When I got there, Tom told me that Molly had wagged her tail when she saw him and had tried to get up, but wasn't able to. We both stayed with her, petted her and talked with her. We still hoped that something would happen and that she would recover and the vet told us about another possible course of action, but said that he really doubted if she would survive. Molly then had a seizure which lasted about 15 seconds and we stroked her and petted her, which was really all we could do. The doctor told us that she would probably continue to have seizures through the night and then would die. He recommended that we have her put to sleep, which we did, while we held her. It was one of the hardest nights either of us can remember; Molly was our baby and we had lost her.
The following photographs illustrate their bond.
These photographs show Molly in two of her favorite places: on the couch (as a pup) and in her Daddy's truck.
As you can imagine, the months after our Molly died were very hard. I think that they were harder for Tom; I was scheduled to retire in January and my life was pretty full with trying to get things finished at work and preparing for the holidays. But Christmas Day was especially hard. A blizzard hit Oklahoma and everyone was advised to stay off the roads. We were hoping to see several members of our large family, despite the fact that Tom was scheduled to work on Christmas Day. The only person who could be with us was Tom's son, Jeff, who came in early and couldn't get back to Oklahoma City to be with his children. Tom had to work as scheduled. And our Molly was gone.
I am going to stop here and finishing this posting tomorrow. Sometimes, especially when you are in pain, your heart leads you to unexpected places, even when you think it never could. The rest of our story is about where our hearts have led us.