It has been four years since Manny died and today I am sitting here sobbing about him. Isn't it amazing how those of us who love them, love them so completely? The night Manny died, he began acting strangely. My husband was with him, I was reading a book. When Jack came in the second time and said something was wrong, I went to look for myself. Manny was obviously in distress with breathing difficulties. My first thought was bloat but he was not swollen. I called the veterinarian who said it would take him 30 minutes to get to the clinic. I knew we didn't have 30 minutes but the trip would take us 20 minutes too.

Manny died just as I lifted him into the back seat of the Jeep. I screamed in hysterics, "No, Manny, no!" over and over. But he couldn't obey me, it was his time to go to the Bridge. I tried resucitation but I could not get his mighty heart beating again. Manny spent that night in my Jeep and we buried him the next day in the yard in the middle of the woods that had been his home for such a short time. Our vet says it was probably a heart attack and Manny would not have made it even had we been only 5 minutes from the clinic.

Today, I am again saddened that I was screaming at my Mann-Dog as he died. I should have been quietly patting him and telling him that he had been a good boy. "Shoulda, coulda, woulda" has always been my biggest enemy when dealing with the death of one of my pets. I should have called the vet sooner...

In memory of Manny
September 4, 1993 - January 9, 2000.
"All good things must end."

Back to the couch