“When my daughter left home, the dog took her place. Now he's gone, and I don't know how to live without someone who needs me”

After Tyto, our dog, crossed the rainbow bridge, I realized that he took my baby's place after he left the nest. And only now, when I no longer have anyone to take care of him from moment to moment, the nest has truly become empty, writes journalist Laura Bogaciu in a text published on the Totuldespremame website.

Tyto was more than just a pet, he was part of the family from the start, since he was two months old. Basically, it was my daughter's dog, grown up now. I confess that when he came home with him, even though I am a big, big animal lover, I was not happy at all. Because I knew how much responsibility it involved. And that, at some point, all the responsibility will be on my shoulders.

Five and a half years later, I would fight with all my resources, both financial and emotional, to resist a terrible diagnosis — osteosarcoma — that gave him a life expectancy of only 6 months, and a leg amputation that would not have prolonged his life, but would have increased its quality.

I refused thinking it was cancer
When the doctor said the word “cancer,” my mind refused the diagnosis; I rummaged through and read everything I could read about bone cancer — because that meant osteosarcoma — and I was convinced that we were the victims of a scammer, a veterinarian, who was trying to convince us that the chemotherapy he was doing every other week for seven months (pure water, by the way, but worth tens of millions of lei), was a small chance to delay the end.

I fought for him just like I would have fought for my child. And to give him the best treatments, as I first thought they were, and to bust the crook after I had proof that Tyto really didn't have bone cancer. I will hate that individual for the rest of my life, even now, 8 years after that ugly story, and with Tyto gone, I feel the same way. For the pain of the puppy, my child and myself.

After Tyto, our dog, crossed the rainbow bridge, I realized that he took my baby's place after he left the nest. And only now, when I no longer have anyone to take care of them from moment to moment, the nest has truly become empty.

Tyto was more than just a pet, he was part of the family from the start, since he was two months old. Basically, it was my daughter's dog, grown up now. I confess that when he came home with him, even though I am a big, big animal lover, I was not happy at all. Because I knew how much responsibility it involved. And that, at some point, all the responsibility will be on my shoulders.

Five and a half years later, I would fight with all my resources, both financial and emotional, to resist a terrible diagnosis — osteosarcoma — that gave him a life expectancy of only 6 months, and a leg amputation that would not have prolonged his life, but would have increased its quality.

I refused thinking it was cancer

When the doctor said the word “cancer,” my mind refused the diagnosis; I rummaged through and read everything I could read about bone cancer — because that meant osteosarcoma — and I was convinced that we were the victims of a scammer, a veterinarian, who was trying to convince us that the chemotherapy he was doing every other week for seven months (pure water, by the way, but worth tens of millions of lei), was a small chance to delay the end.

I fought for him just like I would have fought for my child. And to give him the best treatments, as I first thought they were, and to bust the crook after I had proof that Tyto really didn't have bone cancer. I will hate that individual for the rest of my life, even now, 8 years after that ugly story, and with Tyto gone, I feel the same way. For the pain of the puppy, my child and myself.

I was afraid for him and for my girl

When the doctor told us, at one point, that we only had two months left to spend with him, we lived the most terrible nights and days. I woke up I don't know how many times a night to see if he was breathing, if he was alive. There wasn't a day when my daughter and I didn't cry when we looked at each other without having to say anything because we were thinking the same thing. I remember that at one point, my girl told me, calmly, as if it were absolutely natural, that when he left, she would also leave, because she didn't want to live without him. It was months of hell for me. I knew he wouldn't do that, that in any pain there is also an instinct for preservation, but how was I going to manage it? How was I supposed to help her get through the moment, when I didn't know how I would be able to get through either?

Read the continuation on Totuldespremame.ro.