Last night I watched a 6-week-old puppy die. And the strange thing is, a week and a half ago I didn't even know she existed. ## How She Came Into My Life
My daughter found her and called me. She really wanted me to have this puppy. There wasn't some plan that I spent months researching breeders or trying to decide what kind of dog I wanted. My daughter just saw her, fell in love with her, and wanted me to love her, too. She texted me pictures and I Zelle'd her the money to buy her.
This was on a Wednesday and I got her home with me on a Friday. ## She Didn't Seem Fragile
She was unbelievably small. The kind of small where you're almost afraid to pick her up because she feels so fragile in your hands. But she didn't seem fragile. She was playful. She was curious. She was eating, moving around, and doing all the things a little puppy is supposed to do. She slept on the pillow next to me.
Because she was so young and I had to work all day during the week, we decided that for another month, I would have her on the weekends and Savannah and her mom would have her during the week to give her the round-the-clock attention that she needed at that age.
When I brought her to my daughter's house on Sunday after that first weekend with her, there was no warning that we were about to lose her. I thought I could get through this without crying, but apparently I can't. ## Wednesday: Everything Changed
All of a sudden, by Wednesday she became very sick. She stopped eating. She started vomiting and having diarrhea. Her body temperature kept dropping and she became weaker and weaker.
We rushed her to the vet. And they put her on fluids and started trying to figure out what was happening.
She tested negative for parvo. They found tapeworms and she had suffered from a terrible flea infestation. At 6 weeks old, that can take a lot out of such a tiny little body.
But nobody could tell us with certainty why she was crashing so quickly. ## The Courtroom Inside Grief
Did I miss something? Should I have taken her to the hospital sooner? Did I somehow cause this? Grief can turn your mind into a courtroom and every memory becomes a piece of evidence and somehow, no matter what the facts are, you always end up putting yourself on trial. ## The Hospital and the Shot of Dextrose
At the hospital last night, at about 9:00 p.m. she stopped breathing. Ashley was there with her. I immediately headed over to the hospital and we had to make decisions, decisions I never thought we'd have to make about a puppy that we just brought into our lives.
We opted against CPR. They talked about intubating her. Then they gave her a shot of dextrose and she came back a little and her eyes opened and she responded.
It was just enough to make us believe that maybe she was going to survive. Hope can be painful that way. You can know the situation is terrible, but one movement, one breath, or one small response makes you believe that there might still be a different ending.
Bringing Her Home With a Catheter
The hospital didn't provide overnight care, so they sent her home with a catheter still in her neck, and told us to bring her back in the morning.
I was asking questions about how to keep her warm. How warm should the room be? Should I use a heating blanket? What else could we do to help her make it through the night?
So, we took her home. And half an hour later, she was crying. ## Agonal Breaths
Then she began gasping for air. Those breaths looked like she was fighting to stay alive, but they weren't normal breaths. They were agonal breaths. Her little body was shutting down. But she was fighting, really fighting, and then she was gone. ## The Cruelty of What Comes Next
A short time later, I was asking how much it would cost to have her cremated. That may be one of the cruelest things about death. It doesn't give you time to understand what just happened before it makes you deal with what happens next. One minute, you're begging for another breath. The next minute, somebody needs an answer about what you want done with the body. ## What Prison Taught Me About Death
I've lost people that I've loved. I've been around serious illnesses, and I was around death more in federal prison than I've ever been before.
At FMC Fort Worth, there were men with cancer, heart disease, liver failure, and illnesses that were slowly picking them apart.
Some of them came into the law library looking for compassionate release or any legal mechanism that might get them home before they died. They would ask me about statutes, cases, and forms.
But underneath the legal question was usually a much more human one. Am I going to live long enough to see my family again? ## The Institution Keeps Moving
One man I knew, Green, was diagnosed with liver cancer. He went to the hospital and not long afterward he was dead.
Then prison continued. Count was called, chow served, doors opened and closed. Officers finished their shifts and went home. The institution keeps moving because institutions are designed to keep moving. ## Suicide Watch
I also worked as a suicide watch cadre. I sat with men during some of the worst moments of their lives.
Sometimes for 4 hours at a time. Every 15 minutes I documented what they were doing. Sleeping, crying, talking, pacing, or simply staring at the wall.
Sometimes all I could do is watch and write. ## Grief Opens Every Locked Room
I'm not comparing the death of a puppy to the death of a human. I'm saying that grief has a way of opening every locked room at once.
Watching this tiny puppy struggle to breathe brought back feelings I thought that I'd learned to control. ## I Thought Prison Taught Me to Face Death
I thought prison had taught me how to face death. Maybe it only taught me how to function while standing next to it. ## Time Measured in Breaths
On this channel I talk constantly about time. Months remaining on a sentence, good time credits, first step act credits, release dates, halfway house time, years on supervised release.
The federal system teaches you to measure a life with a calendar. Last night time was measured in breaths. ## A Life Doesn't Have to Be Long to Matter
This puppy was alive for only 6 weeks. She was part of my life for an incredibly short period of time.
But the pain wasn't measured by the number of days that I'd known her. A life doesn't have to be long to matter. And love doesn't become small because the life was short. ## She Never Saw the Next Morning
I still don't know exactly why she died. I'm still replaying it in my head. The parasites, the fleas, the hospital, and every decision we made.
I may never receive an answer that makes the ending feel acceptable. But that tiny playful puppy reminded me of something that I hadn't thought about in a very long time.
We spend so much of our lives assuming there's going to be another morning. But last night, that little puppy never saw the next morning.
This article is for educational purposes and is not legal advice.