I haven’t written about Brogan in a while. Mostly because I wasn’t sure what to write. He took a turn for the worse on March 1st, with a lot of collapses on his walks, then we noticed his heart was stuck at 200 beats per minute (normal should have been between 60 and 70 for a dog his size). So after numerous trial and error with drugs we finally got him on new drugs that seemed to be working and he was making progress every day. I knew that all the racing his heart had done would have caused damage, but I was still optimistic about how he was doing and was hoping to get many more years with him. My logical brain knew it probably wouldn’t be years, but my heart was hoping he would shock everyone and live to the crazy old age of 13.
Brogan died in my arms on June 15th at 4am under the lilac tree’s. Where he wanted to be. We went to the cabin Thursday night and he had a great weekend, ate well, played in every puddle he could and even convinced me he could go for longer walks. Then Sunday night when we got back from golfing he was laying behind the door by the washing machine and his color was terrible and his belly looked like he had bloated. So I gave him simethecone and laid with him on the floor. He seemed to be improving a bit, but I was still worried. So Rodney and I decided to come home at 10:30. We got home and by 1:30 I realized that it was probably fluid in his belly, it kept accumulating and was painful. I gave him more diuretics and hoped he could at least be comfortable until morning so I could bring him in and get him euthanized. (covid19 has changed who is allowed into most vet clinics and none that I could think of offered emergency services or will allow you to be with your pet while they are euthanized) But it didn’t work that way. At about 2:30am he wanted out, had a few painful bouts of diarrhea and then just wanted to lay under the lilacs. So I came in the house and got a sleeping bag and laid with him. He died at 4am. I came and told Rodney and we all went out. Rosco wouldn’t leave me and Brogan so we laid out there with him until 7:30 when we came in.
Took a bit of a rigamarole to get him in to be cremated (more covid19 restrictions on services allowed), but when Rodney and I got there to drop him off the owner let us know he would do it all at no charge. Very kind of him and not necessary for sure. The owner works for the company that the vet clinic I used to work at has used since I was there. He didn’t remember me, but knows the girls at the clinic and felt bad about everything I think. And is just generous.
I cried for him so much yesterday, I thought I had so much more time because he was doing so well. We were struggling with his appetite, but as long as I fed him what he wanted that was improving. I told Rodney we got robbed, but Rodney said Brogan took the hard decision about when it would be time to let him go out of our hands. And he died after having a great weekend at the lake, a truck ride (which he loved) under the lilacs, which he loved.
He was an amazing dog, who will always be remembered by everyone as the big gentle giant. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body and will be missed by more than just us. He let people know what he wanted and was thinking without being able to speak. And oozed Broganisma (a word a friend came up with and I never forgot because it fit him so well)
I’m trying to focus on the fact that we got way more time than any vet thought we would with his heart, and that although he didn’t quite make 9 he was almost there and that constitutes an old Dogue de Bordeaux, even for a healthy hearted one.
Rosco is sad, but is cuddling and loving up Rodney (he became a dad’s suck in the last couple of years) and we are all just trying to get by without our goofy Brogan to brighten our day.