Wednesday, March 27, 2013

The story of Quiz ... an epilogue.

This has been the Longest.  Week. Ever.

I am heartbroken over the loss of this truly amazing dog.  At the same time, I'm am truly amazed by the tremendous outpouring of support.  I am touched beyond belief to hear how many people enjoyed my dog and found pleasure in watching the two of us work together.  We shared an amazing bond.

Now begins the long process of adjusting to life without Quiz and settling into a new "normal" as time begins to heal the hurt in my heart.

In following up with the specialty clinic, I've learned that the staff is reviewing the incident and trying to determine how best to modify surgical protocol so that a similar medication error does not happen again.  I am told it was an experienced tech who made the mistake, and so far, the office has no definitive explanation for *how* the mistake happened.

I did learn, however, that upon reviewing his case, the medical director said she'd have been very, very surprised if the mass had not been cancerous.

I, of course, knew that was a strong possibility.  Cancer, specifically the Big "H," is exactly why my heart sank the night before in my regular vet's office as we looked at the mass on an x-ray.

All I can think at this point - in an effort to find a bit of peace - is that it *was* cancer, and that somehow, this horrible, tragic, unexplainable mistake happened to spare my sweet, amazing, vibrant dog from a devastating diagnosis.  For Quiz, having his body deteriorate when his spirit would've remained strong would've been a fate worse than death.  And watching it happen - only to have to make the difficult decision of when to free him from that prison - would've been gut-wrenching.

With this in my mind, I can be thankful that Quiz spent his last weekend on earth blissfully playing at our dear friends' house while I was out of town, and for how he ran around the vet's office bouncy and silly and offering up one of his most popular tricks ... chasing *and catching* his tail.  He may have had cancer, but cancer, at that point, did not have him.

It's funny how your mind begins to remember things in the wake of a tragedy.  The night before surgery, as I tried to sleep with him beside me, I told him two things: That it was OK if he really  needed to go, but that if he wasn't ready, I knew he'd find a way to stay with us; and I promised I'd never make him suffer just to prolong his time here on earth.

At the risk of sounding like the "crazy dog lady," I have to believe that his body may well have survived the surgery if not for the overdose, but with cancer's insidious grip lurking in the wings, the overdose somehow happened to spare my sweet boy - and everyone who loved him - that heartache.

Crazy as it sounds, it's the only explanation that makes even the smallest bit of sense.


A few of my favorite Quiz videos...

Yup.  That's Quiz!

Such a fun partner in the ring.

Gotta love that zest for life!


  1. Your sharing glimpses are wonderful... I'm sure they are healing as well. Keep'em coming! I had been watching the first two video's you shared, hadn't seen the third one. So True to form your boy! :) This is a wonderful way to Celebrate his life... your life together! xox Roxanna

  2. Hey Steph,

    This is a lovely and sad post. Having had a Golden athlete very similar to Quiz, and having lost him to cancer, I feel very deeply what you say about finding some solace in having him protected from having his body deteriorate. In our case, lymphoma blinded Gus and made him terribly ill for several weeks before we got a definitive diagnosis and made the decision to let him go. I would happily have traded those weeks away to buy out some of the suffering he went through in the interim, and I know he'd never begrudge a day here or there in a life filled with so much good work, so many exciting places, and so many wonderful friends.

    You've probably seen it before, but in case you haven't: Gus's Story


    1. Gus was gorgeous. Oh how I love those Little Red Dawgs. Thank you for sharing his story. ((HUG))

  3. Stephanie and Brian.... your stories bring alive once more, our beloved Rusty dog. And I cry. These stories are so good and quite cathartic. Jeannie