Before I met my husband, I had my little Dachshund, Prince. He was the sweetest thing and such a loving little dog. Approximately 20 days after Mark and I lost Taylor Grace on New Year's Eve 2004, Prince blew three discs in his back. The injury was pretty catastrophic, but Mark indulged me since I was already so devastated over the loss of the baby and agreed to let me have surgery on Prince to try and save him. He pulled through that surgery, but he never fully regained complete mobility in his hind quarters. He was happy scooting around the house and seemed to be doing well. I knew it was a possibility that things could get worse, but you truly hope that doesn't ever happen. Over the past several months it became apparent that Prince was losing bladder control. This morning when he got up he had blood and blood clots in his urine and I knew it was time. I was trying to avoid the inevitable and get through the holidays with him, but it was time. It was time to quit being so selfish and to allow Prince to rest in peace. So, I took him this morning and Dr. Bob at Battleground Hospital for Animals in Franklin, Tennessee told me this was a natural progression and that I had given that little dog more of a life than most people would have done. I know I did, but it still hurts like hell to have had to make that decision. I sure did love that little dog and am going to miss him like crazy. And Zoe really loved him, too. She called him "Bubba" and I'm sure she will ask about him a little, but she's definitely too small right now to really remember him. I just had to do a post in memory of my Prince Charming.
