Southeast Missouri State University student publication

Hoping for the best from two hours away

Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Tallulah the Chihuahua.
Photo submitted by Kennedy Meyer

Losing a pet is hard. They’re a part of your family and they mean so much to you. When they die it feels like your life is empty. We cannot predict when the last time is that we get to share this earth with them, hold them or tell them we love them. I think that might have been the hardest part for me when Tallulah died.

Tallulah weighed just under four pounds. She was a nine year-old chocolate Chihuahua. She was the tiniest hellraiser I’d ever met. Her voice was so big and so present every single day. Though she barked constantly and often bit our ankles with her tiny teeth often, we all loved her so much. Tallulah was missing her four front teeth and when she relaxed long enough her tongue would sometimes poke out at us. Everyone loved her so much.

Tallulah’s (adopted) brother, Diego is seriously overweight. In the grand scheme of things, I never thought Tallulah would be the first to go. I always thought she would somehow live to be 20 years old. I was wrong.

I had read somewhere that smaller dogs lived longer than larger ones. Maybe that only applies to healthy dogs that just die with old age.

I was in the middle of class Monday when I got a text from my mom instructing me to call her after I got out. When I did, she told me that everything was OK, that Tallulah was OK. I knew that things were not OK.

She told me Tallulah had a late-night trip to the vet’s office because she had urinated blood. She said the vet did multiple scans on Tallulah and she had 12 gallstones as well as an infected liver.

I was in complete disbelief. I was confused as to how she could have so many gallstones and a liver infection without showing any signs of pain.

I immediately told my mom I would come home that weekend to be with Tallulah. She insisted Tallulah was fine, but simply ill. I was relieved my mom felt that way.

Two days later, I was on my way to dinner when I answered an incoming call from my mom. As soon as I heard her speak I knew something was wrong - and I knew it had to do with Tallulah. Her condition had worsened. My mom cried to me that I should probably come home that weekend to say my farewells.

I planned to come home the next day after classes. I immediately lost my appetite. I didn’t want to believe it. I was so scared Tallulah was going to die before I had a chance to say goodbye. I was so sad our little dog was in such a terrible state.

I went back to my dorm room and laid my head in my hands and cried, but for only about 10 minutes. I had homework to do. My dog was at home on her deathbed and I had homework to do! … And classes in the morning!

I went to my classes the next day and paid as much attention as I could. I felt sick most of the day. I knew that if my dog died before I made the two-hour trip to St. Louis my mom wouldn’t tell me because she’d want me to drive with as little tears in my eyes as possible. I was anxious.

I played only happy music as I sped home to be with my dog. Anything even slightly sad would diminish my spirits. In the car ride I convinced myself I was happy. I think a part of me did feel happy that I had the chance to come home and be with my sick dog. I was thankful I didn’t have any classes on Fridays. I made it home to find a very sick four-pound (probably three at this point) dog. I spent two and a half days with Tallulah. She was weak; she could hardly stand or even hold her head up. We were feeding her wet food with a syringe, and when she wasn’t eating, she was sleeping. She was like an infant.

By the end of those two and a half days Tallulah’s eyes got a little brighter and her strength got a little stronger. She was showing so many signs of improvement. She would take a few steps on her own and even showed some interest in her food. My mom and I were very hopeful she would get better.

Leaving Tallulah was so hard. I knew there was a chance she still could die. I knew that even though she was improving it could turn the other way. I made sure to hug her, hold her and tell her I loved her over and over before I left.

Four days later I got the call. My mom spoke in the same voice that told me something was wrong. She paused for quite a while, and I immediately knew.

“Tallulah passed,” she said.

Being in college and losing one of the animals you grew up with is so hard. There’s not a whole lot you can do two hours away in the middle of the week. It doesn’t feel real yet. I know she’s gone, I’ve shed many tears and felt many things, but it doesn’t quite feel real yet.

I’m thankful she fought long enough for me to come home and be with her in her last days. I’ve never dreaded my next visit home more than I do now.

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