Kingsley Bear joined Laika on that rainbow bridge today.
We left home on Sunday. Justin is attending a conference in Philadelphia, and the kids and I got to join him. Right before we got to Philadelphia, I got a call from the doggy day care where Kingsley was staying, saying that Kingsley needed to be rushed to the emergency vet. He was bleeding profusely from…well…the bum. So they got him to the emergency vet, who did some tests. He was anemic from losing so much blood, and his red blood cell count was way down. They tried antibiotics, they tried medicine to make his blood clot, they took ultrasounds and x-rays trying to locate the problem, they even performed a couple blood transfusions and some chemotherapy. But this afternoon, his body had had enough. He passed away. They think it was probably cancer, and this was just the final phase of it.
I feel completely worthless here, but the vet assured me there was absolutely nothing I could have done there. Kingsley was in such bad shape by this morning that he wouldn’t have known if I was there or not, and the kids would have been scared silly to see him in that condition.
Quite a few tears have been shed here, and we haven’t even told the kids yet (and won’t, until we get home). Kingsley was…well, he was Kingsley. He definitely had some really annoying quirks, and there’s probably enough Kingsley hair in our house to build a stuffed Kingsley as a memorial, but goodness, he was a GREAT dog. The kids climbed all over him, pulled his hair, roughhoused with him, and he let them. I think he even liked it sometimes. Especially when they dropped food while doing it.
Kingsley was my baby. He was always there, and I never even imagined a moment when he wouldn’t be there. I always assumed he’d live a long life. Which, granted, 11 years isn’t a terribly short life in dog years, but still. I just thought we’d have him so much longer. And he gave no signs before last night that he wasn’t going to be around for a long time. He was happy and spoiled and energetic even as we dropped him off at doggy day care.
I’m crying for Kingsley because I will miss him, but I’m also crying because my children are going to be devastated. Rosie’s face lights up whenever she sees him. Mitchell loves including him in play, and I swear Kingsley walks a little straighter when he’s playing Bullseye and trying to hold Woody up on his back.
Kingsley, wherever you are, may you have an unlimited number of legs to hump and an unlimited number of black clothes to turn white.