My Dog Needed a $6,000 Surgery to Save Her Life. I Didn't Pay.
At 2 a.m. Wednesday morning my wife drove our nearly 14 year-old miniature dachshund to a 24-hour vet 30-minutes from our house. Thirteen hours later we sat in the veterinarian's exam room and told her we weren't going to pay $6,000 for an emergency gall-bladder surgery for our dog. Twenty-minutes later Chloe was gone.
Her death was a complete shock. She was old, sure, and cranky, less energetic than she used to be, reluctant to cuddle, and quicker to flee when our toddler rampaged in her general direction. Her breath, preternaturally awful, resembling hot seafood garbage, worsened acutely. In reflection, she didn't seem herself this past year.
Still on Tuesday night, as she lay on her side unwilling, or unable, to move we thought perhaps she had gotten a stomach bug, maybe she ate something disagreeable, but ultimately fine. Well, I did anyway. When my wife returned home from work she felt something was terribly wrong immediately.
I initially convinced her Chloe just needed to rest, that we'd take her to the vet the next day if she got sicker. That's a characteristic I have - an inclination toward "wait-and-see." Sometimes it's a virtue, and sometimes it's a flaw.
