things to eat, rattly toys waiting for you around each corner, and a loving warm lap and chest for your sleep. You will always ALWAYS be in our hearts. We are so very sorry.
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Feeling your dreadful pain, my friend, and weeping along with you. This is just horrible.
Nancy, who has also lost beloved pets
Our pets bring us such joy and such heartbreak. I am so sorry to know you’re going through this and am thinking of you, your family, and Simon.
Oh so very very sad. Our pups are like our children to us. My heart aches for you I feel your pain and as Nancy said it is dreadful. Hugs
I am so very, very sorry, Lily. Augh, how painful. I am glad you brought Toph home so she could be adored by you all and cuddled and cradled. It isn’t fair to have to say goodbye to her but you had that little visit home. I am so very sorry. My heart is breaking for you.
Lily, I am so sorry for this terrible loss of Toph. You must feel so bereft. Even though we have never met you will be uppermost in my thoughts today, Megan
I’m so sorry to hear this Lily, sending love to you all and especially to dear Simon,
xxx
Lily, Few words can ease the pain of loss, but know you and your family are in my thoughts. ~karen
I am so sorry you and your family are going through such a traumatic, and devastating loss of your furry friends. I’m glad you have such caring vets to help you when the time comes for your poor animals. I hope you and your family can make it through all this ok, it is so shocking when pets fall ill so suddenly. All my best…
Oh, Lily, I’m so very sorry about your loss. I’ve been holding you in my thoughts all day, wondering. Peace be with you & yours.
I am so sorry for your loss. I hopethat you continue to have fond memories of her life.
Sobbing here. So sorry for you all. She was a beautiful pup and way too young to die. I hope you are able to figure out the mystery of how they got the poison. Many hugs to you.
I am so very sorry for your loss. I know the pain you are going through and am sending loving thoughts & prayers to you and your family.
Thinking of you all.
So sorry for your loss. I’m sure your dog is playing with my Snooks and Taffy now and having a great time. I share in your pain and sorrow.
I am so sorry Lily! My heart bleeds for Family Boots. I’ve also lost a fur baby too soon and I know how much it hurts. Much love.
Oh! I am so very sorry for your loss!! I do hope the other one get better soon . I pray you find out how they got sick and really hope its not a “who” that did this but it might very be a who!!
Oh Lily, I’m so sorry. What a touching goodbye you gave to Toph. A dog couldn’t be loved any more.
I am crying with you my friend. I wish I could do or say something to ease the pain… but all I can do is send a long distance hug.
i am so so sorry. it heartens me that you felt it best for toph to have her final hours in her own home. what a thoughtful gift to give her before sending her off to the great doggiehouse in the sky. your love and sensitivity to your little fourlegged friend will see her reborn in heavenly realms, i am sure. xx
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I am really, really sorry for you and your family. Take care.
tears on my lunch. i am so very sorry. we lost a lovely cat at a young age. it is incredibly painful. peace and healing to you and your family.