Posted January 3, 1999

I am going to leave this memorial to Queenie's very special adoptive father. It is his story to tell. And Queenie's, too, of course. All I will add is how heartsick I feel over losing her so soon after rescuing her and how grateful I am to this amazing man for caring so much and going to such lengths to help and save her. If only there were more people in the world like him.

It is always terrible to lose a pet -- for they are not objects, but a part of us and loved family members. So it was with Queenie, a recent give-up to the CSAC, under tragic circumstances. Queenie's mother's family had decided that her Mom was too old to take care of herself, and they were moving her to her son's home, where Queenie was not welcome. The separation was horrible and traumatic for both of them, and Queenie was very depressed.

Queenie arrived here on 14 November 1998, and over the next week, she got a good physical and slowly started to feel more comfortable in her new surroundings. Her medical problems responded readily to routine treatment and were more comfort-oriented than serious. 

Around her third week at my home, if I was not in the same room with her, she would slowly start to whine and build up to a yelping cry. As soon as she would see me come into view, she would suddenly stop, as if to say: "Well, it's not Mom, but at least this guy cares enough to come running when I call." After a week of this, she seemed satisfied that she was safe and part of a family, and she no longer felt the need to test my reflexes.

On the morning of 12 December, when she didn't eat her breakfast and seemed a little under the weather, I took her in.

The diagnosis was that she had acute thrombocytopenia (the spleen begins attacking the blood cells, especially the clotting platelets, as if they were an infection). This is a condition ten times more common in older Cockers than in any other breed. Causes are not known with confidence, and onset is usually sudden.

Queenie was immediately admitted to a veterinary hospital and later transferred to a specialist where, over the next week, her condition was generally stable as various treatments were tried. 

Friday, 18 December, brought really bad news. The cytology report on the bone marrow sample indicated that Queenie had what was probably the early stages of bone marrow cancer. In fact, the spleen had been performing heroically in destroying all of the corrupt platelet cells. Since the course of treatment was exactly the same as the one she was on, and she was not responding to it, there was no hope.

The vets advised that she had, at best, only a few days. Therefore, I told them to ready Queenie for discharge so she could come home for her remaining time because there was no way that Queenie was going to die alone in a cage. In addition, I asked if they could give her another small transfusion to help her be comfortable.

Shortly before I was to leave to pick Queenie up, the vet called to say that she was having an extreme reaction to the transfusion (from the same universal donor as before) and hinted that she should be put to sleep. I left immediately and found Queenie looking a little depressed but not as uncomfortable as I had feared.

The next morning, 19 December, I took Queenie in for her final appointment and held her so we were face to face. I wanted her to be able to see me so she would know that someone who loved her was with her, and she wasn't alone as they gave her the injection. She passed away peacefully at 10:30. 

Although Queenie was here only for six short weeks, she will always be a part of everyone who met her. This sweet, suffering little treasure exemplified those most basic characteristics of our companion animals: to love and be loved. Her physical absence has left a great emptiness in our lives. 

The agony that her mother must be going through, having been suddenly separated from Queenie after 12 years, is too terrible to think about, especially at this late stage of her life. Maybe that's why I've never been willing to consider the passing of a beloved pet as "goodbye," but rather as "until later," and why I can't help thinking, or even hoping, that right now or soon there is going to be a very happy reunion at the Bridge. And then I smile just a bit.