Two weeks ago, as we were getting ready to take our annual vacation to Ocean City, we had to put our beloved Twinkie down. For two nights, she was coughing and hacking. By the evening of the second day, she stopped picking up the food that our almost-one year old tossed on the floor. We took her to the emergency vet early in the morning, leaving her in a oxygen cage, waiting to hear what our options were. The morning turned into lunch. Lunch turned into the afternoon. Then, finally, the vet informed us that Twinkie was suffering from heart failure. She might, with an extensive drug cocktail, live for a handful of pain-filled months. We decided it was time to say goodbye and we put her down. Twinkie, our amazing Chihuahua, was almost 12 years old.
I first met Twinkie when K and I went on our first date. K invited me over for dinner at her place before we went out. So after taking two trains and wandering through a part of Queens I didn’t know, I found myself playing with this little dog while K finished cooking potatoes au gratin. I’m a cat person. I never spent time with dogs. But this little tan furball kept bringing me a purple toy to toss across the apartment. So I kept throwing it and she kept bringing it back. I don’t know why she wanted to keep playing with me but she did. And that’s how it was for these last 9 years. The house is now quiet without her barking at random things, the clip-clip-clip of her feet on the hardwood floor, and George misses grabbing at her and she never snapped back. She was a good, feisty, and lovable gal. Take care Twinkie. We’ll see you on the other side.