Bruno was in the hospital for a week. He wouldn't eat. He stopped drinking. I visited everyday. I would lay on the floor with him and pet him and cry. Occasionally he would lick my nose. I would bring him a different flavor of canned food or baby food everyday. Nothing worked. They decided to do an ultra sound to see why he wasn't eating and why he was so depressed. The news wasn't good...
He had several "pus pockets" in his intestines. He had an infection. On top of that, he had pancreatitis. As if the surgery wasn't enough, the poor guy was now super, super sick. Massive, high dose antibiotics began. Could this get any worse?
I remembered the first day I met him and what an awesome dog and companion he had been. I began to face the painful reality that Bruno may not make it through this awful ordeal. I sobbed the whole way home that night. I got home and sat on the floor with my other dogs and cried and cried. I explained to my little girl that Bruno was very sick and I was not sure if he would ever come home from the hospital. She sat down and cried with me... I would go back tomorrow and talk to Bruno about his possible fate....
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