RubysMama
Well-known Member
Cavy Slave
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2017
- Posts
- 49
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2017
- Messages
- 49
I guess it's time for me to move from the Medical/Vet Forum to the In Memory Of forum.
This is hard to write, but she deserves to be written about amongst friends who will understand.
Ruby came to us two years ago. We had NO clue what in the world we were doing. She came with a small cage, some pellet mix, and bedding. Her previous owners said "just clean up the bedding once every week or two, keep the pellets full, and water, and thats it." We did a little research on Day One, and realized that we had been given very bad intel by her previous owner.
So we quickly got her on track - fresh veggies, as much hay as her little heart desired, and a bigger cage. She blossomed. She went from shy and skittish with us, to wheeking when she knew Mama was up for the day and she'd get a salad. And boy, did she get a salad. Mixed greens, fresh chopped veg, cilantro and sometimes a sprinkle of a favourite fruit. She quickly became Mama's whole world.
She had a personality unlike any other cavy I have ever met. She was SO silly, and loved us so much. She'd stare out her cage at us and as soon as we'd reach in to give her a back rub, she'd pancake down and close her eyes. She loved her backrubs. She popcorned all day, and would come running at the sound of my voice because she knew she'd be getting treats, more hay, or cuddles with Mum.
She was a special piggy, that's for sure.
When we decided to try to find a second pig to adopt, we ended up finding a trio of sisters who desperately needed a good home. From the first moment they all met, Rubes made it CRYSTAL CLEAR that she was the Big Boss, and the other three fell in line easily. They loved her, and she was gentle but firm with them. Even in a four-pig herd, Rubes always stood out. She was just larger than life (literally and figuratively, she was almost 1.4kg at her largest!) and filled my days. As a stay at home parent who homeschools her kids, we got to be with our pig-pigs all day every day and Rubes and I bonded deeply.
When I realized one day she suddenly felt thinner than she used to, and no longer stomped around like Godzilla Pig, I knew something was up. It took me longer than I should have, to get her to the vet because she seemed otherwise fine. But to the vet we went, and we did everything in our power to make her better. Our vet was amazing, and she kept on keepin on with us but eventually she said "a day may come when her quality of life needs to take priority over our desire to have her around, but I trust that you'll know when we've reached that point".
I'm not sure why vets say that. I mean, I guess I knew on Monday May 6th that she had declined to a point that was no longer reasonable for her. As much as I didn't want to let her go, I knew in my heart that this was the end of her journey and she'd be starting the next leg. We called the vet, and they got us in right then. We got to spend the last moments with her in a beautiful small family room, we said our goodbyes. I told Rubes that I may not have been able to make her better, but I wouldn't make her suffer. At our vet, they don't allow family to be in the room for the actual euthanasia but we waited in our room while they did it. They lit a candle outside of our door to alert other employees and patients that a family was grieving and the whole place was silent. Right up until the very last second before I handed her to the vet, I was questioning if it was the right thing; if we could have hung on just a little longer and found something to make her better. I wanted to grab her and run back home. But that would have been selfish. She was very sick, and not getting better, and after all the love she gave to us it was time for us to give it back to her when she needed it the most.
They brought her to us, and I thought I was doing kind of okay but when they handed the box to me, I fell apart. They told us to take as much time as we needed and then we headed home.
We took her home from the vets, and transferred her to a box on which each of us had written a little message to her. Lined it with her favourite fleece, we transferred her into it. I was afraid of having to do that, but I didn't want to bury her wrapped in a vet office towel in a cardboard box. When I unfolded the vet's towel, she looked so peaceful. Just...sleeping. Her body was still warm and I just laid her in the wooden box, kept a hand on her, and felt absolutely shattered. I am so glad I got those final moments with her like that. It was so nice to see her laying on her fleece, no pneumonia sounds, no whimpering, no choking. Just Rubes.
We found an amazing place in the back edge of our property in a sitting area where I have my morning coffee. She's buried under a big maple tree, in a spot where clovers grow in abundance. Those were always her favourite.
RIP Rube-a-loo. I miss your furry face, your snuggles, and your entire crazy self. Your human family misses you, and your sister-pigs miss you. You were a force to be reckoned with, and one of the best parts of my day. I can barely breathe when I think about you.
May you have neverending zoomies in clover fields, and I'll find you at The Bridge. See you on the flip side.
This is hard to write, but she deserves to be written about amongst friends who will understand.
Ruby came to us two years ago. We had NO clue what in the world we were doing. She came with a small cage, some pellet mix, and bedding. Her previous owners said "just clean up the bedding once every week or two, keep the pellets full, and water, and thats it." We did a little research on Day One, and realized that we had been given very bad intel by her previous owner.
So we quickly got her on track - fresh veggies, as much hay as her little heart desired, and a bigger cage. She blossomed. She went from shy and skittish with us, to wheeking when she knew Mama was up for the day and she'd get a salad. And boy, did she get a salad. Mixed greens, fresh chopped veg, cilantro and sometimes a sprinkle of a favourite fruit. She quickly became Mama's whole world.
She had a personality unlike any other cavy I have ever met. She was SO silly, and loved us so much. She'd stare out her cage at us and as soon as we'd reach in to give her a back rub, she'd pancake down and close her eyes. She loved her backrubs. She popcorned all day, and would come running at the sound of my voice because she knew she'd be getting treats, more hay, or cuddles with Mum.
She was a special piggy, that's for sure.
When we decided to try to find a second pig to adopt, we ended up finding a trio of sisters who desperately needed a good home. From the first moment they all met, Rubes made it CRYSTAL CLEAR that she was the Big Boss, and the other three fell in line easily. They loved her, and she was gentle but firm with them. Even in a four-pig herd, Rubes always stood out. She was just larger than life (literally and figuratively, she was almost 1.4kg at her largest!) and filled my days. As a stay at home parent who homeschools her kids, we got to be with our pig-pigs all day every day and Rubes and I bonded deeply.
When I realized one day she suddenly felt thinner than she used to, and no longer stomped around like Godzilla Pig, I knew something was up. It took me longer than I should have, to get her to the vet because she seemed otherwise fine. But to the vet we went, and we did everything in our power to make her better. Our vet was amazing, and she kept on keepin on with us but eventually she said "a day may come when her quality of life needs to take priority over our desire to have her around, but I trust that you'll know when we've reached that point".
I'm not sure why vets say that. I mean, I guess I knew on Monday May 6th that she had declined to a point that was no longer reasonable for her. As much as I didn't want to let her go, I knew in my heart that this was the end of her journey and she'd be starting the next leg. We called the vet, and they got us in right then. We got to spend the last moments with her in a beautiful small family room, we said our goodbyes. I told Rubes that I may not have been able to make her better, but I wouldn't make her suffer. At our vet, they don't allow family to be in the room for the actual euthanasia but we waited in our room while they did it. They lit a candle outside of our door to alert other employees and patients that a family was grieving and the whole place was silent. Right up until the very last second before I handed her to the vet, I was questioning if it was the right thing; if we could have hung on just a little longer and found something to make her better. I wanted to grab her and run back home. But that would have been selfish. She was very sick, and not getting better, and after all the love she gave to us it was time for us to give it back to her when she needed it the most.
They brought her to us, and I thought I was doing kind of okay but when they handed the box to me, I fell apart. They told us to take as much time as we needed and then we headed home.
We took her home from the vets, and transferred her to a box on which each of us had written a little message to her. Lined it with her favourite fleece, we transferred her into it. I was afraid of having to do that, but I didn't want to bury her wrapped in a vet office towel in a cardboard box. When I unfolded the vet's towel, she looked so peaceful. Just...sleeping. Her body was still warm and I just laid her in the wooden box, kept a hand on her, and felt absolutely shattered. I am so glad I got those final moments with her like that. It was so nice to see her laying on her fleece, no pneumonia sounds, no whimpering, no choking. Just Rubes.
We found an amazing place in the back edge of our property in a sitting area where I have my morning coffee. She's buried under a big maple tree, in a spot where clovers grow in abundance. Those were always her favourite.
RIP Rube-a-loo. I miss your furry face, your snuggles, and your entire crazy self. Your human family misses you, and your sister-pigs miss you. You were a force to be reckoned with, and one of the best parts of my day. I can barely breathe when I think about you.
May you have neverending zoomies in clover fields, and I'll find you at The Bridge. See you on the flip side.
