JS
The crying fits come in waves—gut-wrenching, heart-pounding, breathtaking waves that literally stop me in my tracks, grasping for something, anything to hold on to. It's been a week and two days since my best buddy Australian Shepherd Rammy passed away in my arms at the vet. I knew he was going to die. I was told over two months ago over the phone that Rammy was dying from cancer (stage 4, t-cell lymphoma) and that it was going to be swift. But the drugs he took gave him back his smile and wag and appetite, allowing me to spend a few extra precious months with him, all of which I spent hopeful (in denial). The final few days were excruciatingly heartbreaking. I knew the end was near. The vet told me I would know, and I did. The drugs had worn off, despite multiple adjustments to the dosage. He became lethargic. He began refusing his favorite foods and treats. On the final morning we spent together, he drank only a few licks of water, which I offered to him from my cupped hand. Within a few minutes he was throwing up what looked like dirt and coffee grinds. I called the vet. He was in failure (I'll spare you the gory details). It was time. I began crying, one hand covering my mouth, the other filling a tote bag with a few of his favorite toys—lamby, crabby, and quack-quack—and his best blanket. I leashed him up, and we walked slowly to my car. He was walking ok, I thought, feeling encouraged for a split second. When I opened the back door to my car, he sat still for a moment and then turned his head to look up at me with those big, dark wolfie eyes as if to say "I need your help this time, Mom." My heart was breaking. The rest happened as it happened, and I want nothing more than to forget how it happened. I suppose I'm lucky, though. He died in my arms while I sang to him my silly made-up song that I always sang to him and told him everything was going to be alright and that I loved him and that he was a good boy, such a good boy, but it was time to go; it was ok to go (it was not ok. I lied). Intellectually, I knew it was for the best and he would no longer be in pain. Emotionally, I was (and am still) a wreck. Like I said, it's been a week and two days. The grief I have experienced since the day he passed away in my arms on his favorite blanket surrounded by his favorite toys is like NO OTHER grief I've ever experienced. I've lost other family pets growing up and grandparents when I was much younger. But this. This pain, this grief, is something different, like nothing else. The pain of it has manifested into crying fits, heart palpitations, chest tightening, nausea, loss of appetite and an overall depression so overwhelmingly profound, I curl up in bed every chance I get and cry into Rammy's favorite blanket. I can still smell him. I walk into a room, any room, and burst into tears. The worst is returning home, knowing when I push the door open that my furry bundle of unconditional love will not be on the other side waiting to greet me—smiling, eyes sparkling, tail wagging. Instead, silence. An empty space. I read somewhere that grief is the price you pay for love. You can't have one without the other. And the amount of grief you feel can be proportionate to the amount of love you felt for that loved one. If that's the case, I loved with all my heart and soul and being my beautiful 75-pound black tri-colored Australian Shepherd boy named Rammy, who was my best friend and constant companion and emotional support and protector and wiggle-butt goofball with the BEST smile who was taken away far too soon. He would have been 8 this September. My heart is broken, and I can't stop crying. If you're thinking of offering words of sympathy or advice—no need to. I just wanted to share my story of love and loss and this truly heartwrenching thing called grief. Something we all must face and experience at one time or another. But this grief. There are no words for this kind of grief. They say time will heal, and I know this; I hope this. But for now, I grieve. I miss you so very much, Rammy. Hope you are happy and healthy and loving life over the Rainbow Bridge, herding lots of sheep. Love you forever and always. Now excuse me while I go cry into your favorite blanket. 
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Nala2017
So sorry for your loss. Heartbroken for you. Your post describes me, we lost our beautiful Nala Sunday😪💔😭we can hardly breathe, her pitbull sister is so lost too. They were both pitbulls & rescues. Nala was 10 yrs old. Gone to soon. She had cancer." Fly high sweet ones, run free."😪💔🙏
Sandra
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JS
So very sorry! So heartbreaking. We must take the time we need to grieve and cry and talk to others about our grief. You are not alone. Virtual hugs. 
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GEMINIXX69
It's been a week since my Minnie had to go. The hardest part, is that she had cancer and I didn't know until it was too late. I kick myself, wondering where I missed the signs and symptoms. I can look back and nit pick everything (which I do) and see that she didnt feel good but put on her bravest face. She was not real active anyway, so when she laid around for a few days I didnt look into it. I should have though! I hate myself. We could've had her for a little while longer, maybe. If I could just have one more day.  I am glad you got your extra time with Rammy and I know you cherish it.  Nothing will take away the heartache from this huge piece of your life being gone. Everyone here knows how you feel, and to me its comforting to know that someone understands and relates.  Prayers for you and all the heartbroken moms and dads of our fur angels.
Linda L.
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JS
Thank you, Linda. So sorry about your precious Minnie. Please forgive yourself. Dogs do not express pain like humans. More often than not, we don’t know there’s a problem until it’s too late. I know that now. We do our best as pet parents, and that’s all we can do. You clearly loved your Minnie with all your heart. Hoping you find a way to peace soon. Virtual hugs. 
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Blink
I'm so sorry that you all going through this. I just can't see a way out for me but I guess it helps that people are going through it too, even though I wish you weren't. I could cope with her death. I'd miss her terribly of course but it's the guilt I can't cope with. I confused her symptoms (heart problems as it turned out) with joint problems which she was getting treated for. I allowed myself to be fobbed off by a not properly trained therapist  (as I've since found out) who worked at the vets and who kept telling me that my dog needed time to feel better and that I was stressing unnecessarily. It was too late by the time they realised it was a heart problem. I was advised to take her to a more local vet (to save her the journey) and I can only the treatment she got there was appalling. I took her in as an emergency on the Sunday. She was given a vitamin injection and booked in for tests. She spent all day on Monday at the vets. She looked back at me as they carried her in. I should have shouted, stop, but I let them do it. She spent all day there. The scan was the sent to the specialist who was supposed to get back to the vet on the Tuesday by 4pm. I had her booked in for an at-home euthanasia. I spoke to the vet on Tuesday and he said the specialist hadn't got back to him. I begged him to ask her to look at it but he told me she had other clients. He convinced to cancel the Tuesday night appointment and wait till Weds morning. Of course the news came back from the specialist that there was no hope. I called the at-home service again but they couldn't get anyone to come until the evening. I took her to the vets that morning. The way they handled her at the last was somewhere inbetween insensitive and brutal. And I was so determined that it would be a week too soon rather than a day too late and I messed that one up so much and I so so sorry that my precious girl went in that way. I blame myself for not pushing harder for her to be let go and for allowing those vets to use my dog as a money-making device. She deserved better than that.
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JS
Yes. She did deserve better! Heart hurts for you. You entrusted “specialists” because you are a wonderful pet parent. You did the right thing. It’s unfortunate the “specialists” did not do their job with the care and empathy your fur baby deserved. I hope you can find peace. Be gentle with yourself. Guilt is part of the grieving process, and it’s something that most of us in this forum share. We all must move through this horrible grief. I pray we all can move through it and find peace on the other end. 
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Blink
Thanks JS. That's a lovely message. Caused more tears but hey ho. I pray you find peace too. It sounds like you had the most wonderful relationship with Rammy, as I did with mine. Take good care of yourself and I hope the pain begins to ease at some point.
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