Today, February 25th, is the 3rd anniversary of the death of my beloved friend and most loyal companion: my dog Tulip. Tulip first came to me in a dream. I saw her long, sleek, low-rider body and wondered who she was. Three weeks later, at the Santa Fe Animal Shelter, she came up to me and snuffled her snout between my knees, making it more than clear that even if I didn’t yet know she was my doggie, she knew that I was her human. We were to have nine exceptional years together. What follows is an account of her last 24 hours here on earth, written the evening after Tulip died.
February 25, 2010
Yesterday afternoon Tulip was lying on the sofa taking a nap in the afternoon sun. When I looked over at her, I saw something protruding from under her ribcage, so I went over and palpated the area. What I felt alarmed me, so I called her vet. Within half an hour, we were at the vet’s office. As the nurse did the initial examination, she said, “I’m so sorry–Tulip has a big mass in her belly; it feels like it’s on her spleen.”