"Best Friend"
And then there were two...
Abbot was, as much as I may hate to admit it, a pet store puppy. I still remember going into the store up in Bloomington, Indiana in February of 1990. I had been mildly considering a red dachshund. I told myself that if there was one in the store, then it was meant to be and I'd best buy it. Lo and behold, there he was!
It was the Friday night before the girls' basketball state finals. If our girls won, I was going to take their initials and somehow form a name for him. He, however, had other ideas. On the way home, as he barked, it seemed, to me, at least, that he was saying "Abbott". Hence, he became the first dog I ever had that named himself. Well, the only one, so far.
I took him for his puppy check-up and the only problem the vet found was a deformed nail on his left front paw. Gee, doc, you think I'd let a little thing like that make me give back the only dog that's ever talked to me? We were buds from the word "Go".
At the time, I had a number of other "babies", canine and feline. He fit right in, though. Unlike the others, he was always a sociable kinda fellow. Except with another newcomer--Sparky. They did so like to fight. Sparky was way bigger, but Abbott never let that stop him.
When we moved to Florida, there was one time they were fighting and I threw them into the pool to stop it. That wasn't a success and I had to jump in to keep them from drowning one another. In the process, Abbott got a hold of my finger (an accident, of course). It's a scar I'll carry with fond memories forever.
He was otherwise such a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Except when it came to cats. I have to admit there were at least a couple of cats that did not survive an encounter with him. I forgave him, though, since that was just part of his genetic make-up.
When I first got Stella, I had hoped that they might start a family. For whatever reason, that never happened. Just as well, though, as he ended up being almost 3 times her size. So, they became brother and sister instead of husband and wife.
Such a cuddler!! Abbott could not get up on the bed on his own, therefore, I could count on a bark in the night asking to be lifted back after he'd gotten a midnight snack. He'd then snuggle under the covers up where I could hold him in my arms the rest of the night.
One of my greatest joys was when he and I were both in a playful mood. We'd howl at one another, then bark and such a racket you never heard. Eventually, he'd lay on his back for a good belly rubbing. I've honestly never known a more personable dog. *smile*
I know that you, the reader, do not have the feelings I do, so I won't go into a minute-by-minute detail of his life. I am writing this for myself more than for anyone else. I found him only a little over an hour ago and I must do something to help take away the pain.
As his other page relates, he wasn't doing well about 6 weeks ago. The tests and such that were done revealed that he had gotten heartworms (a fact of which I am terribly ashamed). Seemingly not a bad case, but they still had to be treated. Five weeks ago, he was given a series of 2 injections to kill the adult heartworms. I was an absolute nervous wreck for some time after that. (His sister, Stella, also had to have treatment. Luckily, Frankie did not.)
Today, April 21, 2001, we went back to the doctor for the follow-up. Everything seemed fine until late in the afternoon. He started panting quite heavily. After a time, I became concerned enough to call the vet, who explained this would be within normal expectations when killing the microfiliae in his blood. I was to call if it continued tomorrow.
I held him and stroked him and told him it would be okay...
His autopsy showed that he had had a massive heart attack. His doctor assured me it had nothing to do with the heartworms, nor their treatment. And that even had a doctor been standing over him when it occurred, there would have been nothing that could have been done. I want so to believe that, but there is a part of me that doesn't. I'll always feel
some
guilt over his death. I cannot change it, though. All I can do is try to be a better daddy to the two I have left.
We love you and will miss you very much, Abbott!
Daddy, Stella and Frankie
The story of The Rainbow Bridge
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