The day started like any other.
I got up, fed the dogs, had some coffee on the patio while the dogs happily sniffed around the yard. Everything felt ordinary. Normal. Familiar in the way mornings often are.
My dogs gulped their food down as usual and explored the yard with joy. There were no signs. No warning. No sense that this day would be any different from the many that came before it.
I had no idea what this day had in store.
The Moment Everything Changed
I went into my office to work. I came out of a client session to get some water as I usually do.
That’s when I saw Cayenne.
My ten-year-old dog, who had been completely normal and happy just an hour earlier, was having a seizure on the couch.
At first, my brain tried to make sense of it in a gentler way. I thought she might just be rolling around, being silly like she sometimes was. But the realization came quickly and painfully.
Something was very wrong.
I went to her immediately, trying to comfort her. The seizure felt endless, though in reality it lasted only a minute or two. As soon as it stopped, I called my vet.
While I was on the phone, Cayenne began having more seizures, one every couple of minutes. My heart raced as I tried to stay calm, listening to the vet’s instructions and watching my sweet girl struggle.
Thankfully, my vet is only about ten minutes away, and they were able to see us immediately.
The News I Wasn’t Prepared For
The staff took Cayenne back right away while I waited alone in another room. The waiting felt unbearable.
After running several tests, the vet explained what they had found. Cayenne had a large tumor on her spleen, which had likely caused a clotting disorder. A blood clot had traveled to her brain, triggering the seizures.
I knew seizures rarely meant anything good, but I was stunned. Just six months earlier, Cayenne had her routine checkup and was given a clean bill of health. She had been healthy, playful, and full of life.
This made no sense.
The Impossible Decision
Everything happened so fast.
The vet explained that there was no way to fix what was happening. The seizures would continue. Medication could calm her temporarily, but this was not a long-term solution. There was no path forward that did not involve suffering.
I had to make the decision to let her go.
My heart shattered in that moment, but I knew I could not allow her to continue suffering. I could not ask her to endure something that could not be made better. The only gift I could still give her was peace.
I spent time holding Cayenne, telling her how deeply she was loved. I told her what a good girl she was and how much she meant to me. I held her as she took her last breaths, memorizing the weight of her and the feel of her warmth.
The Aftermath
I was already grieving, but I was also in shock. The day had turned so suddenly that my mind struggled to catch up with reality.
When I got home, I curled up with my other dog, Tallulah. She seemed to sense that something was wrong. She stayed close, offering quiet comfort in the only way she could.
For days afterward, my brain betrayed me in small, painful moments. Every morning and evening for the next week, I found myself reaching for Cayenne’s food bowl. Each time, the realization hit again that she was gone.
As I write this, it has been a couple of weeks since Cayenne died. The grief still comes in waves. I have not moved her crate, her bed, or her food dish. I am not ready.
Every time I come home, I still expect to see her little wiggle butt greeting me at the door. And every time she is not there, my heart breaks all over again.
What Sudden Loss Teaches Us
Life is fragile in ways we do not like to think about.
You can do everything right. You can take your dog to regular checkups. You can love them fiercely and care for them well. And still, life can change in an instant.
There is no right or wrong way to grieve a loss like this. I let myself cry when I need to, which is often. I try to hold space for both the pain and the many good memories we shared.
Writing this is painful. It is also, in a small way, healing.
A Love Letter to Cayenne
Cayenne was hard to put into words, especially for people who did not know her.
I adopted her from a rescue when she was just shy of four years old. From the moment I met her, she radiated love. She had the most enthusiastic wiggle butt I have ever seen, and she used it often. She was joyful almost all the time.
At night, she would curl up under the covers and spoon with me. During the day, she was rarely far from my side. She slept on my lap, on the couch, or on her bed in my office while I worked.
She brought so much love and comfort into my life. It feels impossible to capture that fully here.
Cayenne is not the first dog I have lost. But she is the first I have lost so suddenly, without warning. The absence of preparation makes this grief feel different. Sharper. More disorienting.
I will miss her wiggle butt for the rest of my days.
Holding Space
If you’ve loved and lost a pet, especially suddenly, please know you’re not alone. Grief moves in waves, and every one of them is valid.
If you’re ready to take your own gentle first step, I’d love to invite you to subscribe to my newsletter. You will receive a free download of my 5-Day Self-Care Reset Plan. It’s a simple way to start making space for yourself again, in just five minutes a day.
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