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This is going to be a very short entry. Not enough attention span right now to type for very long, I don't think...
On Sunday, it became very apparent to me that Clyde wasn't feeling right. Yesterday morning, when I picked him up to give him breakfast and clean out his cage, I found only three little pieces of poop in it. Anyone who has ever had a guinea pig knows this is absolutely not normal.
I snuggled with him and checked him over, got him to eat some lettuce, then put him back in his house. He scrunched up in the corner, unwilling to move even enough to let me put his igloo back in its usual place.
When I got to work, I called a local vet. He didn't even have a vet yet. We hadn't had him long enough.
I left work early. When I got home, I found him in the same place in his cage that he'd been in when I left. His food was essentially untouched. There was still no poop in the cage.
I'd read about dealing with a constipated guinea pig online and came home equipped with an eyedropper and some mineral oil. I attempted to give him some water, then a mixture of water, honey, crushed up pellets and mineral oil, as had been recommended to me.
He continued to get worse, trying to just climb up next to my neck and snuggle in.
At one point, I moved him a little, and he didn't respond at all. I pulled him down to see if he was still breathing. He went limp in my hands, like a beanie baby guinea pig. He was breathing, but his eyes were unfocused.
I paged the vet.
He curled up on my chest and seemed to recover a little bit, but then tipped over to the right. I paged the vet again, then called my mom.
The vet called back, and sent us to an emergency vet medicine clinic in West Bridgewater. Mom came in and we got in the car.
The whole way there, he just kept looking up at me with his little eyes. I talked to him and snuggled him and tried to keep him comfortable.
At the clinic, they took him out back and left us to make small talk with the other animal owners in the waiting area.
After a few minutes, they sent me in back to talk to the vet. Clyde's body temp was dangerously low. They'd put him in an incubator to try and warm him up. He was extremely dehydrated, and they felt a mass in his abdomen. He was also exhibiting neurological disorders that suggested stroke or seizure.
The vet, who was incredibly nice, asked me a whole bunch of questions, then gave me a list of tests they'd have to run, procedures they'd have to perform, to save him. Even best case scenario, he gave me a 50% chance Clyde would even survive the tests. The estimated bill was somewhere between $700 and $1100.
I went into the office to call the Boyfriend. Bu the time I came out, his respiratory system was giving up. I signed the release forms, said a quick goodbye to him, and they took him in the back to put him to sleep.
I have never felt so helpless in my entire life.
When David died, it wiped me out, but I had no hand in that. Here, I feel like I had something to do with his death. He trusted me, and I let him down, and now he's dead because of it.
I will never, ever have another pet.
Two weeks he lived with us. In two weeks, I fell in love with half a pound of fur. My days started and ended with snuggles and that cute little gurgly noise he'd make when I scratched behind his ears. It's not really a very long time. On the other hand, it's a lifetime, apparently.
The vets said that this was probably something he was born with, and that I shouldn't hold myself responsible. That's very easy for them to say. They didn't have him snuggled in against their necks.
I will miss you, Clyde. More than I though humanly possible.
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