It is with heavy hearts that Rommel and I said goodbye to Sandy this morning. She passed peacefully in the backyard with the sun shining and her favorite ball on hand.
Sandy was diagnosed with lymphoma in early January of this year. She went through five rounds of chemotherapy which involved sedation and a chemical IV. The sedation always left her a little loopy but she was otherwise unfazed by the treatments. On the positive side, she went into remission and her swelling went down and her energy levels went back up to her usual crazy self. In May we noticed her lymph nodes in her neck had begun to swell again. We started her on prednisone and focused on giving her the best remaining time we could. In the past few days her breathing was becoming a struggle with no chance of improvement.
Sandy lived a great 11 years and I am so thankful that she could share the last 8 of those year with me and eventually Rommel and our cat, Mini. Those who met her knew her boundless energy–nearly infinite when playing ball, never-ending love and super-fuzzy snuggles. She always had to lead on hikes and loved to explore new places whether it be new trails in Colorado or new neighborhoods here in Madison. She was always there to cheer me up playing ball in the backyard when times were dark.
We’ll miss your cuddle time, your wild ponies, your shifty eye, your flip backs, your incessant begging to be fed early, your ceaseless energy to play ball in the back yard, your playful growl when playing tug, our click clacks, your hippety-hops, your baby barks when your ball went missing, your sneaky attempts to steal people food, your eyes boring into my very existence, most of all, you.
The one silver lining of the recent quarantine is that we got to spend so much of the last few months with you.
Goodbye, Sandy Pants. We’ll always love you.